Marcus returned to the basement laboratory with renewed determination, despite the growing discomfort in his arm and the persistent feeling of unease that seemed to permeate the building. The files in Dr. Voss's private laboratory represented the heart of his investigation—the documentary evidence that could expose decades of systematic abuse and government-sanctioned human experimentation.
He had already found his aunt's records, but they were just one piece of a much larger puzzle. The filing cabinets contained hundreds of patient files, each one representing a life destroyed in the name of scientific research. Marcus began working through them systematically, photographing each document and trying to piece together the scope of Dr. Voss's operations.
The first file he examined in detail belonged to Sarah Mills, a 28-year-old teacher who had been admitted to Blackwood in 1979 for what her intake form described as "post-traumatic stress disorder following automobile accident." According to the initial assessment, Sarah had been struggling with nightmares, anxiety, and flashbacks after witnessing a fatal car crash. She had been referred to Blackwood by her family physician, who believed the specialized facility might help her process her trauma.
But Dr. Voss's notes painted a different picture entirely. Within weeks of Sarah's admission, she had been transferred to the research wing as a candidate for what Dr. Voss called "trauma inheritance studies." The theory, as outlined in the clinical notes, was that traumatic experiences could be passed down through families at a genetic level, creating inherited patterns of psychological dysfunction.
"Subject exhibits classic symptoms of inherited trauma syndrome," Dr. Voss had written in one of her reports. "Family history reveals pattern of anxiety disorders and depression across three generations. Subject's grandmother survived industrial accident in 1923, grandfather was World War I veteran with documented shell shock. Subject's own trauma response suggests genetic predisposition to psychological fragmentation."
Marcus read through Sarah's file with growing horror. Dr. Voss's treatment protocol had involved a series of experimental procedures designed to "isolate and neutralize inherited trauma markers." Sarah had been subjected to repeated injections of compounds that were supposed to alter her brain chemistry, surgical procedures that involved implanting electrodes directly into her brain tissue, and sensory deprivation experiments that lasted for weeks at a time.
The progression documented in Sarah's file was heartbreaking. Early entries showed a woman who was articulate, cooperative, and desperate to get better. She had written letters to her family, expressing hope about her treatment and gratitude for the care she was receiving. But as the experiments continued, her handwriting became increasingly erratic, her letters more confused and disjointed.
By the sixth month of her treatment, Sarah's file contained notes indicating that she had begun experiencing "auditory hallucinations" and "dissociative episodes." Dr. Voss's response was not to modify the treatment, but to intensify it. Sarah was moved to a more secure wing of the facility and subjected to what the records described as "enhanced genetic memory extraction protocols."
The final entries in Sarah's file were dated nearly two years after her admission. The woman described in these reports bore no resemblance to the teacher who had entered Blackwood seeking help for trauma. Sarah Mills had become catatonic, unresponsive to verbal commands, and according to the medical notes, had developed "complete dissociation from baseline personality structure."
"Subject has achieved optimal state for genetic memory harvesting," Dr. Voss had written in her final report. "Inherited trauma patterns have been successfully isolated and extracted for further study. Subject no longer exhibits autonomous psychological function and has been transferred to long-term care facility for disposal."
Marcus had to stop reading. The casual reference to "disposal" made it clear that Sarah Mills had been deliberately destroyed as a human being, reduced to nothing more than a source of research material. But what disturbed him most was the clinical detachment in Dr. Voss's notes, the complete absence of any recognition that her subject had been a living person with hopes, dreams, and people who loved her.
The next file belonged to Tommy Rodriguez, a 16-year-old boy who had been admitted to Blackwood in 1981. Tommy's case was particularly disturbing because he had been a minor when he was subjected to Dr. Voss's experiments. According to his intake form, Tommy had been referred to the facility by juvenile authorities after a series of behavioral problems at school and home.
"Subject exhibits classic symptoms of inherited criminal behavior," Dr. Voss's initial assessment read. "Family history reveals pattern of antisocial behavior across multiple generations. Subject's father currently incarcerated for armed robbery, grandfather was documented member of organized crime syndicate. Subject's behavioral issues suggest genetic predisposition to criminal activity."
Marcus realized that Dr. Voss's research had extended far beyond trauma studies. She had been attempting to identify and manipulate genetic markers for all kinds of behavioral traits, from criminal tendencies to mental illness to what she called "social deviance." Tommy Rodriguez had been selected as a test subject not because he was mentally ill, but because his family history suggested he might carry genes for criminal behavior.
