Episode Five: Doctor’s Rounds

The Hollow Names

Episode Five: Doctor’s Rounds
By Candle Light Chaos

Previously on The Hollow Names (Episode 4)

Drawn by a cryptic clue, “Where the doll sleeps, the name returns”, Lena, Amber, and Nico ventured deep beneath Elmhurst’s rotting bones. There they found a doll inscribed with Joel’s stolen identity. The doll spoke in Joel’s broken voice, confessing terror of Enoch and Halbrook’s endless experiments. In a final, desperate bid to restore what was lost, the doll merged back into Joel, freeing him, if only for a breath. But Dr. Halbrook emerged from the shadows, dragging Joel screaming into the dark. The friends escaped, but behind them Elmhurst still breathed. Watching. Waiting.

1. THE INTERCOM RETURNS

They camped in the truck now. Too afraid to risk another motel. Too haunted to sleep in their own homes.

Amber dozed fitfully in the backseat, sweat streaking down her temples even in the cool night. She hadn’t truly slept since they destroyed the doll.

Nico leaned against the passenger door, eyes hollow, mouth working silently as if reciting prayers he didn’t know he remembered.

Lena sat rigid behind the wheel. Watching the asylum silhouette through the windshield. It loomed against a moonless sky, a shape more absence than presence.

Then it came. A crackle, thin and reedy, rising from nowhere, and everywhere.

The Elmhurst intercom.

“Round Five: Begin purgation.”

Static ripped through the speaker. Somewhere inside, heavy footsteps began to echo.

Amber bolted upright. “Did you hear,?”

Lena didn’t take her eyes off the building. Her voice was low. Terrified.

“You feel that?”

Nico closed his eyes. His breath rattled.

“He’s walking again.”

2. BENEATH THE WEST WING

They returned. Because there was no world where they could leave Joel there. No world where Elmhurst would let them go.

The gates were gone completely now. Only twisted hinges and a dark smear of something oily remained. As if the building had shed its final barrier.

Inside, it was silent. No groaning pipes, no echoing cries. Just an expectant hush. Like a church holding its breath before the sermon.

At the center lobby, the old elevator stood open. Its panel was gutted, wires torn out, buttons hanging like limp tongues. Yet a crisp tag fluttered on the wall inside:

“Admit: 5 of 5. Names pending reconciliation.”

Nico backed away. “We didn’t push that.”

The elevator doors slid shut. Then lurched downward, lights inside flickering, groaning with a soundlike ribs cracking underweight.

Lena grabbed their hands. Together, they stepped in.

3. WARD OMEGA

When the doors opened, it was like stepping into a dream, too clean, too bright. The hall was encased in taut plastic sheeting; seams neatly sealed with red tape. It smelled of ethanol and formaldehyde.

A metal cart stood nearby. New. Unrusted. Its wheels glistened with fresh oil.

Amber lifted a clipboard from it, hands trembling.

“Subject: Joel M. / Clone ID: E-5. Conflict between dominant names unresolved. Proceed with final round.”

Beneath the form was a small, cracked mirror. They all leaned in, unable to stop themselves.

It was covered in fingerprints. Not old. Fresh. Overlapping prints of different sizes, Lena’s bitten nails, Amber’s wide thumb pad, Nico’s crooked pinky scar. And Joel’s.

Nico swallowed hard. “We’ve been here before.”

Lena’s eyes darted around the sterile hall. “No… we’re still here.”

4. THE PATIENTS RETURN

They moved down the corridor, boots squeaking on disinfected tiles.

On either side, observation windows revealed padded cells. Each held a patient in a white gown, face hidden behind a photo-negative mask that blurred their features. Some sat cross-legged, rocking. Others clutched scraps of cloth or muttered endless prayers.

In one cell, a girl with tangled hair slammed bloodless fists against the glass. Her hospital tag read:

LE-A

The last two letters torn away.

She screamed something, voice muffled by the seal. Lena leaned close, trying to read her lips.

Click. Click. Click.

Then she saw the surgical shears in the girl’s lap. The girl pressed them to her own throat and smiled.

5. THE DOCTOR’S LECTURE

At the end of the hall was a pair of double doors, polished to a near-mirror sheen. As they approached, the doors swung inward without a touch.

