[center][b]Ravenwood Mental Institution[/b] 
[b]- [u]Delaware, New York[/u] -[/b] 
[i]3 years ago....[/i][/center]


"[b]Ah Mr. Blackgate, how are you doing today?[/b]" asked the man in the rather large leather seat before him and behind the rather impressive office desk. The room was filled with various books, all dealing with the human mind. A cup of tea was steaming gently among the files. 

"[b]I'm not too bad doc, just been doing my time like anyone else here[/b]" he said with a chuckle. The man was ill kept, wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of slate gray sweat pants. The man looked tired, looked like he hadn't had a decent night sleep in weeks. Yet despite how tired he appeared, there was a deviant glimmer in his eyes, like the man was up to no good. 

"[b]That's good, I called you in to go over your file with you if you'll give me the pleasure[/b]" asked the doctor. 

"[b]So long as you don't mind that I smoke[/b]" he said. 

The doctor smirked and nodded. "[b]Go ahead Mr. Blackgate[/b]" said the elderly man. 

Thomas slipped a pack of 'Coffin Nail' brand cigarettes out of his pocket and slipped a cigarette out, lighting it as the doc opened his file and began to read. 

"[b]Now, according to the file you were a Private Investigator before you checked yourself in here?[/b]" asked the doctor. 

Thomas took a drag of his cigarette and nodded. "[b]I still am last time I checked. Just taking an extended vacation at the loony bin[/b]" he said with a chuckle. 

The doctor took another look at the file and then looked up with a raised eyebrow. "[b]According to your business card your also a Demonologist and Master Warlock?[/b]" inquired the doctor. 

Thomas raised a finger and gave an embarrassed look. "[b]I really need to get that changed to 'Minor Warlock'. I'd hate to make someone nervous[/b]" he said in a bit of an absent minded tone. 

"[b]And why exactly do you believe in such fields?[/b]" asked the doctor. 

Thomas smirked. "[b]Because they're real[/b]" he said. 

"[b]What makes you say that?[/b]" inquired the doctor as he readjusted his glasses and took a sip of his tea. 

"[b]Because I've seen them with my own eyes[/b]" said Blackgate. 

"[b]Delusions Mr. Blackgate, images conjured by the mind. As a detective, you saw gruesome things. You simply saw illusions projected by an overworked mind[/b]" stated the doctor 

Thomas grew angry as he put his fist on the table and stood up from his chair, shouting in anger. "[b]That's what you people keep telling me . . . . now make ME believe it![/b]" he shouted.

[center][b]Blackgate's Office[/b] 
[b]- [u]New York, New York[/u] -[/b] 
[i]Present Day....[/i][/center]


Thomas Blackgate sat silently in his chair and stared quietly at the files on his desk. Some where case files he'd yet to officially close. Others were old files he simply took out to review. In all honesty, Blackgate wasn't even focused on the files. He was more focused on the fact he couldn't sleep and that he didn't have any new clients or cases for him to keep his mind preoccupied. It's not everyday one finds themselves missing the loony bin. When he'd been in there he'd had plenty of activities to do. Sleep, Read, Finger paint, listen to the delusional crying and screaming of the insane, mocking the staff for being blind to the things that existed in his world. God he missed it. Besides, the food wasn't half way bad. At least he'd gotten variety and wasn't ordering Chinese every single night.

Thomas' "office" was really just his apartment that played the role of his office when clients showed up. It wasn't exactly in the best place in town. In fact when he'd found it, the landlord described it as a "shithole roach motel". It was, but it was Thomas' shithole roach motel. The room itself was cluttered with files, trash, Chinese food boxes and unwashed dishes. Either the man was a slob or he was often so busy and so focused on work that he didn't have time to take care of little things like that. Thomas liked to believe it was the latter but who was he to decide?

Thomas sighed as he leaned back and stared up at the sound of his noisy ceiling fan, watching the blades spin as time itself simply seemed to slow. Was it too much to ask for a case? He was so bored. Hell he was almost tempted to go to Styx and see if there was any odd jobs that he could do but he wasn't that desperate yet. He wasn't one for praying but if he was? He'd be praying for someone to drop dead right now just so he was so ungodly bored.