“ Dₑ ₘₐᵤᵥₐᵢₛ ₐᵤgᵤᵣₑ ”

The light sounds of the doctor typing notes lulled Finn into a more relaxed state. It was nice to feel like he was being listened to, even if the vulnerable openness was difficult some times. He had spent his first few sessions reassuring himself that Dr. Bennett was there to help. Now that thought came to him easily and helped settle his nerves. In the pauses between the doctor’s words, Finn allowed himself the space to catch his breath and think through his thoughts in a less anxious way. That was easier said then done when Erron began questioning him about the content of his nightmares.

“Sometimes they are still the way they were before.” Finn said after a moment. “Memories… I think. Of being trapped beneath the beams and feeling it all over again. The pain, and the panic…” He swallowed hard. The blue jacket of a guard came into view beside him and he nearly jumped, as his eyes had glazed over into the recollection. “Ah, thanks.” He breathed, taking the glass of water and pitcher. He drank a hearty gulp before continuing. “Recently though, there’s been other images. The room that I stayed in at the other institute… and then it burning, and the faces of the doctors and orderlies…” Finn’s teeth grit together and he set down his glass on the table. “Some nights I just don’t sleep.”

The second question brought a soft furrow to Finn’s brow. It felt strange to recall such painful things and then immediately turn to discussions of Ellie. For a brief moment they blurred together and he saw her face. It was twisted in pain and desperation the way it had been when she’d rushed in on his fight with Casey. The memory made him briefly wince before he managed to separate his thoughts again. “Yes, she’s been wonderful to me.” Finn answered in a gentle tone. “The other patients… some of them grew cold to me during my time away, but not Ellie. She welcomed me back so quickly.” He looked up at Erron and smiled. “She is the only one I’ve really been able to open up to about a lot of this. My scars, and nightmares, and all that. I’m not sure what I’d do without her.”

In that moment it hardly mattered if it was noticeable how the hawklike focus steeled into something colder, a manic flash of something darker flitting across the palest blue hues. Manicured fingertips twitched against the vastness of possibilities Erron had at his disposal before the impulsive movement sank into the keyboard yet again. “Similar memories have a tendency to intertwine, you can hardly blame yourself for the neurological bridge between these two experiences.” The glance that flicked to Finn was softer than it had been during the moment of a veil lifted, yet held an apprehension Erron had weaved within the faux care.

A long exhale stressed Erron’s shift in posture, elbows now leaned to the table with calculated smoothness, fingers crossing languidly. The screen held more interest for a second longer, past treatment plans stark against the white document, but people expected eye contact from their trusted peers; A lesson Erron was not to forget soon. “Could you do me a... Favor, perhaps? I’d be pleased to see more journal entries by you and hope it isn’t overly considerable to request if you would record what little you remember as you wake up. It will help me localize my efforts, and I do believe you’re less and less keen on recalling these terrors out loud in our sessions.” A disarming smile was over in a flash, and the catlike blink radiated confidence in the man; Even if there was none.

Charlie had not been doing great the last couple months. He had been detaching himself from the world and the few friends he had made in Thornewood. Evaded any kind of contact with anyone. Shit, he even still had to make amends with Noah… Problems he kept on pushing forward. Not caring enough to fix his chaos. The days just happened, and Charlie could only care about making it through another one. Not how, not caring what he did. All he wanted to do was get through his days without wanting to kill himself. Even though that was a thought becoming harder and harder to ignore. Maybe it was a good time to call Sebastian again… Maybe the young doctor and his former best friend could help him out of this stark reality.

Maybe after his therapy session. If he still had a session… The office had been empty, the guards pointing towards the yard when Charlie asked about it.

“T-The guard told me I could find you here.” The young male mumbled in response. “But I can come back later if that’s easier for you.” Charlie said in the hope the other had forgotten about the therapy session planned between the two.