The experiments conducted on Tommy were even more brutal than those inflicted on Sarah Mills. Dr. Voss had subjected the teenager to surgical procedures designed to "interrupt genetic pathways associated with antisocial behavior." The records described operations that involved removing portions of Tommy's brain tissue, implanting electrical devices designed to control his behavior, and injecting him with experimental compounds that were supposed to "reprogram his genetic memory."
Tommy had fought the procedures initially, according to the nursing notes. He had attempted to escape multiple times, had refused to cooperate with treatment, and had begged staff members to contact his family. But as the experiments continued, his resistance had broken down. The later entries in his file described a boy who had become docile, compliant, and according to one nurse's report, "no longer seemed to recognize his own reflection."
Dr. Voss's final assessment of Tommy was chilling in its casual cruelty: "Subject has demonstrated that genetic markers for criminal behavior can be successfully neutralized through targeted intervention. However, process appears to result in complete personality dissolution. Subject no longer exhibits autonomous decision-making capability and has been transferred to permanent care facility. Research data obtained from this subject will be invaluable for future applications."
Marcus forced himself to continue reading, but each file was more disturbing than the last. Dr. Voss had been conducting systematic experiments on vulnerable people, using them as test subjects for research that seemed designed to identify and control human behavior at the genetic level. The scope of her operation was staggering—hundreds of patients had been subjected to procedures that had destroyed their minds and personalities in the name of scientific advancement.
The third file that caught Marcus's attention belonged to Eleanor Blackwood, a 45-year-old woman who had been admitted to the asylum in 1985. The surname was familiar—Blackwood was the name of the asylum itself, and Marcus wondered if there might be a connection to the facility's founding family.
Eleanor's file confirmed his suspicions. According to her intake form, she was the great-granddaughter of Josiah Blackwood, the industrialist who had funded the asylum's construction in the 1920s. Eleanor had been admitted to the facility following what her family described as a "nervous breakdown" brought on by her discovery of historical documents related to the asylum's early years.
"Subject claims to have discovered evidence of systematic abuse at facility during 1920s and 1930s," Dr. Voss's initial assessment read. "Family reports that subject became increasingly agitated and paranoid following examination of family archives. Subject insists that asylum was originally designed as experimental facility rather than treatment center."
Marcus felt a chill as he read Eleanor's file. It appeared that the abuse at Blackwood Asylum had been going on for decades longer than anyone had realized. Eleanor Blackwood had discovered evidence of her family's involvement in earlier experiments, and her attempts to expose the truth had resulted in her being committed to the very facility she was trying to investigate.
Dr. Voss's treatment of Eleanor had been particularly vindictive. The records indicated that Eleanor had been subjected to procedures designed not just to alter her brain chemistry, but to destroy her memory of what she had discovered. Dr. Voss had used Eleanor as a test subject for what she called "selective memory eradication protocols"—experiments designed to remove specific memories while leaving the rest of the patient's personality intact.
"Subject's family history makes her an ideal candidate for genetic memory research," Dr. Voss had written. "Her bloodline has been associated with this facility for multiple generations, creating unique opportunity to study inherited institutional memory. Subject's claims about historical abuse may actually represent genetic memories of earlier research programs."
The concept was horrifying. Dr. Voss believed that memories could be inherited genetically, passed down through families like physical traits. She was using Eleanor Blackwood as a test subject to explore whether people could carry genetic memories of traumatic events that had happened to their ancestors.
The procedures described in Eleanor's file were among the most brutal Marcus had encountered. Dr. Voss had subjected her to surgical procedures designed to remove specific portions of her brain tissue, electrical stimulation intended to disrupt her memory formation, and chemical treatments that were supposed to isolate and extract her "inherited memories."
Eleanor had suffered through these procedures for nearly two years before her death in 1987. According to the final entries in her file, she had been reduced to a vegetative state, unable to speak or recognize her own family members. But even in this condition, Dr. Voss had continued her experiments, using Eleanor as a source of brain tissue for her research into genetic memory.
"Subject expired during final extraction procedure," Dr. Voss's last report stated. "However, significant quantities of genetic memory material were successfully harvested for analysis. Subject's brain tissue will provide valuable insights into the hereditary nature of institutional trauma."
Marcus had to stop reading. The casual reference to Eleanor's death, the complete dehumanization of someone who had been trying to expose the truth about the asylum, was almost too much to bear. But he forced himself to continue, knowing that these files represented the only evidence that might ever be found of the crimes committed at Blackwood.
