Z2012_SITE_H_THEANNEX



**The Ill Wife** Set at the Admiral's House media type="file" key="InfirmaryTrack20791.wav" width="300" height="50"

The Admiral had lived on the naval base for several years. His intimidating house overlooked the harbor and the river into which ships exported goods. Every morning the Admiral would descend the winding path to watch the ships pass by, and occasionally smile and salute the sailors, who could not see him from there. Of course, this surreal time was before his wife contracted illness. It had been a week since the Admiral had commanded the United States Sixth Fleet from the harbor of Albania back to the U.S., after unloading the supply crates of relief equipment and meeting with officials of NATO to discuss "Operation Shining Hope." He returned home rather inconspicuously, blending in with traffic until he reached the naval base. The day was evening. He descended that winding path to watch ships reenter the harbor before entering the house, not knowing that instance of him watching those ships would be the last. He opened his front door to a proud wife who had bought a whole turkey from the market for the two of them to enjoy for dinner. Slightly guilty, the Admiral informed his wife that he had eaten at a café on the road home, and that he did not feel very hungry for turkey at that moment, just tired of his operation. A bit crestfallen, his wife accepted this and told him she would cut the turkey for herself that night and that he could try some tomorrow. They kissed and he departed upstairs to his dormitory. His wife placed the turkey in her oven and set the timer for about 2 hours on low heat. A long, drowsy wait. She awoke to the timer on the oven and, succumbed to hunger, did not check the temperature of the turkey. That morning, the Admiral awoke to the moaning of his ill wife in bed. Blaming the turkey, the Admiral quickly dialed the telephone number of the naval base's infirmary. "Wentford Psychiatric Hospital, how may we assist you?" "Yes, my wife is sick with food poisoning, do you think you may be able to help her?" "Well, let me check the openings... Yes, we may be able to help her. Er, does she have health insurance? "Yes..." "All right then, please bring her over. We always welcome our potential patients." A lengthy car ride followed. His wife feeling weary, he checked her in to the infirmary. The initial doctor said that the illness was not so urgent that it needed the infirmary's treatment; that this ailment could be cured at home. The Admiral had panicked, however, and insisted that she be taken in, reiterating what he had heard over the phone: "We always welcome our potential patients." The room his wife finally wound up staying in was rather compact, and her bed was beside Lee Thompson, who showed the symptoms of schizophrenia, alternating between separate personalities: Marc and Jason. She sat down and gave the Admiral a weak smile while Lee Thompson took a dose of Risperidone. As the Admiral exited the infirmary (feeling not at all relieved), the manager of the hospital stood by the front desk. With a rather benign smile, the manager reassured him, "It should be less than a business day, sir." She spent ten days there. The infirmary had kept reassuring the Admiral over his many telephone calls: "No need to worry, Admiral. Over these past few days, her illness has become a bit more serious, but your wife is in our care; and we are doing everything in our power to make sure she recovers. We do work for the greater good, after all." On the tenth day, however, there came no answer to the Admiral's calls. Confused and frustrated, he stormed out the front door, intent on driving straight to the infirmary, but he saw an ambulance turn into the driveway. "We did all we could, sir. I'd make sure she drinks plenty of water and gets some sun, and I think she'll be healthier than ever in no time." The Admiral rounded the ambulance to retrieve her. He noticed whatever the food poisoning had become had gotten worse; her skin looked paler and greener, and sweat dried about her closed eyelids. He carried her up the front porch staircase, reminiscing the day they were married. He looked back at the ambulance, and suddenly noticed, right before the driver closed the doors, that the interior was heavily padded with no medical supplies to be found. He quickened his pace. Over the next two days, he tended to his wife's bedside, as he found she became increasingly thirsty. He kept all of the curtains drawn shut and his door locked. He swore that he must have been becoming eccentric over it; every now and then a "beep" rung in his ear, sometimes green lines struck through his vision. On the third day, his wife asked for another glass of water after 9 consecutive ones, her voice quiet and cracking. "Dear, you've had enough water for now, you'll become over-hydrated. You should just rest for now." His wife lifted a greenish hand and gripped his throat. Gagging, the Admiral tried to release her hand's grip while backing away from the bedside. Finally he forced open her clench and bolted down the staircase. His wife followed, breathing heavily and loudly, and staggered down the steps. The Admiral hastily overfilled a glass with tap water and held it out in front of him. His wife slapped it aside and dove at him; he only had a fraction of a second to