If there was a surprise, it dissolved within seconds. A swift blink and Erron’s eyes fell on the clock on his computer, the numbers blazingly obvious and telling him he’d missed the beginning of the last therapy session of the day. A brief sigh escaped the doctor, ending on a chuckle as he shook his head, brushing off his mistake with a smile plastered on his features again. “No, no, please take a seat, I must’ve lost the track of time.” The serene solitary Erron had enveloped him in quickly shattered as he gestured for the patient to take a seat. It only took a few clicks to pull up the patient file, icy blue eyes flicking over the notes he’d taken during the latest session. It was nothing substantial, sadly, and Erron focused on Charlie more than the laptop once they’d both settled.

There always seemed to be truth to what Erron had to say. Even to the measure of neglect that others faced in the institution. Finn knew that there had to be something amiss in Thornewood. The people around him never seemed to improve. But he was doing well he figured, and Ellie was too. If anyone in this institution was going to help him and tell him the truth, it would be Dr. Bennett. Finn needed his directness. It reminded him of his old fire chief. If the orders were clear, and you kept your head clear, there’d be no mistakes. Finn sat down promptly when the doctor directed him to.

“Thanks.” He nodded. Finn watched the guard rush off to grab a pitcher of water. A fraction of his attention remained on the periphery, waiting for that water to arrive at the table. “Yeah, I am.” Finn nodded. “I guess I lost track of time. Should’ve brought some water with me.” His head was beginning to clear of the rush of endorphins. The morning’s thoughts and fears were returning. Finn bit his lower lip as he tried to suppress them a little while longer. “My sleeping patterns?” The old temptation to lie took hold of him and he resisted. “No, if I’m being honest. Not yet. If you think it’ll help, I’ll keep trying, but lately my nightmares have been worse and I haven’t been sleeping much.”

Unsurprisingly, Erron’s commands didn’t go unheard on either front and it filled the doctor with an entitled pride, the smile tugging at his lips widening for a moment just to fade back to neutrality. Though seemingly unhearing to the answers to his questions, his head tilted in the way he always had it when listening, yet giving no sense of acknowledgement; Perhaps it was more of a habit to make the patients feel like they could speak without judgmental eyes on them, freedom to talk to something inanimate. Perhaps it was really boredom that made the man seem disinterested, but notes still appeared on the laptop with rapid succession, light tactactactac of the keyboard virtually silent against the bird song and distant conversations.

As silence fell, Erron offered a nod and leaned his elbows on the wooden table, intense eyes dragging from the document on his screen to the living creature before him. A beat or two passed before he spoke again, “I appreciate your sincerity, Mr. Martin, I encounter too few truthful statements within my career lately,” sincerity pushed to the forefront, the sweet words practiced and easy for a silver tongue. Scrutiny didn’t cease as his form leaned first closer to the patient, then back against the backrest of the chair.

“Now,” a beat of a pause, Erron coaxed the softest edge to his voice as he could, “You do still suffer these nightmares daily, no? If I may, could you tell me if there have been any developments to what you remember? It sounds horribly intrusive, but as you’ve gone through some considerable changes lately, I must know, to tweak your treatment plan.” Or not; Morbid curiosity had been what drove Erron to the career he excelled at, and this case was no different. “I also note that you have an amorous entanglement with a fellow patient of mine — Ms. Moore? Has that companionship assisted you with your reintegration here? Forgive me, I do not recall if I asked that you when you first returned.”

Running laps in the garden was now a twice daily habit for Finnegan. He tended to rely on his workout routine when his mind was rebelling against him. It was a desperate bid for control. Even if he couldn’t understand what was happening in his head, he always knew there was one thing he had control over. As he rounded the path further out into the estate’s expansive gardens, he saw the familiar form of his therapist sitting at one of the tables in the distance. Finn slowed his pace and jogged up to the older man, stopping a few feet away to lift the bottom of his tank top up to wipe the sweat off of his face. He didn’t know exactly how long he’d been running laps, but he knew he’d started sometime around two in the afternoon. The sun was still in the sky at least, but it was beginning to near the horizon. The clouds were turning the soft amber orange of early evening. Finn glanced down at the alcohol in Dr. Bennett’s glass and wished for a moment that he’d brought something with him to drink. He stood there panting for breath longer than he’d intended to, before finally managing to answer the doctor’s question.

