Chapter 6: The Silent Patient

The days in Ironwood Asylum bled together, each one dragging on like the last. The walls of Elliott’s cell never changed—cold, gray, and empty, save for the occasional flickering candlelight from the hallway outside. The silence had become his only companion, wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket.

But there was one thing that broke the monotony: the nurses.

They came every day now.

The two women—one younger with warm brown eyes and a gentle smile, the other older with graying hair and sharp, observant features—visited Elliott more frequently than anyone else. They weren’t like the orderlies who only saw him as another madman to lock away. They weren’t like his father, who had taken everything from him and cast him aside like an afterthought.

They treated him as someone.

Not a patient. Not an experiment.

Just… a person.

Today, they entered his cell again, their presence already familiar. The younger nurse, who always seemed more eager to speak with him, smiled as she closed the door behind her.

“Hello, Elliott,” she greeted, her voice soft and soothing. “How are you feeling today?”

Elliott sat on his cot, his posture stiff as he studied the two women. He didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond.

The older nurse sighed but didn’t seem frustrated. Instead, she stepped closer, pulling out a small stool and sitting across from him. “You’re not much of a talker, are you?” she remarked, though there was no accusation in her tone.

Elliott’s fingers twitched slightly. If only they knew.

The younger nurse moved to stand beside her colleague. “Maybe we should introduce ourselves properly,” she suggested, glancing at Elliott. “You see us all the time, but you don’t even know our names.”

She placed a hand over her chest. “I’m Lillian. But you can just call me Lily, if you’d like.”

The older nurse gave a small nod. “And I’m Margaret. But I prefer Maggie.”

Elliott looked between them, noting their expectant expressions. He knew they were waiting for him to say something, to acknowledge them in some way.

Slowly, he nodded.

Lily beamed. “Good! Now at least we’re not strangers anymore.”

Maggie gave a tired chuckle. “Not much of a talker, but at least he listens.”

Elliott’s hands clenched slightly at his sides. I want to talk, he wanted to tell them. I want to speak.

But every time he tried—every time he so much as parted his lips—only pain followed.

His throat still ached, a dull and constant reminder of what his father had done to him. The absence of his voice was worse than the physical pain. It was like a part of him had been stolen, leaving behind nothing but silence.

Lily tilted her head slightly, her expression thoughtful. “You know, Elliott, it’s okay if you don’t want to talk yet. But maybe… could you try?”

Elliott froze.

Maggie gave her a look. “Lily, don’t push him.”

“I just…” Lily hesitated, her gaze returning to Elliott. “I just think he wants to. He wants to speak, don’t you?”

Elliott’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes flickered to the ground.

Did he want to speak?

Of course, he did. More than anything.

Slowly, he lifted a trembling hand to his throat, his fingers grazing the bandages that still wrapped around it.

Lily’s face softened. “Elliott…”

He took a deep breath, gathering every ounce of willpower he had left. Then, he parted his lips—

But the moment he tried to force a sound, fire shot through his throat.

The pain was instant, sharp, and searing, cutting through him like a blade. His body convulsed with the effort, his chest tightening as a strangled, breathless rasp escaped—nothing more than a broken whisper.

Maggie immediately placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “Alright, that’s enough,” she said quickly. “Don’t strain yourself.”

Lily’s eyes were wide, filled with both surprise and concern. “Elliott… what happened to your voice?”

Elliott gasped, his throat throbbing from the effort. He clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose as his hands trembled.

He wanted to tell them.

He wanted to scream.

But his father had ensured that he never would again.

After a long silence, Maggie sighed. “If you can’t speak, we won’t force you to.” She gave Lily a knowing glance before turning back to Elliott. “But there are other ways to communicate. If there’s something you want to tell us, you could always write it down.”

Elliott stilled at her words.

Write.

Could he do that?

The thought had never even crossed his mind. His father had taken his voice, but not his ability to write. It was a small sliver of hope, one that made his heart race.

Lily perked up at the idea. “That’s a great idea! We can bring you some paper and a pencil next time.” She smiled at him, hopeful. “Would you like that, Elliott?”

He hesitated, his fingers twitching slightly.

Then, slowly, he nodded.

Lily grinned. “Alright. Next time, we’ll bring it for you.”

Maggie stood, stretching slightly. “It’s time we head out. But we’ll be back tomorrow.”

Lily nodded, adjusting her apron before turning to Elliott one last time. “We’ll see you soon, okay?”

Elliott watched them go, his chest still rising and falling with the lingering pain of his failed attempt to speak.

He knew now, more than ever—his father had taken his voice.

But maybe, just maybe, he hadn’t taken everything.

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