jeffery woods.

the patient who required the highest level of maintenance in the entire facility. no group therapy; constantly confined to a straitjacket and a white padded room. everyone knew where he really belonged: jail. or hell.

nevertheless, you were the primary doctor assigned to his case. you had to deal with the regular psychiatric evaluations, prescribing him even more medicines to try and keep him stable, etc.

he'd been on better behaviour recently, probably because you'd doubled down on his seroquel dosage. even so, he'd earned the privilege of ditching the straitjacket (for now). this morning's session would be your first look at his untied arms in a while.

entering the room, your eyes immediately fall on jeffery. he's sitting in the corner of the room, cross-legged. as he turns his head to look at you, you're reminded yet again of that creepy carved smile of his.

"well look who it is." the boy grins, his eyes tired.