“Oh…hey… no… I just figured…. I’d say hey.” He breathed in intervals. Finn blinked a few times, trying to keep his vision focused on Dr. Bennett. His eyes traveled from the doctor’s face to the scotch and then to the computer. What was he out here doing? He looked back at Erron’s face and noticed the exhaustion behind the man’s eyes. “You alright, doc?” He asked. “How come you’re out here?” He took a step closer, feeling a sudden heaviness in his limbs, and he casually rested his forearms on top of the back of one of the chairs. He pushed his damp hair back. “Getting some distance?”

It took an ungodly amount of effort for Erron to keep the polite smile on his face at the undignified sight before him. A twitch of his eye could be blamed on the less than stellar sleep, and the sensation made the doctor run his fingers over the area. With a blink, icy hues shifted from the patient to the computer screen, something infinitely more interesting. “That is considerate of you, Mr. Martin,” the smile widened a fraction, an appreciation mustered to sharp features as the focus once again set on Finn. Was his mask slipping after all these months? It was not to become a problem, it couldn’t. “I am quite alright, you needn’t worry.”

What was with the endless questions? Fingers tightened around the crystalline glass, the rings around his fingers clinking against the surface along the way. Moving from covering the drink to holding the glass, Erron swirled the drink for a rotation before gesturing, with his free, un-accessorized hand, for Finn to sit. “I was merely enjoying the day, I’d never distance myself from my duties, even if it seems the norm around here. Please, sit.” Even if the request was masked as just that; A request, it was anything but. A command in disguise, the invitation was soft nonetheless, and as Erron waited for his patient to get seated, he twisted around on his seat and grabbed the attention of his nearest guard.

As soon as the blue-clad brute got near enough to open their mouth, the doctor spoke up to silene the youngster, “Do bring Mr. Martin some hydration, yes?” Another command hidden within honeyed timber words, a narrowed gaze pointed, demanding, and it was enough to send the guard scurrying to fulfill his request. The chair creaked beneath the shift of weight, and Erron offered his patient a nod before folding his laptop into its keyboard mode. “I hope you don’t mind, but you look parched,” a sip of the amber liquor found its way to Erron’s lips before he freed his hands to lay over the keyboard of the computer, “And I must say I’m astounded to see you partaking in such strenuous activities; Physical exertion has been proven to have a positive effect on one’s sleep patterns. Has it benefited you any, if I may ask?

    You talk lots about God “Freedom comes from the call” But that's not what this bitch wants        No what I want at alI 

          I want money, power and glory I want money and all your power, all your glory 

Untouchable.

It was a hushed title in socialite circles, those which Erron had always known, ever since Canada, ever since he was born. Borders held no power over that principle, the weight of his name now letting him get away with those things most would be ostracized for. Within the strict walls of a mental hospital should’ve been different, his actions looked upon with a judgmental eye as the impeccably suited gentleman sat in the garden with a clear glass of scotch sat by his arm propped against the table, yet he had no intention to abide by the rules held in place for the staff of the place. Icy blue eyes, uncharacteristically fatigued, were glued to the Chromebook folded open before him, a stylus hovering just above the screen until footsteps caught in the wind and made him blinks out of the daze. 

Without turning to the approach, Erron spoke up; “Did I not tell you to leave me be, I already told your colleague —” A pause occurred, the collected man taken aback when no hideous guard uniform greeted him, but someone else entirely. It took only a fraction of a second for surprise to mask the irritation, an apologetic smile appearing on soft lips. The hovering stylus swiftly clicked the sell button on the screen before finding its place in its holder, free hands now settling down on the wooden surface, the other drifting to the crystalline glass of liquor if only as a safety measure for onlookers.

“My apologies, I presumed you to be another one of those overzealous security guards. May I perhaps be of assistance?”

