Charlotte closed her notebook and stretched. The day was unusually cloudy for a summer, but she didn't mind. Pushing in her chair, Charlotte grabbed her bag and left the office, yanking the light switch on her way. The desk next to her was empty.
Outside wasn't pleasant. Shivering, Charlotte pulled a jacket over her shoulders and started on the dusty road. Her area her work was located in was was mostly peppered in farmhouses, ranches, and prairies, ironically without cattle. There was just a few acres of wheat sickly growing, uselessly guarded by a shaggy scarecrow. Charlotte suddenly tripped, bag flying from her hand.
"Shit," she quietly swore, kneeling down and picking up her scattered belongings. The accountant irritably sucked in the air at the sight of her handkerchief, covered in a pretty thick layer of dust. Tugging her bag towards the wooden fence, Charlotte began ordering its insides, unsafely balanced in her fingers. After a while, Charlotte felt someone's heavy gaze burning her profile. Slightly jerking her head, she turned around. Heath was sitting on the fence on the other side, studying her in glum curiosity. Noticing that she saw him, his lips formed into a strained smile, not like the one Charlotte was used to.
"Evening, Lottie. How did your day go?"
"Well, thank you. How was yours?"
Heath didn't answer, looking away. Charlotte narrowed her eyes, passing her tongue over her teeth in thought.
"Why did you wait for me?" She inquired, nodding his way. Heath's eyes shifted back to her.
"I didn't wait for you," he slowly answered. Charlotte immediately understood who he meant.
"Winnifred left early to go to the hospital. Our manager allowed her." Heath nodded, looking away again. Charlotte curiously studied him with her eyes. He looked terrible; there were deep shadows under his eyes, his hair was even more tangled than usual, and the face itself looked sunken and weary.
"You look awful," Charlotte risked, "Is it because of Winnifred?"
"That too," Heath tiredly rubbed his hand over his face. "Alright, thanks Lottie."
He nimbly slid off the fence and began down the dusty road. Charlotte followed him with her eyes until he became to small to see. Her eyes absently transferred back to the small mirror, clenched in her fingers. Charlotte remembered a minute too late why it was there. Sighing, she tossed it inside her bag and continued on her way.
Heath tautly rubbed his finger over his bottom lip, creasing his brows in a troubled thought. The cigarette between his fingers slowly rose up to his lips. Heath scratched the tip of his nose with the side of his thumb and inhaled the smoke from the cigarette with a sigh. He accidentally took too much in, and Heath convulsed in rasp coughing, trying to clear his lungs from smoke. The cigarette inevitably got smashed between his knuckles. Heath slightly shook his head to clear his thoughts, staring down at the ground below him. His boot smoothed across a small rock, cutting the spider off its escape route and forcing it on his boot. Heath kneeled down and positioned his hand right up to the insect. The spider considered this unexpected pathway for a second, then scrambled up with his eight little feet on the cold palm. Heath slowly stood up, observing how the tiny creature quickly maneuvers up and around his fingers and twisted his hand, following the running spider with his eyes.
"Heath!" Heath glanced up, crumpling his hand and the spider under it.
"Aye?"
Riley jumped off the fence, walking up to him. Billy continued sitting on the fence, grimly smoking some weed.
"What happen?" Heath frowned, exhaling smoke through a rolled upper lip.
"Grouch refuses to give the building," Riley hastily explained. His pockets nervously twisted; he was probably cracking his knuckles inside. Heath raised his eyebrows.
"Fucking hell, why not?"
"He wants money," Billy spat his weed on the ground and roughly slid off the fence.
"That old jackass wants money."
Heath chewed the tip of his cigarette to calm down.
"Do the others know?" He finally asked.
"We didn't tell the girls," Billy shook his head. "Why? We'll teach that..."
"No, no, no Billy," Heath tiredly passed his hand in the air in refusal, forehead creased in weary wrinkles.
