by Nora Ash
If she’d just ignored them, thrown her groceries in the trunk and hurried into her car, she would have been home and safe within twenty minutes, which was exactly what she would have done under normal circumstances; the core part of keeping her illness under control was avoidance at all costs.
However, they’d had a young woman with them, and she had not seemed like she was entirely comfortable being among the three as they led her away from the parking lot, towards the abandoned warehouses located near by the shopping center, though she hadn’t screamed or struggled. Still, her eyes had darted around the nearly empty car park as if searching for some way of stopping whatever was about to happen to her, and when she’d spotted the only other soul there, the plea in her frightened gaze had been evident.
However much she had wanted to, she wasn’t able to turn away and leave the other woman to her fate; ignoring another human in need was not something she was capable of doing, especially not one who was in their hands. She might have been the only one seeing the twisted features, the scales, claws, horns or hoofs, but from the look on the girl’s face they were undoubtedly bad men nonetheless.
So she’d grabbed the tire iron from the trunk of her car and she’d followed them, though her heart had threatened to crawl out through her throat from fear, dialing 911 for police assistance as she crossed the deserted lot. Years of experience had taught her to leave out any mention of monsters, but even though the operator seemed to take her report of a possible kidnapping of a young woman seriously and had promised to send officers out immediately, she’d still continued the pursuit on the group; if they got too far out of earshot there was no telling if the police would ever be able to find them.
It was a good thing she had, at least for the other girl. She had found them deep in the shadows between two buildings, where they had the woman pinned against the ribbed metal wall of one of the warehouses. She had been struggling a little at that point, attempting to rid herself of searching hands slipping underneath her clothing...
“Selma?”
The brunette’s attention snapped back to the white room, her head pulling back from the window so she could look at the nurse. She was dressed in white, furthering the clinical, sterile look of the entire hospital – of every hospital she’d ever been to.
“Yes?”
The woman’s warm face broke in a small smile at the reply; at a place like this, a lucid patient was cause for minor enthusiasm. “The doctor is ready to see you now. If you would come with me, please?”
Selma unfolded from the window ledge with a sigh, slipping obediently to the floor. She didn’t exactly want to go and talk to yet another psychiatrist, or take more prescribed pills with zero effect, but she knew from experience that there was no point in resisting it, and the quicker she got through with it, the quicker she would be allowed to go home and continue with her life. With any luck it would be swift enough for her poor parents to not need to be contacted; God only knew they’d had enough worries about her illness through the years, and the last thing she wanted was for them to have to go through it all again.
The sweet nurse—the same one who had brought her lunch earlier in the day, and clucked in concern at the largely untouched plate when she came to dispense the calming medication after the meal—led her from the small, high-ceilinged room she’d slept in overnight, down long corridors lined with the same, large windows as the one she’d spent most of the day in. Though whoever had converted the old manor house into a psychiatric ward had gone out of their way to make it look the part of a hospital, it still retained some of its stately grandeur from its glory days and even smelled faintly of old wood through the cover of antiseptic cleaning agents filling the air.
There were very few indications of other patients or staff members on the premises, a soft humming from one of the rooms being the only noise apart from their steps echoing off the mahogany floors interrupting the silence as they passed closed door after closed door. Only after climbing the staircase to the first floor did life seem to vibrate through to the corridor, the soft sound of a radio turned low flowing from an office behind an open door, murmuring of female voices and the scent of coffee emitting from what must be the staff break room.
Slowly the hallway grew quieter as they came to a broader stretch, where golden plaques engraved with ‘Dr. So-and-So’ hung next to dark, carved door frames that matched the floorboards.
The nurse stopped to knock on such a door, where the fancy sign indicated that Dr. Martin Hershey had his office, and, upon hearing a confirming mumble through the aged wood, offered her tag-along a reassuring smile before opening it.
“Dr. Hershey, your next patient is here to see you,” she said in a rather chirpy tone.
“Excellent,” a pleasantly deep voice rumbled from within. “Show her in please, Marie.”
The nurse turned around to Selma, the previously encouraging smile on her lips now spread wider. “Go on in, Selma.”
Sighing inwardly, Selma stepped past her and through the opening into the psychiatrist’s office, feeling like she was stepping into the middle of an office romance; at least, ‘Marie’s’ rosy cheeks seemed to indicate that she wouldn’t mind staying for the session. However, romantic interest or no, patient confidentiality was patient confidentiality, and the door closed behind her, leaving her alone with yet another professional about to draw a blank on her condition.
“Come on over and have a seat, please.”
Maybe he’d give up quickly; he would have had her extensive files pulled up from the other institutions and therapists, and would probably come to the sad conclusion that his newest patient was a lost cause. At least she could hope.
With another sigh, this time not so inward, she lifted her head to face the doctor... and froze mid-step at the sight of him.