Piercing blue eyes demanded silence, Lexus’ heart racing as she complied. There was nothing more sobering than the harsh gaze of staff member — a stranger, no less. Dread crept up her spine, Bambi-like hues absorbing designer clothes and expensive shoes. The raven-haired girl, draped in luxury brands herself, immediately understood the gravity of her misdeed, horrified as she peered up at him through her lashes.

Regret twisted her insides, poisoned by the better truth that an apology would be disingenuous. With red cheeks and a sheepish smile, Lexus wasn’t sorry — she was sorry she got caught. Everything about this darkly handsome stranger told her to run away, only to be pulled in further by his crooning voice, all velvety smooth in its unphased demeanor. 

“I — um —” Shaking her head, she drowned under the weight of his gaze. Avoiding eye contact, she was barely treading water as she croaked, “Was that French?”

Although eye contact broken, Erron’s gaze didn’t waver; Pale eyes stayed fixated where he’d previously held her gaze. In lesser men, her stammering might’ve brought forth a sense of sympathy, a desire to reassure that it was merely a mishap, and water had never caused permanent damage. Lesser men who didn’t see such actions as uncouth and juvenile at best. Yet, when disturbing the beehive  —

A Little Wicked || Lexus OPEN Starter

Immaturity lingered beneath the hazy summer heat, reckless innocence encouraged by memories of a wild youth and glow sticks in the dark. For Lexus Hale, such memories were few and far between, an injustice she was sure to remedy — often. 

A mischievous grin painted her model-like features wicked, mahogany hues burnt bright gold by the mid-afternoon sun and the promise of adventure. Spying a figure in the distance, the 22-year-old crouched behind one of the garden’s many thick shrubberies, awaiting the muffled sounds of grass softened footsteps to draw nearer. Sure enough, as the victim person rounded the corner, Lexus sprang from her haunches and launched her attack. 

“Boom!” She roared, water balloon popping with a satisfying splash. Joyful laughter, giddy with the exuberance of a well-excuted plan, rang into the air as she ran back to her hideaway. However, though hidden, the raven-haired girl was far from inconspicuous, gleefully giggling from behind the lush greenery of Thornewood’s award-winning gardens. 

It was never apparent how much Erron despised his current coworkers; Their portrayed community, polite small-talk, the laughter and casual conduction of their work around one another. Surrounded by the idiocy was cracking a facade Erron tried his best to uphold as to not frighten the poor youths around him, his psyche yearning more and more to spend time with those he shared his views with. Emailing Charles did its job to keep Erron focused on this Thornewood unit, but irritation gnawed its way forth more often now than it had in Canada.

These thoughts swirled on a passive face as expensive shoes endured against the beaten path, the gardens a solace from the aggravation the mansion was. The anger fading with every step was soon reignited when a shrill voice rang in his ears, icy eyes flashing towards the assailant for only a moment before the loud splash. Eerily still after the initial impact, intense hatred flashed behind Erron’s usually unfeeling eyes, a sharp inhale hidden beneath the sound of dripping water and giggles that ground his ears like nails on a chalkboard. 

A moment passed before black calfskin Bolvaint’s stepped from the easier path into the soft grass, following the sound like a twisted siren’s call. Silence reigned as Erron stepped into her sights, eyes burning into fiery hues, the smile forced and not reaching eyes that had once again set into a still, albeit too still, neutrality. 

How depraved of ideas does a hospital aim to be to demand journaling from their professionals? This concept is absurd, and they must realize it takes up time from my schedule reserved for work, lest we overlook that some of us have a life outside the estate.

Who ever would read these? Will they be here for my amusement once I retire? Are we expected to swap journals like sniveling children at faculty meetings? I can’t for the life of me imagine Charles misusing his time studying these entries, but perhaps Ann would. I never understood that woman, but I did only know her through emails and rumors. A shame she’s gone, truly. I cannot imagine what Charles is going through. Perhaps it’s my cue to initiate a conversation with him; It’s long overdue, and he must be more gratifying to interact with than the rest of these bumbling idiots.

