I woke in the same position I fell into a troubled sleep in: folded tightly into myself and huddled in the corner, but without Louie. He'd jumped out of my arms sometime in the night when he decided I didn't need protecting anymore.

And I didn't think I did, while my half-asleep mind lazily came to life. I rub my eyes, slowly, peacefully, loving the feeling of having a decent night's sleep… But then it all comes back to me in a flash; all it took was one clear thought and bam, all the feelings from last night come rushing back into me, knocking the wind out of my chest. And then, I remember it's Monday. And I have work today. I jump up and leap towards the clock, grabbing it up and shoving it to my face: 7:43. Somehow still enough time to get ready and pretend I didn't have the worst dream of my life (because that's all it could logically be.)

But, for the sake of my sanity, I shove my dreams to the side and focus on reality. My glorious future starts now! I'll cure this town of its crazy and teach it to let go of their religious differences with the outside world! Yes! Today will be great!

With my positive thoughts and nervous feelings for my first day completely erase any trace of that wildly realistic nightmare in my head and give me a clean slate for the people I'm about to meet. I hurriedly climb into my work appropriate attire, a pencil skirt and nice blouse, run to feed Louie, grab my eyes, and then sprint to my car. The engine starts immediately and I'm on my way.

Abenshire Hospital is situated on the complete other side of the town, where the professional businesses decided to spring up and claim land. It doesn't look creepy at all, thankfully, though I've been assuming that of all places in this town as of late. They've already reserved me a parking spot! Ah! How sweet.

I park happily, right on time, and click my way up the concrete steps and into the lobby. The unmistakable smell of hospital hits me and I cringe, trying to force a smile somewhere in there for the poor receptionist having to look at my unhappy face. "Hi," I start cheerfully, "I'm Annabelle. I'm supposed to be meeting Dr. Wates for my first day here…?" Her face had started off blank, but at his name her eyes and visage showed that spark of familiarity I was hoping for.

"Of course! Just go straight down that hallway and follow the signs to the psychiatric wing of the hospital. You can't miss it!" She ends with a sweet smile, and I try to smile just as sweetly back and begin down said hall.

I get to the end of it, and follow the arrow to the left; then to the end of that hall and to the right. Finally I get to a door, the window barred, that reads "Psychiatric Ward—Licensed Personnel Only." I pause, take a look at it, shrug, and knock. The door's locked anyway, there's nothing else I can do. Miraculously, it opens not a second later, and I swear the door heard my call until I see a kindly old man looking at me from the crack of the opened door. "Dr. Wates?"

"Ah, Annabelle, yes, yes, come in! Please!" He smiles warmly at me and I smile back, the little nervous bubbles popping in my stomach as I follow him down the hall I'll be calling my home away from home. This place could use some decorating too… The ward reminded me too much of the ward in "One Flew Over The Cookoo's Nest;" just bland, depressing, and stark white. Why was I surprised though?

"Now, as I said over the phone, you get an immediate assignment to some of the patients here." The doctor explains as we walk, hopefully to my own personal office, "I don't want to start you off like we normally start our Psychologists—I want you right in there without any supervision. We're too understaffed as it is, I hope you understand." He doesn't wait for my reply and finally comes upon a door that DOES have my name on it! Oh happy day! We enter it as he continues on.

"I am starting you off with only three patients today, though, just so you can get a hold of what you need to do."

I nod my head enthusiastically, taking a folder he hands to me full of paperwork. "This contains a map of the ward, and the case files of the three patients you'll be seeing today. My office is right across from yours, but I will be out and about checking up on the patients as well. Find anyone and they'll help you gladly!" Oh, I doubt that, I think to myself as I nod, imagining a nurse here holding out a cross when I ask her for help. I snort aloud softly. That could totally happen.

He slowly backs out of my office, leaving me with my thoughts and the review of my patients, and I wave to him as he goes. Tough day I guess; I can get to know my coworkers another day, but I don't suppose my job really relies on them too much. I do think myself quite knowledgably of the human mind and its workings, so, if my internship and four years of schooling didn't prepare me enough to last through a day here, I might as well just quit. But, I'm not a quitter. Not by a long shot! Determination burning in my eyes, and with the fate of these people's lives in my hands, I dramatically flip open the manila folder. The first is a middle aged man, a native, born and raised, of Abenshire, just as Clayton is. It seems, though, that he… My eyes slide open and my mouth droops into a displeased frown.