react and jump out of the way. He leaped over her and darted for the door, fumbling with the locks while his wife got back up. Finally he wrenched the door open and sprinted out, then hammered his hands to it as his wife charged him. He shoved against the door while his wife did the same behind it; it took all his muscle to close it on her greenish, thrashing arms. With one hand holding the door, he found his keys and locked it. Hearing a hard rapping against the door, he cleared the front porch and clambered into his car immediately. His first notion was the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. Traffic allowed a swift escape to the headquarters. Flapping flags and confused faces became a blur as he ran, with a yell like that of someone in intense pain, for the front doors. He whimpered and breathed heavily as he entered the headquarters. He would have been welcomed, but as the chief looked upon the Admiral's sweaty, terrified face and frizzy hair, his smile faded. "Sir, you aren't making any sense. Are you saying you've been... raped?" "No, it's worse than that, she's turned into a monster, she chased me around and tried to attack me, thrashing her arms about...I think she became some sort of plant! She looked green and she–she needed water all the time...yes, somehow, she became a plant!" "She became a... plant." Suddenly the chief looked up and opened his jaw. "Oh! Oh...Okay then. So you said she tried to attack you?" "Y-yes?" "Why?" "Well...She began attacking me when...when I stopped giving her water! She drank a serious amount of water, I saw her!" "So, if you had kept giving her water, she would not have attacked?" "I-i suppose s-so..." "All right then." The chief picked up his clipboard and began taking notes. "What else did she want, besides water?" "Well...sunlight, she wanted plenty of sunlight! Sunlight, yes...but I kept the curtains drawn!" "You think the lack of sunlight may have affected her attitude?" "She assaulted me, Chief! Why are we considering her attitude?" "I...I-I don't think we've ever encountered a situation quite like this, Sir. I need all the info I can before I try to deal with a...a dangerous case. Now, you locked her in the house?" "Y-yes." "Is she still alive?" "As-as far as I know..." "So it's been only three days since it came out of the infirmary..." "I'm sorry, Chief? I...I don't think I said anything about...about the infirmary." "Uhh...Well, I think I've got all the information I need, and I think you are experiencing some...post-traumatic stress! Yes, you should see a doctor, right away." "Oh, is she going to die, Chief?" The Admiral started panting again. "I don't think so, I think she'll be fine. Now, I and my men are going to go investigate the scene, like I said, you should see a doctor. We'll have a report back to you afterward." "All right, Chief." They exchanged weak salutes. "Subject number 20791, test results proved faulty. Subject fully injected...over a ten-day period. Molecular structure remained intact during injection period, with 48 oz. of water-glucose solution consumed each day. After ten-day period, returned to household under care of unaware husband. Subject consumed insufficient amounts of water and sunlight over two and two-thirds-day period. Molecular structure continued to remain intact, but lack of glucose caused cellular respiration in unaffected regions of human cells to fail. Over the last two-thirds day, water kept subject functional. 30 seconds' lack of water caused excess of dopamine to be released in subject's brain. Correlation is as of now unknown. Subject assaulted husband as dopamine dominated nervous system and production of lactic acid." "Personally, I believe the next test should feature some compound that denatures production of dopamine, and that does not affect the speed and requirements of cellular respiration. Instances of photosynthesis, if there were any, were not noticed throughout the test. I recommend that we test someone other than the Admiral's wife next time. I know we are 'on par' with the Admiral, but he nearly suspected the test, and he did not provide the sunlight. As far as a detention center for those with Frei Fever, the Wentford Infirmary may be overly suspicious. I suggest relocating the 'patients' to a less regulated facility, such as the annex not far from the Admiral's residence. It could be called the USN Infirmary."

Maxx Bradley

This is a toe tag found at the site of the Wentford Psychiatric Hospital; the site is known simply as the Infirmary. Evidence on the tag shows that one patient, Lee Patrick Thompson, died of an overdose of Risperidone, a drug used to relieve symptoms of schizophrenia. This patient was handled, however, by the USN Infirmary, which was never an actual infirmary. It was a fake name for the secret coalition of scientists attempting experiments on patients under the table. The "address" of this supposed infirmary is 33 Rivers Avenue, a falsified site not far from the naval base to defer those with suspicions. At first the USN Infirmary had worked in a secret passage somewhere within or under the Wentford Psychiatric Hospital, later they most likely moved to the annex nearby the Admiral's house. After that, no clues have been found to determine what their next move was. media type="file" key="InfirmaryTrack20791.wav" width="300" height="50"