He was certainly handsome, which was probably the reason for the nurse’s sudden shift from reassuring professional to giddy female, with olive skin, strong, clean features and black, glossy hair. However, the neatly brushed, wavy strands falling to his pointed ears did nothing to hide neither them nor the small, sharp-looking horns protruding from just above his hairline, and the almond shaped eyes watching her halted approach with mild curiosity were a burning orange.
No. How was she meant to get through this?
She had had to deal directly with them before, from her physics teacher to bank advisors, and even a supervisor at one point, but never had she been expected to open up about her illness to one; trust him with her health—her already fractured mind.
The slight tilt of one, dark eyebrow brought her out of the swirling thoughts; if she were to have any hope of being let back home before her parents were notified, she best get herself together!
Forcing her legs to complete the steps needed to reach the desk he was sat behind she gritted her teeth and lifted her head to meet his eyes. At least he didn’t appear as one of the dangerous ones, though shimmering with that otherness, and apart from the disturbing color, those eyes held no dark threats.
“Please, sit.” He indicated the chair next to him—a comfortable looking one, perfect for therapy sessions and delving into childhood memories. Selma obeyed, fervently wishing that he’d just hand her a prescription and be done. She had no interest in exploring her own psyche with this... whatever he was, and even less desire for him to do so.
“Selma Lehmann, correct?” He lifted those dark eyebrows at her questioningly, waiting for her nod. “I am Doctor Martin Hershey, head psychiatrist here at Ravenswood House. It is a pleasure to meet you.” His large hand was stretched towards her.
Hesitantly, she took it, bracing for the heat she knew he’d radiate. It wasn’t unpleasant as such, but the warmth traveling from her fingers up through her arm felt mildly invasive, as if his touch attempted to cover as much of her skin as possible.
He smiled a little at her hesitation before letting go and leaning back, watching her in that therapist way she knew meant that every unconscious move of her
body was being observed. It always made her fidget even more.
“I read your file this morning; this is the first time in ten years you have had a recorded incident. Did the hallucinations disappear in your late teens, or did you decide to deal with them on your own?”
She felt her lips pinch at his question; the way his fiery gaze locked on the movement didn’t ease the sensation of feeling scrutinized, but if she could make him believe that it was just a random freak accident, this might be over quicker.
“I... haven’t had an episode since I was seventeen. I think, maybe, it was just due to the stress of the situation, and I hadn’t eaten all day...” Her voice died at his cocked eyebrow.
“You do not need to lie to me, Selma.” His tone was mildly admonishing, but also gentle—like the kind of tone someone would use to correct undesirable behavior in a skittish cat. “I am very good at recognizing deception. They never disappeared, did they?”
Splendid. So apart from having fire-eyes and horns, her new doctor was also a living lie detector. Mutely, she shook her head.
“How did you manage them for so long on your own?”
There really was no way around it—they were going to talk about all the details of her miserable existence with this illness, and she was going to be permanently put back in a system that had no way of helping her, and every way of ruining what levels of contentment she’d managed to scrape together over the past ten years.
“I learned to ignore them,” she said, voice low and defeated. “I found that if I didn’t pay attention to them, they would not notice me from everyone else. It’s easier in the daylight.”
That sculptured face tilted slightly to the right as he watched her, shadowing the burning eyes some. He almost looked like a normal person like that, apart from the small horns and the elongated ear she could see the outline of from this angle. “Interesting. That must have been very hard.”
The brunette shrugged. “It was, at first, but now it’s easier than... than before.” She gave him a pleading look. “I was doing alright, I really was. Last night was just...”
“What happened last night?” he prodded gently.
She shot him a quizzical look. “Did they not tell you?” She was pretty much used to having every little bit of information about her readily available in file format to anyone with a Doctor’s title.
“They did indeed, but I would like to hear it from you, if you don’t mind.”
It was strange, really. She’d spent all her life keeping as much distance from them as she possibly could, and now she sat right in front of one that seemed genuinely interested in her well-being; almost... caring. It was intensely disturbing.
“I saw a girl being led away by three of...” She glanced quickly at his horns, stopping ‘your kind’ from coming out, quickly moderating, “Uh, three of the illusions, and she looked very scared, so I couldn’t not help.”
“But they weren’t illusions, were they? There were three men there, according to the police report. You did save a girl from getting raped,” he said, leaning forwards and supporting his chin in one big hand. The way he was watching her, as if she was the most intriguing creature on the face of the Earth, was not particularly better than the previous scrutiny.
Selma shifted uncomfortably in the seat. “Well, yeah. But... to me, they didn’t look like men, and... and when they tried to hurt me, I... panicked.”
“You say ’tried to’?” the doctor questioned. “Did you fight back?”
She shuddered at the memory of the tire iron connecting with hard bone, sending shocks of vibrations down through her arms. “Yes. It wasn’t enough though; it never is...” She’d been on her back when the police officers came, and the tentative grasp she had on her broken mind had snapped completely. A flash of the scaly-skinned one that had ripped the iron from her hands and shoved her to the ground made her gasp as an echo of the terror she’d felt that night shocked trough her. His claws ripping at her clothing and skin had hurt, as had the fist locking around her throat.