"Name: Richard Thomas

Age: 48

Diagnosis: Paranoid schizophrenia, manic-depression (shown in his episodes of religious preoccupation).

Mr. Thomas spiraled into a deep depression once his wife, Gorgiana Thomas, passed this last spring. He began to hear voices, telling him that the "Prince of Trickery, the Demon of Sodomy, the Antichrist" had killed her and brought her back to Hell with him. He gradually lost all connection with reality, and no longer sees the world for what it really is.

Please refrain from mentioning any sort of religion, demons, his wife, or jokes.

Patient is known for violent rages when his state of mind is brought into question, as well as the existence of this demon, which he says follows and watches him constantly."

I nod, bite my lip, but ultimately shrug. We've all been through some shit. I didn't really understand what my job was if not to bring up those painful realizations and help the person through it… Oh well, I'll get to him last.

The next patient, a woman this time:

"Name: Lexie Peterson

Age: 19

Diagnosis: Bipolar Disorder

Miss Peterson was recently diagnosed with bipolar disorder after coming to us during the ever stressful times of college midterms. She experienced a period of intense, though dangerous mania, during which she excitedly believed she was super human and could fly. Luckily she jumped from a rather short building, and made it out with only a few broken bones and a following period of deep depression—she has been in our care ever since.

The patient is rather docile when not in one of her states. If she seems too excited, or gets too worked up and seems to lose touch with reality in any way, give her an injection to calm her down. She likes to run. No reports of violence have been made."

"Hm." I hum aloud, critically taking in every word. And this is where I love my job with a passion. The thought of getting into the mind of these two has me itching to go, but I quell my excitement to finish the final patient I'm responsible for:

"Name: Miranda Ashby

Age: 56

Diagnosis: Psychosis, Acute Panic Disorder, Delusions and Hallucinations

Mrs. Ashby was a very close friend of mine for most of our lives (I'm assuming this is the Dr. making these reports), so I usually take it upon myself to take care of her. Her husband abused her mentally and physically, but it steadily increased in intensity once their son went off to college. Mr. Ashby committed suicide, leaving the two alone in the world, though Mrs. Ashby's fragile state of mind leaves her to believe her only son doesn't exist. She sees him as a phantom, a figment of her imagination, and will not tolerate seeing him.

The patient's sentences and thoughts are often mixed and jumbled. She has terrible panic attacks when she it met with anything troubling, such as thoughts or reminders of her past or son, and swears that her living son isn't real. She's mentioned seeing people in her room with her on occasion.

Treat her delicately."

Ashby… Ashby… Clayton! I gasp a bit and reread the file, all the while thinking, That poor man… Well, of course, that poor woman too, but think of what it would do to you if your parent stopped believing you were real. Ugh, if my mom looked at me as if I were a stranger I would break down and cry! I shake my head, sniffle a little, and decide immediately that I'm going to visit her first.

As I'm shuffling around, my mind wanders, and I wonder why he didn't tell me… Though I suppose this isn't really what someone just throws out into random conversation with a girl they'd just met. It makes sense. Especially one as pretty as me, I think, gushing a bit in my mind, ah-hurr-hurr! Okay, so you've got to know I don't mean it—I'm not someone that isn't effected when someone tells me I'm ugly. I'll probably go and, well, not cry about it, but I'll think about it a lot and eventually believe it or forget it. College really boosted my confidence, though. I love my long, brown-blonde hair and my normal brown eyes, along with my 5 foot 1 inch stature. I'm a petite, beautiful young woman, and the world is my oyster! YEAH!

Anyway, I finally leave my office and take out the map. The ward isn't that big or confusing, but neither is the town, so it makes sense that it wouldn't exactly need anything too huge. There's one long strip of hallway extending to the left of me when I exit my office; this is labeled as the "Treatment Hallway," which I assume means therapy rooms: group, individual, and as I guessed, an EKG room. I scoff and shake my head. I'd done a research paper on the effects of electroconvulsive therapy and it made me hate it with a passion. I just have the strong belief that we can change minds without erasing years of the patient's memory, or, you know, killing them.

Across from me, as he said, is the Dr.'s office, and when I step towards the Treatment Hall, straight ahead of me now is another long hallway that extends to the end of the building; a barred window is at the dead end. That hall, connected to the large Day Room to my left (scattered with some patients here and there, casually doing their morning thing), is labeled "Patient's Rooms." So, that's where I head.

