-1My Personal Asylum

It was strangely provocative.

I rested my chin on my arms as I watched him loosen his tie. His bald head stood out in an almost empty bar, and an unlit cigarette rested on his lips. I never liked people who smoked, but strangely I was making excuses for this stranger who had yet to glance at me. I couldn't tell what his color his eyes were because I was far away and his eyes were of a narrow shape, almost almond like. I guessed them to be a dull brown but that still didn't stop me from staring at him.

He sat down on the barstool and raised his hand to get the bartender's attention. As soon as the bartender smiled and gestured to wait one more second, he sighed and took of his jacket, slowly undressing in a public bar. He unbuttoned the first three buttons of his shirt and leaned back, as if to relieve his stress. I understood how he felt at that moment, for being a prison psychiatrist was no piece of cake.

I raised my drink, a gin tonic, to my lips and took a small sip. It didn't do if I was drunk for my latest fuck.

He must have felt my gaze on him but he didn't look up nor did he signal in any way that he was aware of my presence. I smirked, that was fine. I knew how to play hard.

Just then my cell rang, jolting me out of me out of trance into the rush of reality. I didn't jump at its vibration, but merely looked down at the ID. It was Diana, of all the people.

"Hello." I greeted, bored.

Diana was my senior partner at the prison and my competition. I was of course much better than her, something she was always jealous of.

"Hello," she greeted back just as coolly, "River, we have a problem."

Problem. Code word for get your ass is on the line. I doubted it was seriously a problem because:

1. I never make mistakes.

2. Diana had always been a drama queen.

Though, a seed of self doubt smoked its way through my mind. Absently, my gaze fluttered to where the stranger was sitting. He was flicking his lighter.

"This had better be good," I said, getting up and putting down a forty. The bartender gestured that he would get the change but I waved him away. The stranger still hadn't looked up, and for a moment I thought he was truly asleep. Just as I passed him, he opened his eyes and then deliberately, brought one down to wink at me. I hesitantly smiled back before making my way to the door. Our game was over, had he decided he wanted to play now?

"Sasha. She insists on speaking with you."

I sighed, "Can't this be done tomorrow?"

"No, I'm afraid not," her voice gloated, "I'm on my way home. Why don't you make a quick stop there? You must see her."

"I will, I will," I promised as I fished for my keys and hung up the phone without a goodbye. Just then I noticed how the clouds had gathered. Five, maybe ten minutes from now, it would probably start raining. I stumbled a little as I opened the door and wondered for a moment if I was drunk.

Impossible. I hadn't even finished my glass.

I started the engine of my car, an old Honda, and looked back as I carefully drove it out from the parking spot, then stared straight ahead when I noted that the car was ready to fly. I was about to step on the accelerator when the door on the passenger side suddenly opened. Automatically I frowned at the person sitting next to me, ready to start screaming like a banshee when all I saw was a hollow black tube pointed at me and the sound of gun clicking was the only thing I heard.

I gulped and gaped at the weapon.

An unfamiliar baritone voice said, "Don't make a sound. I won't hesitate in pulling this trigger if you so much as make a peep. Am I clear?"

I nodded, and my eyes shifted to the invader. My eyebrows shut up as I recognized the stranger from the bar, the one with the bald head. His eyes weren't a dull brown like I had imagined, but a hard emerald green.

He grinned, "Yes. It's me. Start driving. No, straight. To the prison."

I licked my sudden chapped lips as I put my foot down on the accelerator. The game between had been over the moment I had received my phone call, what were his intentions now?

"May I speak?" I asked softly. After all, one didn't purposely try to agitate her kidnapper. I liked how I looked, I had no intentions of getting scars tonight, let alone die.

"Yes, you may," his reply was amused. He was amused at my manners.

I pushed my glasses up and bit my lower lips as I phrased my question, "Why are you here with me now?"

He leaned over and tucked a stray black hair behind my ears, "Because the game isn't over."

I wanted to ask him what game but I knew what he was talking about. So instead of wasting time asking him to explain himself, I asked seriously, "So you think that by pointing a gun at my face I would suck you off?"

I didn't have to look at him to hear his grin, "Oh, no. I don't think I need anything to make you. You'd do it yourself."