There was nothing in her recollection before arriving at the hospital after that, apart from the sound of a few fired shots and the running feet of the police officers coming to their rescue. She’d not stopped screaming until the doctors gave her an injection with some kind of sedative.
“I... I’m sorry; I... don’t recall the details so well.” She wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt at getting rid of the sinking feeling of despair. She would never escape the waking nightmare that was her illness.
The warm hand patted her soothingly on a linen-covered knee, transferring heat to her skin through the fabric. “That is quite alright, Selma. I know you must have been very frightened. Would you mind elaborating on what you mean by ‘it never is’? Have you been hurt by people you see as monsters before?”
Of course he’d picked up on that. She bit her lower lip, nodding. “A few times. Only one time really bad.”
His orange gaze narrowed, something reminiscent of anger flickering behind it for a short moment, before he managed to regain that soothing therapist-expression. “Sexually?”
“Oh, no!” The idea made her blush furiously. Did he think she had some sort of perverse, obsessive thoughts about being taken by monsters? “No, never, just...” She was about to say ‘normally’, but thought better of it. Instead, she rolled up the loose leg of the white, comfortable ‘institution pants’ she’d been given upon arrival, twisting her leg a little so the long scar down the calf was visible.
A warm finger trailed up it, causing electrical charges to fire off through her nerves, and the random thought that she was happy she’d shaved her legs the morning before to spark in her mind. Blushing even brighter at that— completely irrelevant— contemplation, she resolutely stared directly at the horns sticking up from his wavy locks. Goose bump inducing touch or no, horns did not belong on a man’s head, and they certainly subtracted from the charms of his firm jaw and wide shoulders!
“This was vicious,” he said, the softest touch of his breath gracing over the back of her knee, just below where the pants were bunched up. “And certainly not a figment of your imagination. Did anyone catch the perpetrator?”
‘Horns. The guy has horns’. Selma subtly pulled her leg back, shifting it so the fabric slid down and covered her skin again. “No. Some passerby saw her, though. Said it was a redheaded young woman. She ran when he came to help me.”
“And to you it was...?”
She bit her lip, “A monster.”
Dr. Hershey leaned back in his chair, staring straight into her eyes with that odd fire and ignoring her uncomfortable fidgeting at the intense scrutiny. “Are the monsters always evil, Selma? Is that what you see? A physical manifestation of inherently dangerous people?”
Before even realizing what she was doing she was shaking her head, somewhat to her own surprise.
“No?”
She flushed again—he seemed to have that effect—and glanced at his pointed ears. “Uh… well, I don’t know for certain. Many of them have left me alone, even when I… was staring at them. Or crying and pointing, when I was little. But I don’t know if they are dangerous in other circumstances.”
A small smile tucked at his full lips. “Do you see me as one of these monsters?”
The excess blood—and then some—immediately drained from her face. Oh god, how did he … ?
“No.” It came out as a squeak.
One of those dark eyebrows was raised in challenge. “Selma... I thought we had an understanding about telling the truth?”
Her brown eyes widened. Did he honestly expect her to explain that yes, she saw him as some form of nightmare creature—albeit a handsome one?
The challenging stare said that that was very much the case.
Shame hadn’t rested this heavily on her since she had been forced to apologize to Mr. Hubert; the physics teacher she’d confessed to suspecting was some form of demon. Gaze resting firmly on her knees she nodded shortly.
“What do I look like? Please, describe what you see.”
Defeated, she lifted a hand and made a vague gesture towards his head. “Horns, pointed ears...”
“Is that all?” He sounded idly amused, which really wasn’t very polite.
Selma shot him an annoyed glare; she didn’t enjoy feeling like the butt of a joke, having spent much of her life like that. However, the flaming eyes caught her the second she looked up again, and the interest in them far overshadowed any indication of humor.
“Your eyes are like fire, but apart from that, you look... normal.” She grimaced, feeling several shades of ridiculous. It was always uncomfortable to talk about her illness, but the fact that he was so... intrigued just made everything worse. Maybe it was his age; Doctor Hershey could not have been out of college for many years, and she was possibly his first non-standard patient.
He was, at least, looking at her as if she was some kind of rare and valuable find. “What color are my horns, then?”
The brunette blinked, glancing up at said horns. “Er... black, with a bit of gray. Why?”
Something shifted in the orange flames, as if a conclusion had been reached somewhere behind their depths. He smiled, turning his attention back to the computer screen that had gone into sleep mode, pushing the mouse to revive it. “Simple curiosity. Now...” He tapped on the keyboard and looked at what she assumed was her file. “Have you ever heard about Sigmund Freud, Selma?”
“Yes.” Who hadn’t heard of that nut ball?
Her apprehensive tone drew another, wry smile from his defined features. “I take from your expression that you are not a fan. I hope you will keep an open mind, though, because there is a very good chance that we can help you by applying some of the newer theories that have their origin in his philosophy.”
“Help me?” She had heard those airy words before, and each time had been a letdown. “Is there a new drug?”