"No fighting this time. We just won't be able to bail ourselves out."
Billy grimaced. Riley frowned.
"What then? The price he demands is ridiculous."
"Where is he?"
Billy jerked his head towards an unclear direction.
"There, as always," he bitterly smirked,"Guarding his rooster from college students."
Heath tossed his cigarette away with a sigh and started right across the field. Billy crookedly grinned and followed him. Riley didn't wait for a permission as well. The dry wheat ears uncomfortably scrubbed the hemline of the pants, little pricks and spikes trailing along. Heath absently hummed under his breath, Billy loudly opened another pack of unknown to science weed of personal creation, while Riley occasionally swatted his pants from the debris that stuck.
"What were you doing here anyway?" He asked after a while. "You never make it to here, so what's the matter?" The humming stopped.
"I was waiting for Freddie," Heath answered after a short silence. Billy smirked, tucking the weed under his tongue.
"Winnifred? Let go off her, man. I doubt she's just as passionate about you as you are of her."
"Can you let go of your drugs?" Heath harshly responded, fingers spasmodically clenching the sweaty cards inside his pocket. They sickly crumpled under his grasp. Billy shrugged.
"But drugs don't have feelings. Winnie does, and so much, that she could literally trample you with them," Riley noticed, accusingly pointing his finger at Heath. That one glanced at him from the corner of his eye.
"I just know her for a very, very long time," Heath quietly sighed.
"It would be rather strange if I didn't care for her or her family."
"Wanna make a bet?" Riley winked to Billy.
"Five hundred plus a bottle of Italian wine that you won't repeat these words after, say, ten years?"
"Eleven," Heath grinned. "Can't stand even numbers."
"Eleven it be," Riley seriously concluded and slapped Heath's outstretched hand. Billy snorted. Heath's mood was slightly upraised, when it abruptly plummeted back down. All it took was a simple approach to Jonas Crouch's estate. It was one of the slightly wealthier houses in the microscopic village, having a large living room, large rooms overall, tall windows, and nicely done facade. However, not to be forgotten, the nickname Grouch did not come from anywhere. Heath knocked on the metal gates and hastily shoved his open hand to Riley.
"Glasses, quick!" Heath sloppily fixed the glasses on his nose when Crouch's irritated, old face appeared in front of the young people.
"Well?" He furrowed his white eyebrows, glaring at them with his fiery eyes.
"Why'd ya knocking?"
"Mr. Crouch," Heath sweetly began. "We would like to know why you are refusing to lease your house for just one night. I thought we've settled everything a week ago."
"We did," Crouch reluctantly agreed. "But it doesn't mean that I can't change my mind!" He instantly fired up.
"I know you students!" He accusingly jabbed his finger at Heath's chest. The young man calmly leaned on the hinges, listening to the old man. A glimmer of amusement played in his eyes.
"You get drunk, jump on couches, break all my china, then I'm brushing the entire month!"
Heath let Crouch take a breath, then slowly took off his glasses and closed them with a small clink.
"Mr. Crouch," Heath quietly started, looking at his glasses. "I do not like when people don't take their promises seriously."
His brown eyes darted upwards.
"I don't think you want to get on my," Heath dryly chuckled,"bad list, right?"
Crouch frowned, unwittingly taking a step back.
"Is that a threat?"
"No, that's just me trying to clear up the situation," Heath sighed. "After all, what else do you have to do than to clean up your house? You don't have anything else to do."
"I won't receive any instructions from some sort of youngsters like you," Crouch spat. Billy snorted.
"You could've just said that you don't like anyone younger than eighty six."
"Whatever," Heath quickly glanced at his friend beside him. "Mr. Crouch, it's not like we're going to go nuts or something. We've got ladies!"
"Little sluts," Crouch mumbled. The smile dropped from Heath's face.
"You're a low man, Mr. Crouch," he quietly said,"If you have the gut to speak about girls you have known since they were toddlers."