I cross the Day Room, and some of the more aware patients life their heads up to watch me go. I offer them smiles and get few in return. They'll get used to me being a part of their routine, and when they do, I'm sure I'll get more. Looking down at the record for Mrs. Ashby, I find her room in the long row of rooms, and knock softly. I hear an equally soft "come in."

I peek my head in first, giving her a warm smile, and introduce myself. "Hello Mrs. Ashby! I'm Annabelle Crooks, I'm just going to be taking care of you today while the doctor's busy running around. I hope that's alright!"

The older lady just nods, smiles, and says, "Oh, whatever you say dear."

I nod as well, happy that it's going so well so far, and enter the room. It's bland, to say the least, with a standard bed, bedside table, and lamp. The walls are scattered with her artwork and offer up the only splash of personality and color in the otherwise stark white area. Though what I see isn't exactly pretty. They're all pictures, scribblings, of deep crimson eyes and a wide, maniacal smile. I feel the blood drain from my face and a frown pull on my mouth.

"Mrs. Ashby? What're your paintings about?"

"Oh?" Her eyes brighten slightly, and she looks up with a faraway look on her face, "Oh, it's my son. He's the only one that comes and visits me." The woman lets out a sigh, and twiddles her fingers. I stare between the eyes, with a familiar flashing of fire in them even on paper, and the woman sitting on the bed.

"Your son?"

"Yes. My real son. Not the one everyone tries to make me believe I have," She scoffs, as if terribly offended, and continues with pure hatred in her frail voice, "I could never have a son like that."

The venom in her voice shocks me to the core, Clayton's face in my mind. Her mind must be replacing her real son with… With what? That is what I can't grasp. What is this person invading my dreams and, apparently, this woman's too? "How often does he come? He must be a good son." I ask her, searching for my own answers through her. Wrong, I know, but bear with me here. Maybe fixing my weird sleep would help her too. Especially if she had the delusion of that monster being anything better than Clayton.

"He is, he is! The only light in my life!" She gushes dreamily. "He only has time at night, though, but I understand. He's a busy man!"

I nod slowly and smile at her as she looks up at me, love in her eyes for the son she thinks she has. "Your breakfast is coming soon, okay? Hold tight." I slowly close the door on her absentminded state. She was absolutely delusional, but at least I caught her when her sentences made sense. I sigh a bit, not as prepared for this as I thought I was, and continue on to visit my other two patients.

My day starts at 9:00 am and ends at 5:00 pm. Just like I always wanted, a regular 9 to 5 job to make me feel grown up. The first day had been interesting, nothing too exciting, but draining. I'm a compassionate person; seeing the mental states of the three people I met today just fueled the fire I have to help them. My thoughts stayed with Clayton and his mom the whole day, no matter who I was talking or listening to. The coincidence is just too great for me to ignore. Those eyes… I shudder a bit and turn up the volume in my car. I just got out of the hospital and I'm heading home, driving slower than I usually do.

Should I talk to Clayton about this? It seems like it'd be a tough conversation to have, but…

"I need your love, I need your time, when everything's wrong, you make it right…"

I jump as my ring tone loudly screams from my purse in the passenger seat. Ahh, speak of the devil.

"Clayton! Hey!"

"Hey, Annabelle. What're you up to?"

Facial expressions still on full blast, I reply, "Weeell, you must be keeping a close eye on me, I just left work. Did you have something in mind?"

"I did, I did… It's a beautiful day out," And it was! A perfect 71 degrees with not a cloud in the sky! "and I was wondering if you'd want to go to the park or something. Walk around some more, you know, explore your new home."

I can't help but smile, excited, "Yeeeaah, you got me, I'd love to. Just let me go home and change. Come on by in, say, 30 minutes?"

"I'll be there." And the line goes dead. I drop my phone into my lap and notice my mood is already a lot better; friendly interaction is always welcomed. But, I still am not sure about asking him about his mom… Oh, what am I saying? I know I'll let it slip into the conversation; it'll be on my mind the whole time anyway, so I know there's no use trying to avoid it.

After parking, I stroll up to my door, unlock it and enter, feed my cat (he's a growing baby, he needs his food), and then go up to my room to change.

