Chapter 3

I only realized how briefly I had seen his face in my vision when I found myself staring at it now. Mr. Whitlock was definitely the most beautiful person I had ever seen—his features were impossibly flawless. Of course, this only made him twice as frightening.

While I was taking this in, several emotions crossed his face, seemingly all at once; his expression changed from amused with a sense of superiority, to curious, then to confused, before going back to curious—where it stayed—and mixed with that same amused expression that he first had had on.

A wave of tranquility hit me and I realized that I had been panicking, almost to the point of hyperventilating. It didn't make sense, though. I felt calmer—physically, but I knew that somewhere, deep down, I was even more terrified of Whitlock. Seeing him in person only made me realize that there was something about him that screamed out 'danger'…but maybe I was just being paranoid? What was the worst that could happen? If he was going to be working here, I was his responsibility now, after all…right?

He paused and then cocked his head to one side as if waiting for me to do or say something. When I didn't after another minute he suddenly became almost…friendly.

"Hello, there, m'am. You seemed to be quite a bit of fun. I didn't mean to interrupt you. I was only curious. . ." Whitlock actually did look genuinely curious. He waited again for me to say something. Why did he expect me to say something? Why was he even here? How did he get in and why hadn't I had any warning?

"You can relax. I won't hurt you," he continued in a soothing, soft voice.

The strange peacefulness washed over me again, but I tried to ignore it. I smelled a rat—and this time I did not mean that literally. I would trust my instincts—I was always right—and they definitely told me not to trust him. Therefore, when Mr. Whitlock waited for me to respond, I said absolutely nothing. It wasn't like I had nothing to say—more like the opposite: I had a too many questions running through my mind; I was entirely mystified and slightly confused. To top it off I felt the need to be cautious.

I must've looked skeptical because he seemed to give up on the charade. His expression reverted back to what it had been before, except now it was highlighted with a new emotion—regret? Guilt? The sense of superiority was also gone and he was now looking no longer at me but at the far corner of the room. "You're a smart girl," he said quietly.



Chills ran down my spine. That did it.

"Who are you, anyway?!" I blurted out. Abruptly, Whitlock's head twisted in my direction and he was looking straight at me, surprised. Somehow, I couldn't stop talking even though I probably should have.

"Why are you even here?! What is wrong with you?! Why are you so creepy?!"

"I see, so, you're not a mute, then." He smiled, amused again—his mood apparently recovered. "I'll make you a deal: I'll answer those questions for you if you answer them for me."

"Why do you care so much?"

"I wasn't lying before, I am curious. You seem unusual and it throws me off. I feel like I need an explanation for it." He thought he needed the explanation.

"You're working at an asylum. Everyone you're going to meet is going to be unusual here."

"That's not what I meant…," Whitlock paused. "…by the way, do you realize that the time is currently within visiting hours."

"So…?"

"Why did you assume that I'm here as an employee when I'm clearly not in a uniform."

I looked down at what he was wearing. Okay, he most definitely was not in uniform, but he should've been—whether he worked here or not. He was wearing a dirty, stained, light grey jacket with some slightly beat-up, brown corduroy pants. Hopefully this wasn't some new style that everyone was wearing now-a-days. How would I know, though? The only people I saw were inmates or staff members—in uniform—or some big-shot in a suit. Even in my visions, I never really saw any normally dressed people anymore.

"Aside from that," he continued—I looked back up at his face; I was going to pay attention—"I must also seem to be unusually inquisitive to you. Wouldn't that lead you to think that I'm an unexpected visitor?"

I paused, but only for a second. I'd dealt with this kind of situation, although only once or twice. I had decided to play it safe then, too—I couldn't tell him about my vision; ordinary people did not react well to my hallucinations, not here in any case. To top it off, it would be reported and no evidence that I gave them of further mental instability ever meant anything good. Enough evidence could even lead to the shock treatments.

"Oh!" I feigned surprise and my eyes widened with practiced innocence. "Are you a visitor? Sorry, my mistake. I guess I just don't get too many of those."



I was personally satisfied with my acting abilities. It had been enough to convince the other employees of other things—that I was sick, that I hadn't eaten lunch on a particular day, etcetera. Apparently I wasn't as good at fooling people as I had thought I was; Whitlock was looking at me skeptically. He frowned as if concentrating on something.

At that moment, I felt something click. It was more like the ominous feeling this morning in that it seemed to exist in the strange awareness that I had for the future. The difference was that this "click" was instantaneous and only lasted a second, but left me feeling that things had changed drastically somehow. The closest thing I could compare it to would be a light switch being turned on in a previously dark room. Unfortunately, this only left more questions unanswered, like "What had happened?" and "What does this mean?" or "What's changed?"

I waited for a vision to come to me but nothing did. I didn't "See" anything. I did have a theory, though: someone or something had shifted gears of fate.