Oh, maybe that’s what these meaningless tasks are for; Taking notes. There is little I could address here otherwise. Progress on my patients, my personal regards on my colleagues? I must ask about this from the others, perhaps Ms. Linh. Heaven forbid, Miller might break a beaker over my head if I contact her after her tantrum, and I must admit I don’t have the faintest idea how long grudges last in this already unprofessional atmosphere. 

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Silence followed her trek to the door, pale eyes focused on her like a hawk until the door slammed shut. The clatter from the memorabilia on the shelves echoed the sound of a nagging from somewhere Erron knew a conscience should’ve been — but it was efficiently ignored with a narrowed gaze, some emotion tugging the corner of his lips into a smile. Although her outburst had been a substantial source of humor for the doctor, it was short-lived with her departure and the silence fell in the office yet again. While birds chirped in their distress outside the window, Erron let out a sigh, the glare falling to the computer where his inbox was still blinking for attention.

Begrudgingly, he brought the cursor over to an unopened email from another doctor he no longer worked with. After the thrill of an argument died down, there was no desire to dive back into work and the mundanity of it all. His fingers worked the keyboard slowly, passive-aggressive words carefully honeyed - deleted, retyped, deleted, retyped. Although not one to admit it, her accusations of his incompetence, as misguided as they were, distracted Erron. Focus wandering, the half-composed email abandoned for a better idea, and a blank page opened, cursor blinking over recipient for only a moment. Steely eyes found deeper darkness as he scrolled down, A, B, C. A vicious smile bloomed at the name chosen, composure in place as the words flowed out on the blank page —

A shaky breath left red-tinted lips, struggling to keep a hold on her growing frustrations the more Erron’s morals were made blatantly clear through his statements. “You know what, if anyone needs to brush up on anything, I believe you need to go stick your nose in some medical books about HIPAA and in conjunction with that, how about you look at the Hippocratic oath that I know you would've had to take to even be in this job.” Her tone dropped, jade hues boring into the unscathed expression of the man before her. It wasn’t typical of Felicity to lash out at her colleagues but something about this man rubbed her the wrong way.

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A fortunate coincidence was that Erron could hold back the bark of laughter that threatened to break free. It came as a swift alteration in the smile, deeper and more creased with shadows before it took its smug counter. “I assure you, I’ve had my nose in these medical books long before you even passed your entrance exams.” Perhaps his oath had been shaky in the past, still standing on treacherous legs, but penalties were never an issue to pay off. The subtle shift, the ice behind her gaze made Erron narrow his eyes, the smile plastered in place reaching his eyes with the slight crease by his eyes, unapologetic.

Feeling no need to interrupt her manic ranting, Erron nodded along to her words absentmindedly. At some point his focus had shifted from her to the array of statuettes on the shelves behind her. “And if you seriously think I would do anything to cause grave harm to any of my patients, it is blatantly clear that you hold yourself in a toxic amount of self-importance. If any of these patients experience complications that immediately threaten their life, you are to do your job, but you ought to remember that dressing a visible wound is exponentially easier than mending a damaged mental state. That’s the difference in our careers, which is a shame I have to point out to you.” Thorough the retort, a coldness seeped into the words as the smile fell. The warmth projected from his being shied away from the hill that could almost reach the room, something to block out the rays of light that would never fit his person.

Relief flooded Cam as Erron didn’t push the original subject back into focus. He actually seemed genuinely interested in the new topic Cam had casually brought up as an excuse. She was a bit surprised he kept alcohol so clearly displayed in the office, even if it was locked away. Cam had her own stash, but it was hidden deep in her desk and buried under papers. Though she looked over the various choices with curiosity. It looked like they had one thing in common outside of work, alcohol, though she guessed they had different relationships with it.