I pick a nice navy blue, ruffled sun dress and simple white sandals out of my modest closet (how I wish it were more Narnia like) and start changing right in there, rushing a bit because I know I have to do my hair and retouch my makeup. I worry about these things!

"Annabelle…"

I trip and stumble, my panties half-way off (yes, I change those too to match my outfit…) and keeping me from regaining my balance. "Who the…" I start, anger and confusion dripping from my voice, before I run head first into the back of my closet and tumble down to land on my butt. I huff and call out, "Clayton, who the hell just walks right into someone's house? And then scares them? Really, man?" The clothes hanging down cover my view of my room, but I see black boots standing in front of me. "And come on, don't freaking waltz right into my room… I'm changing…" I pout, rubbing my abused head with one hand and trying to pull my panties up with the other.

Clayton just chuckles and says nothing else, stirring my anger a little. It's not like I've known him forever; this level of comfort might be there for him, but I take a little bit longer to open up to people enough to let them be in the room with me as I'm stripping (unless they've got a hundred dolla bill ya'll…! … Just kidding…). I finally get my clothes in order and push myself up, breaking through the hanging clothes and coming face to face with a man I've never seen before in my life.

You all know what happens next… A sharp, piercing scream erupts from my mouth… And I'm staring into those fire-y eyes once again. All humor and lightheartedness leaves my body instantly, and I start throwing my clothes, hangers and all, at the figure a foot in front of me. "Get the fuck away from me and get out of my house, ohmygod, you insane person—" My breathing hitches and catches in my throat and I swing at him wildly, all the while surrounded by his stupid, mocking laughter. I'm sick of it!

He catches one of my flying fists and kisses the knuckles gently, almost apologetically, and I stop, eyes wide, and stare at him, shocked into silence. He continues to kiss my knuckles until my hand relaxes and opens up. Then he takes his time kissing each of my fingers, his eyes closed and face deceivingly peaceful. My mind doesn't know what to think, but I just can't control my body when this… thing (my mind offers up yesterday as a shield against whatever he's doing) is around.

Finally, slowly, dare I say seductively, he opens his eyes and locks them with mine—a shock of nerves and feelings attack my stomach in a way I hate to admit I liked. That look communicated a feral lust I've never had thrown my way before. My cheeks flush with color unwillingly, and all time stops in that little closet. No, that closet becomes a whole other world where only he and I share the same space, the same breath… And then he flashes a blinding white smirk at me, with only the tiniest bit of teeth, and the spell is broken. I gasp for air and simultaneously realize I hadn't been breathing.

"Who are you?" I manage to push out into the deafening silence.

"Your soulmate. Your King." He stares into my eyes and doesn't blink once (I swear I haven't seen him do it yet). I shake my head in disbelief, flabbergasted at the scope of madness this man must be dealing with in his head. "You belong so completely to me it rips me apart inside when we are apart…"

"I'm so tired of hearing you say shit like this, you know I have no idea what you mean," I harshly whisper at his face, now inches from mine, "If you need to talk to someone, I actually work somewhere you can go and get help—if you want, we can work on it together… But until then, you really need to go and stop breaking into my place."

He shakes his head, his smirk still in place, and I take this time to etch his figure into my mind. He's taller than me, obviously, by at least a foot, with muscles defined just enough to warn people that he can defend himself and win. His hair is a glossy black, perfectly messed (oh, I know, let me continue to describe the perfect human being—I'm sorry, maybe I'm slightly biased with having him in front of me, but I don't know what other word to use but perfect), with dark lashes framing and bringing out the bright crimson that expressed his thoughts so well. His lips are thinned, again, to perfection, so that the smirk he wears seems right at home on his pale face—like porcelain, by the way.

"You can't be human…" I murmur, another slight shake of the head following the rhetorical statement.

"Ah!" He exclaims, overjoyed at my stepping into the light and realizing the truth. "You remember then!"

"No," I say forcefully, frustrated, "I don't know what the hell you're talking about and I'd like for you to start explaining or leaving."

I don't know why I gave him options. Maybe because I've learned by now there is no way I can make him leave. Or maybe I really don't want him to leave.

"Alright. I am a demon King from Hell, and you are my Queen. I plan on taking you back home, where you and I belong."

… Haaaaaaaaa…

My vision goes, and I think I hit the heel of one of my high heels with my head before loosing consciousness.