Finale
Play this audio after unlocking the last padlock in the Hidden Chamber.
The iron door creaks open with an unsettling groan. Just before unlocking the last padlock, you found a box of patient documents. Names you knew well, people you have met in the past. It’s been thirteen years already, but the memories alone bring you to tears.
Atop the stack, you see the folder of Denis Morgan. An avid reader—polite yet serious—you would often see him immersed in a science book at the asylum library. You start reading his file and can’t help but grind your teeth with fury. All this deception, all these experiments, the utter disregard for human dignity. You now know where everything transpired, and you have the gruesome details to share with the world.
You clutch the box tightly and make your way out of the chamber. Still underground, an extremely narrow tunnel leads you upwards. You have to crawl your way up, your palms and knees soon bleeding as you push against the gravel. Several minutes later, you find yourself at last standing up again. You look around and realise that you are in the asylum’s backyard. Before you have a chance to catch your breath, a soft voice startles you.
“Hello, Mr Reed. It looks like you’ve done it again!”
A young woman stands before you, her presence both unexpected and reassuring.
“I’m Sarah Morgan. You probably don’t remember me; I was only 17 when you saved my dad. I never thanked you then, I think, but I’m doubly grateful now. You were the only person I could trust to help me complete the work I started a few years ago. I hope it wasn't too much trouble.”
“I believe this box is meant for me? I have an exposé to write for the newspaper.”
Slowly, you hand over the wooden box.
“Do you mind if I keep this?”, you ask, while you take out an envelope with Dr Ziegler’s handwriting.
“Please do. I believe I have everything I need here. Thank you, detective. I can finally move on, thanks to you.”
“Prepare yourself for some unsettling reading, Sarah. I’m not sure you want to know what’s in there.”
“Oh, I do. I owe it to my dad.”
With those words, Sarah Morgan departed, leaving you standing in the fading light of the empty backyard. Before heading to Scotland Yard, you pause to read the letter. It is addressed to Margaret Coleman. Judging by the envelope, it’s clear that Dr Ziegler never sent it.
Dear Margaret,
There are words I wish I had the courage to speak to you in person, but I’ve come to accept that I am, at heart, a coward.
James was not just a colleague; he was the brother I never had, a cherished friend and ally in our quest to heal the human minds. His sudden departure from this world tore me apart. The day of his death your husband expressed concerns about my well-being, and I’m afraid I have to admit that they were justified.
Our last conversation—filled with tension, yet fueled by his unyielding belief that he could help me—echoes in my mind. We fought, and it was terrible. To be brutally honest, I was the only one fighting—yelling, screaming, shutting down completely to everything he was saying.
I wish I could tell you that his car crashed solely because of the rain and the slippery road, and not because he was driving under stress after our falling out. As you well know, James was never one to be distracted at the wheel.
I hope one day you might forgive me—for I never will.
Yours, with deepest regret,
Dr. Adam Ziegler