Chapter 1

I looked up as I heard the door to my office open. I was expecting something normal—at least, as normal as my day could get when I was a drug counselor at a rehab center. Maybe a nurse coming to tell me that it was time to go visit a patient, or a security guard telling me that Vriska had gotten out of her room again. I shuddered at the thought of that particular alcoholic; she had had to be transferred to another therapist because she was constantly making unwanted and extremely embarrassing sexual advancements on me. She was terrifying.

What I did see, however, was definitively not normal. The chief of police stepped through the door, followed by a man I had never seen with a mane of unkempt, curly black hair and clouded eyes so heavily lidded I couldn't tell the color. For some strange reason, his face was covered in grey face pain reminiscent of clown makeup, along with a plain, tattered black t-shirt and purple pajama pants with faded white polka dots. The unknown man was also handcuffed.

That wasn't what was strange, though. Unfortunately, having patients admitted in handcuffs was something I had gotten used to in the two years that I had been working there. What did surprise me was the entourage that followed the man. I counted four more cops and three of the security guards that worked there, plus the two that stood outside the door.

I swallowed heavily; suddenly nervous about the amount of security that the man—who I assumed was my newest patient—had brought with him. Usually the people who were forcibly admitted there, usually as an alternative to prison, were escorted by at most three guards or policemen. Never that many people. What on Earth had that man done to be so heavily guarded?

I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

"Um, h-hello. W-what, uh, brings you here today?" I cursed the stutter that I couldn't seem to get rid of.

The chief sighed and pulled him into the seat beside him, sitting across the desk from me. By his loose smile and the glazed look in his eyes, my soon-to-be patient was higher than a kite at the moment. Again, nothing new, unfortunately. "I was told you were the one who was best at taking someone who nobody could make a dent on and turning their lives completely around. The receptionist thought quite highly of you."

I smiled slightly; it must've been Jade he was talking about. I liked Jade. She was always very nice. And it was true, to some degree. I did tend to be more optimistic than a majority of others and took on patients that had been written off as hopeless. It wasn't the best thing ever for my sleep schedule, but I didn't mind. I enjoyed my job, so it wasn't as big a deal as it probably should have been that I lost so much sleep.

"Um, well, yes, I suppose you could put it that way,"

"Good. Do you think this one's too far gone for you to do anything?"

I glanced at the man; he was giggling quietly and muttering something or another about miracles. I had seen people who were so drugged up they were almost comatose, so he didn't look like it would take that long to sober him up. Of course, I couldn't tell what kind of physical condition he was in, what with his baggy clothes and odd face paint, but it didn't look like he was in that bad of shape. "No, I could p-probably do something for him. Do you want him admitted immediately?"

The police chief nodded and I turned to one of the security guards. "I think that room 351 is open, since Damara left a couple days ago,"

They nodded and helped the man up, leading him out of the room.

"Um, sir, i-if you're allowed, could you give me some of his basic information? T-to fill out the admittance forms." I was somewhat calmer without the presence of seven extra, burly men in my office, but I still found the situation odd.

He set a fairly thin manila folder on my desk. "That's what I'm supposed to give you of his record. Anything that's not in there you'll have to get from him."

I nodded; that was a fairly normal procedure. "Uh, alright. Thank you, sir."

He sighed and nodded tiredly, the chair scraping against the faux wooden floor as he stood. "I apologize, but I have to get going,"

He stood and left, the door clicking quietly shut. I looked back at the folder, wondering if I was the only one who had noticed my patient quickly and easily unlocking his handcuffs and holding them carefully shut as he left the room.