As he worked through more files, Marcus began to notice patterns in Dr. Voss's research. She had been systematically selecting patients based on their family histories, looking for people who might carry genetic markers for specific traits or experiences. Patients with family histories of mental illness, criminal behavior, trauma, or even institutional involvement had been targeted for her experiments.
The research appeared to be part of a larger government program aimed at understanding and controlling human behavior through genetic manipulation. References throughout the files mentioned collaboration with federal agencies, military researchers, and pharmaceutical companies. Dr. Voss had been conducting her experiments with full government backing, using Blackwood's patients as unwilling test subjects for biological weapons research.
The scope of the operation was staggering. Marcus found evidence of experiments involving mind control, genetic modification, biological warfare, and what appeared to be early attempts at creating genetically targeted pathogens. Dr. Voss's research had gone far beyond treating mental illness—she had been attempting to develop ways to control human behavior and target specific populations for biological warfare.
As Marcus continued reading, he began to feel increasingly unwell. The inflammation on his arm was spreading, and he was developing what felt like a fever. The air in the basement seemed thick and oppressive, and he found himself struggling to maintain focus on the documents. But he attributed these symptoms to the stress of his discoveries and the poor air quality in the aging building.
It was while he was reading through a file documenting experiments on children that Marcus heard the first scream.
The sound was faint but unmistakable—a human cry of pain and terror that seemed to come from somewhere deep within the building. Marcus looked up from the files, his heart racing, and listened carefully. The sound came again, more distant this time, but clearly audible in the oppressive silence of the basement.
For a moment, Marcus considered the possibility that someone else was in the building. But that seemed unlikely—the asylum had been abandoned for decades, and he hadn't seen any signs of recent habitation. More likely, the sound was coming from the building's mechanical systems, old pipes or heating ducts creating noises that his stressed mind was interpreting as human voices.
But as Marcus returned to his reading, he heard the sound again. This time it was closer, more distinct, and it was unmistakably the sound of someone in distress. The cry was followed by what sounded like muffled sobbing, as if someone were trying to suppress their pain.
Marcus stood up from the desk where he had been working and moved toward the sound. It seemed to be coming from somewhere deeper in the basement, from areas he hadn't yet explored. He followed the corridor away from Dr. Voss's laboratory, using his flashlight to illuminate the way.
The basement extended much further than he had realized, with corridors branching off in multiple directions. Some led to storage areas filled with old medical equipment, others to what appeared to be additional laboratory spaces. But it was the sounds that drew his attention—faint but persistent cries that seemed to be coming from behind the walls themselves.
Marcus followed the sounds deeper into the basement, his flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. The cries grew louder as he progressed, more distinct and more obviously human. But when he reached what appeared to be the source of the sounds, he found only empty rooms and abandoned equipment.
The rational part of his mind suggested that he was experiencing auditory hallucinations brought on by stress and the disturbing nature of his discoveries. But the sounds were so clear, so obviously human, that Marcus found himself calling out in response.
"Hello? Is someone there?"
The cries stopped immediately, as if whoever was making them had heard his voice and was now listening. Marcus waited in the darkness, his heart pounding, but the sounds didn't resume. Instead, he was surrounded by a silence that seemed somehow more oppressive than the cries had been.
Marcus made his way back to Dr. Voss's laboratory, but he found it difficult to concentrate on the files. The sounds he had heard were disturbing enough on their own, but they had seemed to come from areas of the building where no one should have been able to survive for decades. The logical explanation was that his mind was playing tricks on him, creating auditory hallucinations based on the horrific content of the files he was reading.
But as he returned to his work, Marcus couldn't shake the feeling that he was not alone in the building. The sounds he had heard were too clear, too human, to be dismissed as mere imagination. And there was something about the timing of the cries—they had seemed to correspond with his reading of the most disturbing files, as if the building itself were responding to his discoveries.
Marcus tried to focus on documenting the files, but the sounds he had heard lingered in his mind. The inflammation on his arm was spreading, accompanied by a low-grade fever that made the basement air feel thick and oppressive. Each breath seemed to require more effort than the last.
Despite his growing discomfort, Marcus forced himself to continue. Each file revealed new horrors—children subjected to brain surgery, elderly patients used as test subjects for biological weapons, entire families destroyed in the name of genetic research. The scope of Dr. Voss's operation was staggering, but Marcus knew he had only scratched the surface.
The cries came again as he opened another file, this one marked with a red stamp: "BIOLOGICAL WEAPONS DIVISION - CLASSIFIED."
This time, Marcus didn't investigate. He had work to finish.