I glanced at him, "I'm not interested."

"Liar," he murmured. The gun now traced my clavicle, and pushed my collared shirt further away from my neck. "I was sent to kill you."

"Were you?" I didn't miss how he used past tense. After all I was a psychiatrist.

"Yes," he answered.

"So you're allowed to change your mind?" I asked.

"I never said I did," was his reply. His gun now rest on his lap, but the canal was still pointing at my face.

"No, but you certainly implied it. Or am I being optimistic?"

He shook his head in amazement and I saw from the corner of my eye that both of his eyebrows were raised, "You're a piece of work."

"I'll take that as a compliment," there was silence for a while as I drove through the rainy weather. The gun was still pointing at my head so I decided that perhaps I should shut up. I liked to live another fifty years or so.

I pulled over at the prison parking. Stranger, as I had dubbed the man with the gun in my head, pulled me along his side of the door and grabbed my purse from the floor of the car. When I was standing next to him, he whispered, "You will take me in and you will go to Beatrice Morella's room. I will go with you."

Beatrice Morella. The girl who was convinced that she was some imaginary figment's lover. An imaginary lover who happened to be a murderer. She had killed her family of five at the age of eighteen. She was twenty five and showed no sign of calming down. If anything, she was getting worse. Her fits were enough to scare me, and I don't scare easily.

I didn't bat an eyelash, "What do you plan on doing with her?"

"That doesn't concern you."

I laughed a little hysterically, "Doesn't concern me? If you're planning on killing her…"

"I don't plan on killing her," was his easy reply.

"Then what? Answer me and maybe we'll go."

His eyes narrowed, "I didn't think you were dumb enough to play the hero."

"Patients are in my care. What you do to them concerns me."

"I have a gun, doctor. Do you value your life?"

I took my purse from him after he took out my wallet and cell phone, "The security guard won't let you in."

"Convince him," he said easily. His green eyes were dark with humor, "That's your forte. Get me in."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Locking my doors, I began walking towards the entrance aware that he was only a step behind me. I thought of running but immediately discarded that idea. From the way he moved I knew that there was no way I could outrun him. All I had to do was be patient and calm until it was my turn to strike.

When we stood in front of Mike, the security guard, he gave a cheerful wave. "Hey, Doc. I thought you already left."

I shrugged, but smiled at Mike, "Work calls. Anyway, this is Dave. He's researching criminal minds. I was hoping he could see Ms. Morella. Alright?"

"Well, you need a letter of authority…"

Oh, thank God.

Just as I was about to thank him, I felt the nuzzle of the gun poking my back. Stranger leaned over the counter, "I think you can make an excuse just this one time, no? It's sort of an emergency."

This surprised me more so. Not that he had said anything because I did expect him to, but because he was leaning over the counter without a trace of a smile and showed the poor old man the intensity of his eyes.

Within a minute, I saw Mike's eyes roll up before he fell unconscious.

Stranger still wasn't done. He jumped over the counter and whispered something into the man's ears. I saw that Mike wasn't in any sort of deep sleep. In fact, because of the movement of his eyeballs under the his eyelids, something called Random Eye Movement (REM), I knew he wasn't completely gone.

Stranger looked up with a smirk, "Ready to go?"

"How…" I rarely am at a loss of words, but due to the situation at hand, it was completely understandable, "What?"

"No time to chit chat," Stranger jumped over the counter, "Let's get a move on. Where is Beatrice Morella's room?"

I cleared my throat and pulled myself back into control. What the hell just happened? Maybe that half a glass of alcohol-containing drink was too much. Perhaps I was truly drunk and I didn't see Stranger strike Mike. That's it. I just hadn't seen it because I was out of my senses.

That still didn't stop me from casting weary glances at Stranger. Obviously this man was more dangerous than I had previously thought. Without uttering another word, I lead him to Ms. Morella's habitat.


Guess who's back? Back again. I am back, tell a friend! Lol. It's been a while, and I actually had this story written out and then I had a writer's block... So let me know what you guys think of this one! It's not going to be a long story. Maybe upto ten chapters... hopefully really intense ten chapters!