A lecture hall sprawled before them. Long rows of wooden benches climbed toward high windows; chalkboards wrapped the room in looping diagrams.

A single spotlight illuminated the center stage.

And there stood Dr. Halbrook.

Hands clasped behind his back. Head tilted slightly, as though greeting dear friends.

“Punctual, as ever,” he drawled. “Don’t worry. The others signed in already.”

Amber’s camera, half-forgotten around her neck, powered on by itself. The viewfinder vibrated violently.

She lifted it, pointed it toward the benches.

Every figure in the crowd wore their faces.

Amber’s. Nico’s. Lena’s. Joel’s. Over and over.

6. THE DOCTRINE UNVEILED

Halbrook began pacing the stage, voice rolling through speakers hidden in the walls.

“Names are terminal diagnoses. Inherited wounds, tied to guilt, to sin. You see them as identity, but they are shackles. To liberate the soul, one must peel back the lie.”

He turned, pointing a gloved hand at the chalkboard.

A diagram sprawled across it, labeled in neat capitals:

"SCHEMATIC FOR RECONCILIATION: NAME + GUILT = MANIFESTED SELF."

Beneath it, portraits of Joel. Then Nico. Then Lena. Each image scrawled with a looping arrow marked REPEATABLE.

“Each of you has tried to be someone else. So, we helped. We hollowed out what didn’t belong. We let the guilt grow teeth.”

7. JOEL RETURNS

The overhead fluorescents buzzed. Dimmed.

A new figure stepped down the central aisle. Hands loose at his sides. Head tilted slightly, smile soft.

Joel.

Whole. Unstitched. Eyes clear.

But when he opened his mouth, Halbrook’s voice spilled out.

“Enoch is complete. Joel is redundant.”

Amber clutched the camera like a crucifix. “Fight him, Joel. You’re not just a name.”

Joel blinked. Something flickered in his expression. A tiny crack. He looked at them, brow furrowing.

“He showed me. I was never meant to be Joel. I was… an accident.”

Nico clenched his fists. “That’s not true. You were our friend.”

8. THE FINAL ROUND

Halbrook raised one hand. The lights exploded into harsh brilliance.

All around them, the audience stood. Their duplicates, flesh mannequins animated by memory. Lips parted, eyes blank.

They chanted in perfect unison:

“Reconcile. Reconcile. Reconcile.”

Lena shoved Amber behind her. Nico grabbed a broken IV pole, brandishing it like a spear.

“I’m not who I was,” Lena said, voice rough. “But I’m not yours either.”

She charged the stage.

Amber screamed. Nico followed, the IV pole swinging.

Joel stepped between them and Halbrook, eyes wide with panic.

“Lena, he made me choose. It was always you or me.”

Lena’s chest heaved. Tears streaked down her face.

“Then choose now.”

Joel’s hands clenched. His shoulders squared. He turned to Halbrook.

“I’m not a copy.”

And he screamed.

9. COLLAPSE

The overhead lights exploded in showers of glass. Sparks rained down.

The chanting stopped. The figures burst into flame, silent, eerie conflagrations that cast grotesque shadows on the walls. Their faces peeled away, leaving only smoke.

Halbrook opened his mouth to speak.

Nico drove the IV pole into his chest.

It slid in too easily, like punching through damp paper. Halbrook’s eyes widened in surprise.

“He’s hollow,” Nico whispered.

Halbrook folded in on himself, collapsed to ash. A wind kicked up from nowhere, scattering him across the floor.

The intercom crackled overhead.

“Rounds concluded. Reconciliation denied.”

10. THE EXIT

They found themselves back at the main lobby without remembering the walk. The doors hung open, dawn spilling across the cracked tiles.

Joel slumped between them, head resting on Lena’s shoulder. He didn’t speak, but in his hand, he clutched the page they had first found in drawer 17B.

Only now, it had changed.

“Forgive me, Lord. I gave him my name.”

And scrawled beneath in Joel’s familiar handwriting:

“And he gave it back.”

They stepped into the morning together. The sunlight felt thin, uncertain. But it was real.

Behind them, the asylum stood silent.

Then, faintly, the intercom clicked on one last time.

“Patient file reopened: Subject L.N.”

TO BE CONCLUDED…