It is midnight in Bluefield. Everything is quiet, peaceful. Occasionally one will hear their roommate move, if they have one, or a therapy pet meowing or barking, but nothing extraordinary. Nothing is abnormal. Nothing is wrong...

That is, until a high-pitched scream shreds the silence.

Connie was sitting in the corner, his meds had wore off. When he heard the screach he jumped, looking around like a scared deer. He bagan muttering something that couldn't be under stood. When he saw a tall man come from the corner he screamed. It was Connie's father coming for him again, he began yelling and covering his face as the bearded man held up a broken beer bottle.

The scream had been faint because of the soundproof walls around him, so excluding any sounds he may be imagining it gets quiet.

He curled up, silently crying. He bit his lip, puncturing it.

(I'm going to wait for the others to reply)

Lyla heard the scream but brushed it off as a hallucination or delusion that she usually had at night. That was part of the reason that she hardly ever got any sleep, but who needed sleep when they were in a place like this? Sleep was overrated.

It doesn't sound again, which furthers her assumption.

Lyla sighed, tossing in her bed. She had dark circles under her eyes from not sleeping for days. She basically kept herself up until she couldn't anymore

Sylvester, one of the therapy cats, pads over to her, hops onto her lap, and nuzzles her. There were a lot of patients with conditions like Lyla's, so the grey tabby would go between them. She seemed to be his favorite human.

Lyla smiled. Sylvester seemed to be her only friend. She stroked him, glad for the company in the dark cell of hers