Crouch fell silent, visibly cut by the comment. Heath wasn't sure if he actually regretted his words, or worrying about his wounded pride. Either way, he wasn't going to continue the conversation any longer.
"Anyway, however you may think, we are still coming this Saturday. We paid you previously, documented the interaction, as you insisted, and extra money now would simply be illegal on your side." Heath wasn't sure if it was illegal or not, but it worked. Crouch twisted his lips in displeasure.
"Fine, but don't think that..."
Heath already turned his back to him, putting on Riley's fake glasses and walking away. He saluted them at the fork, excusing himself to the mill. He had work.
Winnifred tapped her fingers on her bag in front of her, trying to decide what to do. The doctors shooed her out of Margaret's room, claiming that it is dangerous for her cousin to have so much outside interaction, but Winnifred suspected it was just because she got on her nerves. Sighing, Winnifred heaved the bag over her shoulder and walked down to the receptionist desk.
"Excuse me?"
Winnifred finally learned that the blonde girl was named Clarke. The understanding was mutual; Winnifred became a too common of a face at the hospital.
"Yes, Miss Lewly?" Evangeline finished her last word and looked up. Winnifred thought for a second how to lay out her question, before deciding to just say how it is.
"Do you know where to find intern Johnathan Crane?"
Evangeline's eyes widened as she uncomfortably shifted in her seat.
"Why do you need him?" Winnifred, whose right hand was resting on the countertop, raised her fingers before lightly slapping them back on the table.
"Well, I um, have to discuss something with him concerning," Winnifred quickly combined medical terms,"pneumonia accompanying the infection of the medulla, which can cause the fifth stage of schizophrenia." There were only three stages, but Winnifred decided that it would be best to heighten the stakes.
"Fifth?" Clarke gasped. "Not even the fourth?" Great, she's an expert in psychology just as much as I am.
"Yes," Winnifred seriously nodded her head. "Dr. Collins sent me to the intern. Do you know where he is?"
"Wait, I..." Clarke rumbled through stacks of papers neatly scattered around her desk.
"Office 65, on the third floor."
"With the seventh window."
"What?"
"Never mind. Thank you."
Winnifred didn't bother taking the staircase, so she called down the elevator. After verifying that it won't come on the first floor and that she is somehow the only one waiting for it, Winnifred went on to search for staircases. Not long, she made her way on the the third floor. It was relatively abandoned. Winnifred glanced to the right. There was a long line of wards, the mumbling of its patients echoing in the walls. Winnifred shivered and quickly walked to the left.
The office looked exactly like the doors next to it. Winnifred hesitated in front of it, then scolded herself for being uncertain in front of her friend, so she knocked and looked in.
"Johnathan?"
The room was empty. Winnifred clicked her tongue in irritation. Her eyes traveled around the office, and she slowly walked in. The cabinet was done in old style, wooden and small, closets with papers and books messily stacked around, and a window covered in shades. Winnifred chuckled and in one big stroke appeared in front of it. In a second, the room crackled in the sound of screeching blinds pulling up and inundated in flowing sunlight. Winnifred covered her eyes with a smile and turned around, taking the room in anew. Her eyes fell on the two desks opposite of each other she didn't notice the first time. The desk on the left looked exactly like Winnifred's at work. The desk on the right was a bit more organized. Winnifred slowly walked around it. The tips of her fingers slightly lifted up the edge of the paper loosely lying on the surface. Winnifred lifted her brows as her eyes darted back and forth along the text. The door suddenly flung open, and Winnifred glanced up, the paper immediately slightly falling down as they lost their finger support. However, the man that entered wasn't Johnathan. In fact, he looked much more benign compared to Johnathan.
"Uh...who are you?" He uncertainly asked. Winnifred slightly smiled and walked out of the desk.
"I'm sorry to be here without invitation, I was just looking for Johnathan Crane. Isn't this his office?"
"Well, yes, he shares it with me." The man put his folders down on the desk and turned to her.
