Sofia was laid down on a metal table. I don't know exactly what use it had at the asylum, but I could imagine the amount of patients who were forced into unnecessary treatments here. Sofia didn’t last long. As soon as the Doctor put on surgical gloves and unwrapped her bandages and began to use her odd ensemble of equipment, she passed out. She still breathed slowly and whatever the doctor was doing was working.
I sat on a chair and watched from afar. It felt like being at the dentist’s office and watching as the other kids were victimized to the mad scientist. The doctor didn’t even seem to notice me as she worked. All I could do was watch as she sowed a pale ‘something’ over the wound and slowly closed the holes that exposed Sofia’s intestines.
It was oddly mesmerizing to watch her work. I had no idea what she was doing and in my entire adult life I had never seen this method of closing wounds. I didn’t realize that I was staring. She spoke up after a long moment.
“It’s rude to not introduce yourself.”
I blinked a few times to center myself. It took me a second to realize she was speaking to me. I had grown used to being ignored as she worked. Her voice was calm and stern and seemed to carry a maturity to it that a young adult like myself would look towards for advice.
“I-i’m sorry.”
My voice was comparably weak to hers. This was really my first time to sit down and breathe in a few hours. The setting prevented me from getting any meaningful rest but I still could finally relax. My voice wasn’t ready to participate and came out weak and sheltered. I coughed a little bit afterwards and she waited until I finished before speaking again.
“So, who are you? Alice didn’t tell me much.”
She never stopped her work as she spoke. Her hands moved so smoothly that it was like watching a fluent speaker switch between two languages with ease. I finally managed to answer her original question, a comparably pathetic result to her own dexterity.
“My name is Alan. Alan Anthony.”
“Hmm… Alan Anthony.”
She spoke the words like a crow inspecting a jewel. The phonemes rolled down her tongue in a hypnotic way that left you uncomfortable only because she made every syllable seem intimate. I shifted in my seat, trying to regain a sense of comfort that she seemed to speak away.
“Tell me Alan, are you some young genius detective?”
I shook my head knowing full well that she could not see my movement.
“Not really, I just make True Crime content online.”
This time she shook her head. She didn’t look at me and remained focused on Sofia’s wounds as she did it. She knew I could see though.
“You’re far more talented than some internet talking head. Why are you not using your skills for something useful to society?”
I found myself looking down at the ground. It felt like I was being chastised by a school counselor. I remember being told that it’s not good to be so obsessed with such dark subjects. I should do something good with my mind.
“I tried, but I wasn’t made for college.”
Suddenly I didn’t feel like talking anymore. I didn’t appreciate this psychoanalysis from the Doctor. I decided to change the subject.
“Well, it's your turn. Introduce yourself.”
She paused for a moment. She turned her head just enough to look at me from the corner of her eye. I think this was the first time she had looked at me yet. Her eyes were red. Not bloodshot, but a cold blood red pupil sat in the middle of a snow white sphere. Her stare felt prolonged, but it didn’t last more than a few seconds before she turned back around and continued with her work.
“My name is Doctor Maria Marusic. You may call me Doctor Marusic.”
I recognized her name. It was my sophomore year of college that I read the news articles. The young Doctor Marusic had been arrested for killing a patient. She worked at a Children’s Hospital in Winston-Salem and was part of the hospital’s cancer wing. She was found using insulin to poison a patient who had a meltdown at her earlier that day. She supposedly committed suicide while detained. Afterwards, she was tied to thirty-one other sudden deaths in the hospital using similar methods. It was a massive controversy at the time and questions were raised in the state about how people like her could be given medical licenses. Before I could ask for confirmation, she answered my question.
“Yes, I am that Doctor Marusic. No, I did not have sex with the kids. Yes, it was because I simply liked seeing them in pain.”
I nodded as she spoke. There was a large amount of conjecture in True Crime forums about her possible motive. She never gained financially from their deaths like other Angels of Death. The two theories were that she was either a Pedophile or she was using the kid’s deaths as stress relief for her own personal tragedies. Six kids died the same week her mother died for example. It could be coincidence but many showed possible insulin poisoning after being exhumed and autopsied.
“I thought so. Your history didn’t seem to match the requirements in creating a pedophile, from what could be publicly accessed anyway. You did show signs of possible sociopathy though.”
Telling a child-killer that she showed clear signs of sociopathy is not something one should ever do. I admit I was caught up in remembering her case and spoke without thinking. Luckily for me, she didn’t show any signs of disagreement or dissatisfaction with my statement. She simply continued working.