Chapter Two
Ella sat with her legs over the arm rest of the chair, twirling her hair with one finger.
The voices in her head yacked away, but she ignored them as she thought of the man, or was he a phantom, from the previous night.
“Ella, are you listening?”
Coming back to the present, she gazed upon her new doctor. She’d transferred here two days ago when her old institution had finally shut down for health reasons-AKA mold in the walls.
“I’ve been reviewing your file,” said Dr. Peters, a man in his early thirties with already receding brown hair and small round glasses. “It says you’ve been hearing voices all your life.”
“As far back as I can remember,” she confirmed, restraining a sigh. Each new doctor was the same. First, they asked her questions they knew the answer to. Then they started a new regime of drugs—most of which would have made Jim Morrison, just one of her many voices, smile vacuously—none of which had any effect on her. Her attic friends wouldn’t allow it anymore, that or she’d grown resistant. Only one thing, or should she say person, had managed to quiet the constant noise in her head and she had no idea if she’d ever see him again.
“I’d like to try a new direction with your treatment. How would you feel about stopping all the meds?”
That caught her attention and she almost fell off the chair. “Really? Why would you do that?”
Brown eyes reflecting a concern she’d rarely seen, stared into hers. “Let’s talk honestly here. The medications you’ve been given have not affected your hearing of the voices, am I right?”
Ella nodded.
“There’s no point in you taking them then is there? I propose instead of trying to overpower the voices with drugs that instead we teach you to live with them. From what I’ve read, you’ve made good progress with that already.”
“He wants something. Don’t trust him.” The voices seemed to agree on this unanimously. So of course, she ignored them.
“Sounds good, Dr. Peters. When do we start?”
“Right now.”
The rest of the session passed quickly as they discussed what the voices wanted of her and how she should respond. Easy answers—ignore, ignore, ignore. She didn’t bring up, and neither did the doctor, the occasional incidents where the voices had physically manifested. Perhaps like some of the others, he didn’t believe in the impossible. Those small acts of violence she had no control over were the reason time and time again, she’d found her pleas to be released ignored. What a shame that while her voices seemed capable of brewing mischief, they couldn’t apply themselves to helping her escape.
But perhaps she could leave the hospital legally. Dr. Peters seemed optimistic, more so than her other physicians. Although some of the questions her doctor asked had seemed odd. Like how many voices did she hear? Were they always right in their predictions? Ella answered honestly. Lying, she’d discovered, ended up becoming too complicated after a while. Heck, she had a hard enough time keeping track of the truth with the constant whispering in her mind. She’d never understood why she’d even been labeled crazy in the first place. So what if she heard things no one else could, did it count for nothing that she was always right? Every prediction of the voices spot on, a pity most couldn’t handle the truth. However, the problem remained that once in the system, it became almost impossible to leave.
When her therapy session ended without her imaginary friends throwing anything—
yet—she thought upon her favorite fantasy. Leaving the hospital and going out into the real world. It amazed her that Dr. Peters seemed willing to even entertain the notion that she might learn to function well enough with the voices that she could eventually leave the hospital. The idea of leaving the confining walls of the institution both frightened and exhilarated her. What would it be like to walk real streets? To shop and interact with people who had no psychological classifications? To fall in love.
She couldn’t help picturing her dark visitor of the previous night. Is he the one? The one I dreamt of long ago when I first entered the sterile walls of my first asylum? The one destined to help me escape? Lost in her reverie, she didn’t dodge the pinch to her ass cheek in time. Pretending nothing happened, for no one ever believed the crazy girl over a staff member, she couldn’t admit to surprise. This type of thing was appalling common, but it did annoy her. She knew what it meant. Not that it frightened her. Her voices excelled at protecting her from this kind of thing.
The guard, not the same one of the previous nights, placed himself in front of her. He smirked and licked his lips. Ella didn’t show him the shudder she felt inside. Nor did she fear his implied threat. He’d learn soon enough that the voices didn’t tolerate his type.
“Pig,” they echoed in agreement.
But unfortunately, any action her attic friends took would probably affect Dr. Peters plan to rehabilitate her. And that really pissed her off, sending the voices in her head into a spinning frenzy that manifested in her hair, floating around her head for one ghostly moment.
The fantasy was nice while it lasted though, she thought with a sigh.
* * * *
Zane cursed himself all kinds of stupid when he found himself back at the mental institution the next night. He couldn’t even blame it on hunger as he’d fed, quite satisfyingly too, on a pair of muggers.
So why did he find himself perched on the windowsill of the dormitory she resided in? The dirty glass made it hard to peer in, as did the bars which, while effective for keeping patients in, were no deterrent for someone with his special abilities. He hesitated though, not liking the loss of control he exhibited. He cared nothing for mortal matters.