"My name is Richard, by the way." Winnifred grimaced inside by the fact that he didn't leave her an option of addressing him by his last name, but smiled on the outside.
"I'm Winnifred. So will Johnathan come here soon?" Richard shrugged.
"I doubt it. He's usually in the basement doing experiments for his dissertation or something."
"Really?" Winnifred was genuinely surprised. So that's where Johnathan conducted his experiments. "And where is that?"
Richard didn't seem very happy to give her instructions.
"It's right next to the last ward down the corridor." Winnifred didn't ask why basements were on the third floor, preferring to turn around and walk away.
"Thank you. Richard, right?"
"Yes, yes that's right." Richard grimly watched her close the door, then sat down at his desk with a sigh, wondering why he had so much failure in women.
Winnifred couldn't keep off that feeling that someone was watching her while she walked down the wards. The mutterings that surrounded her at every corner kept on getting louder. Winnifred quickened her pace to a rugged half walk, half jog. At the end of the hallway, there was a short staircase leading down to a door, explaining why it was called a basement. The thought of how it could possibly look architecturally from the outside visited Winnifred just once. The staircase was poorly lit, and Winnifred slowly made her way down. The metal door grimly waited for her to knock. Her fist hovered before it, until it finally lowered up and down in quick knocking movements.
"Johnathan?"
No one answered her. Winnifred patiently waited, before knocking again.
"Johnathan."
Silence. Winnifred tried the knob, which was surprisingly unlocked. She stepped into the room. It looked like a large prison cell mixed with a modern alchemy with poor lighting and a closet full of papers, equipment, and medicine. Johnathan was sitting back to her behind the table filled with numerous equipment and chemicals. Winnifred wasn't sure if he heard her, but before she could take a step, Johnathan slightly tilted his head her way.
"Winnifred, is that you?" His voice was extremely strained. Winnifred froze.
"Yes," she quietly answered. He turned his head back away from her. Winnifred sighed and closed the door behind her. She started walking towards him, but before she could get too close, he warningly put out his hand.
"Be careful, though, there's a crow sitting on the desk."
"Where?" Winnifred immediately stopped and looked around the room. Johnathan nodded.
"There." Winnifred followed his movement to the corner of the desk. No one was there. Winnifred shifted her gaze back on Johnathan.
"On the corner of the desk?" She asked in a flat voice.
"Yes," Johnathan tiredly sighed. Winnifred thought for a moment, then calmly walked up and slammed her hand as hard as she could on the corner. Johnathan jerked.
"Is it gone now?" She inquired, eyebrows slightly raised. Johnathan looked at the corner for a moment, then sighed and took off his glasses, observing the wall in front of him. Winnifred put her hand on his shoulder.
"Johnny, what's wrong?" She quietly asked, trying to look into his eye. Johnathan continued staring at the wall. Nothing moved in his face. Winnifred patiently waited. Johnathan slightly opened his mouth to say something, but a sigh escaped instead.
"Freddie, do you know what I'm researching?" He finally asked.
"I do. Fear, isn't it?"
His brows slightly came together.
"How do you know?"
"I've seen your papers," Winnifred sighed. "But it's still very easy to figure it out," she kneeled down to his face. "You're obsessed with fear." She tried to smile, but couldn't make herself lie. Johnathan slightly closed his eyes.
"Was this one of your experiments?" Winnifred quietly inquired. Johnathan sighed.
"Subconscious fear. Nothing happens to you, but you have the constant feeling that it's there. An effective tool for unwinding the mind over a long period of time."
Winnifred took the statement in. It's meaning crashed at her in slow motion. She quickly took him by both of his shoulders, looking into his eyes.
"Did you just hear yourself?" Johnathan sighed in irritation, rubbing his face with his hand
"Freddie, I am not going mad," He forcefully said, lifting three fingers away from his face.