It came as a surprise when Erron poured the expensive drink. How was he so open about enjoying a drink at work? Not that it was any amount to cause lapse of judgement. “You really think I would turn this down?” She replied as she reached for the glass poured for her. Cam took a small sip, not entirely certain of the protocol for tasting something so nice. She was used to casually knocking back Jack Daniels and semi-cheap vodka. “So this is what home tastes like to you huh?” Cam replied after a moment of letting the flavor sink in. It was strong, but it didn’t bite hard like she thought it might. “Thanks for sharing this with me.” She added, honesty clear in her eyes as she thanked Erron. She silently wondered what home tasted like to her in the form of alcohol. Probably a bottle of jack tainted with cigarettes. 

A turn of his head hid a smug quirk of pink lips. A content sigh escaped him as the amber liquid met his own glass, precise fingers wrapping closing the cork before the burn of the liquor hit the roof of his mouth. “In a certain respect, home, yes,” a pause came with the swirling of the drink before a shake of his head ended the movement, “but it’s hardly the liquor, God forbid if I thought alcohol as a casual matter.” A sneer nearly passed the pristine expression at the sheer notion of finding mundane comforts in a drink. She, however, seemed more receptive of the brew than he’d anticipated. A shot in the dark well received.

“Don’t worry, you’ll earn their trust in time. It took me a while as well when I first started here.” Camille reassured Erron honestly. “Our patients here are complex, a lot of them probably struggle with trust outside of here, and dealing with authority can’t make it any easier…but I’m sure you already know that.” Cam added with a brief nod. It was good to hear that Erron was already familiar was Charles. Hopefully that meant he would fit in well and make great strides at Thornewood. 

The question from Erron wasn’t one she exactly welcomed due to her nomadic nature. She had bounced around quite a bit over the years once she had graduated from nursing school. “I worked at a few places before Thornewood, usually bigger institutions than here. I’ve only been here about a year so I can’t claim to be an expert on the area yet. Though I can point you in the right direction for a decent drink or a good hiking trail.” Cam shifted the topic towards the end, wanting to avoid any deeper discussion of her past. “You strike me as a fancy cocktail kind of guy for some reason, or do you prefer a stiff whiskey that’s older than either of us?” She inquired with a friendly grin.

Without making it explicitly obvious, Erron took notice of the change of topics. Not that he minded, alcohol was one of his few passions and it was natural to steer him towards those conversations. Ditching work topics was a pleasant change, and there was a light in Erron’s eyes that was reserved only for talking about expensive liquors and rare vintages. “I’m not one to discriminate; A properly made Old Fashioned can be just as good as a finger of expertly blended whiskey.” He spoke as designer shoes clacked on the wooden floor, and without a glance he gestured for Camille to follow. In the mahogany showcase in the corner stood those bottles the doctor kept for his own enjoyment, the bottles behind the stained glass varying from Heritage Cognac to DIVA Vodka. With a flick of a key produced from his pocket, Erron swung the vitrine open and eyed the liquor in inspection.

As Felicity’s backside found the chair, she shifted her weight onto her left hip, crossing one slim thigh over the other before resting an elbow on her knee. Jade hues studied the features of the man before her with deep intensity. His reaction was less than satisfactory in her eyes and everything about his demeanour left an unsettling feeling developing in the pit of the nurse's stomach.

Running fingertips through her choppy locks, she locked eyes with the file and read over the information she had studied previously, this time only looking for any personal notes that Erron may have made himself. Reeling from the deep condescension that struck a nerve within the nurse, Felicity attempted to pull herself together drawing a hiss through clenched teeth only to be followed by an exhale of disbelief. She choked on the bark of bitter laughter, shaking her head as she sat forward to address his question, “And what is it exactly you’re doing, Doctor? Talking her through it?” Her retaliation was sharp, heavy words poised with ambition and passion for the level of care these patients received.

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In a swift moment the conversation had become exponentially more interesting. To have his principles challenged was a rare treat, something his old colleagues were too frightened to attempt; Yet here was a nurse, sharp in her words and quick to retaliate. The tone that overtook her should warrant a flinch from any other doctor on the receiving end of such theatrics, yet Erron could do nothing but keep his steady, cold gaze on hers. A spark brewed behind the faded blue, an interest in the conversation that hadn’t been there before.