He cared naught for human women. Thus, he should not be here.
About to leap back to the ground, he stopped as he heard the door to the ward click and the soft thud of footsteps. No flashlight preceded the intruder and Zane peered inside, his enhanced eyes taking in the white uniform of the night orderly as he swaggered in the direction of the bed holding the occupant that refused to leave his thoughts. Unease spread through him. She’s in danger. Not one to question his instincts, he applied himself to listening ready to aid her if need be while pushing aside the question as to why he felt the need to be her champion.
“I’d leave if I were you,” she said sounding not the least bit frightened.
Crazy human. Zane shook his head at her brave words, even as he applauded them.
“I’m the one who gives the orders around here, not you,” said the night nurse pompously.
“Please, you should go before you get hurt.” She sounded almost apologetic and Zane wondered at her words. Does she know I’m here? Is she expecting me to save her?
“Be nice to me and maybe I’ll be nice to you.”
She sighed. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The sound of a zipper was unmistakable, and that combined with the conversation made him see red. A cold rage descended over him. She’s mine. Turning his body to mist, he drifted through the bars and screen of the opened window and rematerialized in the room. In mere seconds, he’d grabbed the would-be rapist around the throat and lifted him off the ground.
“Filthy excuse for a human,” he growled, squeezing the meaty neck of the orderly.
He cared not if he killed him. Human scum such as this did not deserve to live and walk the earth, not when he was forever confined to stalking the night. Some might call his reaction ironic, for he fed after all from the same patients this orderly preyed upon.
However, Zane drew the line at terrorizing and torturing. On the contrary, when he fed, his vampiric enzymes offered a measure of relief to the insane, a quietness of the madness that ailed them. But that wasn’t the only reason he hated rapists. It was because of low lives like the orderly in question that his own sister had killed herself so long ago, unable to live with the shame of having her virtue sullied.
Annoyed with the painful memories that surfaced, Zane squeezed tighter.
* * * *
Ella held her breath in astonishment as her night visitor of the previous day appeared out of the dark like an avenging angel. With a strength she could barely comprehend—
but that excited her—he took care of the orderly before the voices could.
“You came back?” she whispered, the delight evident in her tone while warmth spread through her limbs.
“Good thing I did,” he said sounding angry. For her? What a novel concept. “What would you like me to do with this scum?”
Ella blinked. Do? What could they do? The orderly was sure to tattletale. Even had her voices acted, Ella would still be in a bind.
“What can we do? He’s going to tell them you came and I’ll be put in solitary.”
“And what would you have preferred? That I let him rape you.”
“Oh, the voices would have stopped him. They might have driven me crazy, but they don’t let anyone hurt me.”
Her shadow savior snorted. “You really are nuts aren’t you?”
Usually hearing it said so baldly didn’t bother her, but for some reason hearing it from him made her sad. “Yes. Yes, I am.”
She heard him curse then with a thump, the body he’d held suspended all this time crumpled to the floor.
“Did you kill him?” She’d be in a lot of trouble if that were the case. No one would believe her if she told them a stranger had entered the ward and done it. Course, the fact that she lacked the strength to choke a full grown man of his size wouldn’t cross their minds. People were funny that way.
“He’s not dead, just unconscious.” He sounded disgruntled as if he’d preferred the former.
“Oh.” Unconscious meant that eventually the night orderly would wake up in a foul mood, and if he ran true to previous men of his like, he’d take it out on someone.
“Come with me,” said her shadow suddenly as if coming to the same realization.
Ella sucked in a breath. Did I just imagine what he said? She wanted to read his expression, see if she could understand his meaning, but the gloom kept him faceless.
“What? You want me to go with you?” A flicker of excitement that she tried to ignore for fear of disappointment, flared to life. “Where will we go?”
“How about out of here? You want to leave don’t you?”
Ella stared at his wide cloaked shape in shock. Leave? Had the time for the prophecy arrived? She wanted to believe he could get her out, but the sad truth remained, once a person entered the institution, short of a miracle, they never left. Not to mention there were an awful lot of locked doors on the path to freedom.
“Well?” asked the stranger impatiently.
“But how? The doors are locked and there are orderlies keeping watch. And besides, where will I go once we escape?”
He sighed. “Trust me, I can get you out and as for the where, I guess you can stay with me until we find you a place of your own. Now, are you ready to meet the real world?”
Holding out his hand towards her, he waited for her answer. The voices had quieted at his appearance, so she only had herself to rely on—a first. Without even thinking about it, she slipped her hand into his. That simple touch sent a jolt of awareness through her body and her heart sped up.
Ready or not world, here I come.