"No, but you said that whatever you're doing is an effective tool for unwinding the mind over a long period of time," Winnifred slashed, trying to keep her voice from rolling away.
"And I assume you're doing these experiments on yourself?"
"Freddie," Johnathan wearily explained. "I'm a scientist."
"So?"
"Doesn't that tell you anything? I work for science, not for anything else."
"And if you go bonkers?"
"As long as it doesn't interfere with my work, I don't care."
"But Johnathan," Winnifred whispered in hurt, trying not to believe in what he was saying.
"I care." Johnathan finally looked her into the eyes. Winnifred was appalled by how tired he looked. His face was extremely pale and sunken, the only thing that shone out was his blue eyes, shimmering in some sort of feverish fire.
"Freddie, don't take it close to heart," Johnathan softened, trying to comfort her, but Winnifred saw how he was shaking, still under the influence on the chemical.
"Nothing's going to happen."
"You speak as if you don't understand," Winnifred bitterly turned away.
"You know you're not telling the truth. I'm sure you perfectly know the consequences."
Johnathan leaned back on the chair. His eyes fixed on some point on the air which Winnifred couldn't catch.
"I wasn't left a choice," he quietly answered.
"Then shall I give it to you?" Winnifred searched his face, trying to catch his attention. Johnathan slowly turned to her. His lips were curled into a sarcastic, distorted grin.
"A choice between continuing my work or stopping our friendship? You know me, Freddie, well enough to understand that I won't do that."
"You will," Winnifred coldly answered. "If you don't stop whatever you're doing right now." Johnathan bitterly smirked. Winnifred tightened her fingers on his shoulders.
"Johnathan, listen to me. I have no intentions of losing my friend to some sort of misplaced devotion to work."
"Winnie..." Johnathan shook his head, but Winnifred didn't let him continue.
"Johnny...don't. I'm not watching how you lose your mind every day just because of some stupid degree."
"Winnifred, understand." Johnathan finally lost his patience, color finally returning to his face.
"This is what I do. I've been working over this since I was a child, I can't just go and throw it all away."
"But you cannot lose yourself while doing this," Winnifred insisted.
"Johnny, I know I can't force you to stop this, but can't you limit your experiments to once a week or something? I'm sure you have enough material for a decent dissertation." Johnathan fell silent. Winnifred watched in worry as his face slowly loses its sharpness, reluctantly yielding to her request.
"Just let me finish my final experiment," he finally said.
"Which is?"
"I'm not sure if you would like to know."
"Johnathan. I want to know." Johnathan sighed.
"It's how fear triggers one's duality or breakdown. Don't worry, I'll be taking a small dose."
Winnifred pressed her lips together, but knew she couldn't say no to his request.
"Fine." She looked away, not wanting to show her defeat. "Just come to me once you finish."
"I'll try."
Winnifred sadly looked back at him, stroking his shoulders with her hand. The clock hesitantly ticked in the growing silence.
"When I walked in, did you think I was your grandmother?" Winnifred finally asked. Johnathan didn't answer. Winnifred sighed and kissed him on the head, pressing hers against his.
"Promise me that you won't overwork yourself." Johnathan again didn't answer. Winnifred sighed, but understood that she did all she could and continuing would be useless. She straightened out and quietly walked out of the room. Before she left, Winnifred took one final glance back and quietly closed the door behind her. Johnathan continued sitting there, but he heard how her footsteps echo in the hollow hallway. Gradually, these footsteps became quieter and quieter, until finally everything descended into silence. A second passed. Johnathan transferred his eyes on the small glass tube partly full with white powder lying on the table. Suddenly, he jumped up and angrily overturned the desk. The glass loudly shattered against the hard floor, filling the room with a shrieking clang. Johnathan heavily breathed as the shattered glass echoed in his ears. His eyes slowly took in what he had done in the moment of impulse. Understanding came dawning on him, and he fell back into his chair, dropping his head into his hands.
A/N Fear toxins, fear toxins...