The bedroom door creaked open and Scout twisted around to face the intruder.
It was just Pauling, thank God. He had thought for a moment it might be- no. He wasn't going to think of that. Pauling said it was bad for him.
"Richard?" She asked gently.
Scout shook his head wildly, dirty blond hair shaking roughly with the motion. "I'm Scout."
Miss Pauling sighed. "Rich, we've covered this. Your name is Richard Thorpe."
"Scout." The teenager repeated.
"Fine… Scout." Miss Pauling entered the room fully and flicked on the light, door shutting quietly behind her.
"How have you been?" She smoothed her light purple dress and sat down in the wooden chair near the bed. Scout moved back to his pristine white mattress and laid down, resting his arms behind his head on the thin pillow.
"G- good." Scout lied.
Pauling raised an eyebrow behind her purple glasses. "Are you sure? Tell me the truth."
Scout sank farther into his bed as he made his admission. "I've still been havin' nightmares."
"About what?"
"You know what!" Scout hissed. "Him! He's waitin' for me!"
Scout grabbed his journal, the notebook he used for his thoughts and drawings. He flipped through the familiar pages and his therapist saw all the pictures he drew of his 'stalker'.
Always masked, a thin man in a suit hid in the pages. He wore a cover up of sorts that clung tightly to his bony face and his bright blue eyes stood out against his deep red outfit. Richard was a surprisingly good artist, able to capture every crease of the man's face and the thin stripes of his pants. The slender figure always lurked in shadows and almost seemed to fade away into them in some drawings, like he was disappearing.
Scout stopped on his newest drawing, a close up of his pursuer's face. The man was staring straight ahead into the eyes of the person viewing the picture.
"Scout, why do you keep drawing him?"
"'Cause I need proof that he exists! If he gets ta me, you need to know what he looks like!"
"He's not real. He's a figment of your imagination, just someone in your nightmares." Miss Pauling tried her best to calm her frantic charge.
Scout's eyes widened and he gripped his book so hard his knuckles turned white.
"The guy killed my ma!"
Pauling shook her head. "No he didn't. Your mother died from a heroine overdose."
"No!" Scout was practically screaming, "I saw her! The dude stabbed her wit a syringe! HE KILLED HER!"
"No he did not. Richard-"
"My name is SCOUT!" He finally snapped, shooting up from his bed and trying to tackle the woman near him.
Miss Pauling stood up and moved before he could even reach her. She slipped behind him and deftly injected calming drugs into the crook of his outstretched arm.
Scout fell limp. The drugs were already kicking in, forcing his muscles to relax.
The lilac demon hefted him up and helped him back into his sheets, tucking him firmly in the pure white blankets.
"No," he slurred, tongue numb, "now 'e's gunna come fer me!"
A soft hand patted his forehead and Pauling cooed lightly at him. "I was fairly certain we'd gotten past this. But we always have tomorrow, right Rich? I'll be back tomorrow evening for another chat. Have a good night's rest."
Scout tried to protest as she left, turning off the light and locking the door from the outside.
His body useless, Scout could barely whimper in the darkness.
After a few minutes of complete silence, a small flame illuminated the corner. The strong scent of cigarette smoke drifted to the paralyzed Scout. A click and whoosh, combined with the faint ember, revealed someone in the room.
A tall, thin man in a suit and balaclava smiled cruelly down at his victim's son.