Chapter 6

After paying for the taxi cab driver, McKenzie dashed up the stairs to her apartment, humming all the while. It had been a rough first night, but at least she'd done something. Unfortunately, her good mood was about to be spoiled.

"You know, dear, you really should consider donating some of these books. I could barely squeeze in through the doorway!" Mrs. McPhee said, gracefully reclining upon a wicker chair.

Having dropped her bag on the floor in startled fright, McKenzie groaned as she stooped down to gather her belongings. "We've been through this, mum." She didn't bother asking why she was there in the first place or how she'd entered the apartment. Mrs. McPhee always managed to get her hands on a spare key, and her response to the latter question would have been, "What, do I not have the right to check on my only daughter's welfare?" This statement would have been followed by mock palpitations and clutching at the chest as she swooned, forcing McKenzie to grab the smelling salts.

"But do you really need so many copies of Dante's Inferno? At least invest in some modern classics; I've heard the 'Shopaholic' series is quite amusing."

Reluctantly, McKenzie observed her dwelling through her mother's frost-coated lenses. To her chargrin, it wasn't particularly impressive. A cluttered person at the best of times, she hadn't even had the chance to organize yet, since she'd only moved in two nights ago. Most of her belongings were scattered everywhere, and the only place her clothes were somewhat organized was in her laundry hamper. She counted four towers of books in the living room alone, and she knew there were a couple more in her bedroom. Her kitchen was the only area one could've considered remotely tidy, but she'd forgotten to put away some of the canned goods, which were currently cluttering the counter. Far too out-of-sorts to care at the moment, McKenzie plopped down in her bean bag chair.

"I'll get you some tea." Mrs. McPhee rose primly and heated some water on the stove. Staring into her child's backside with her own pair of remarkable blue-green eyes, she added softly, "You know, your uncle and I pay for the rent for this place. The least you could do is keep it presentable." McKenzie stayed immobile until she heard the quite click of the lock.

McKenzie's diary entry:

Tonight was the beginning of my internship, and it turned out to be the night when my belief in magic was rekindled. I'll admit it, I thought Mr. Daley was mocking me initially, but after being given a tour by an ancient pharaoh and witnessing a fossilized dinosaur bursting to life before my eyes, I accepted the facts. In retrospect, it makes sense that the Night Program is a farce: the museum would never be able to afford to hire so many actors, and the special effects likewise would have been costly. However, I digress.

My first patient is an ancient, living (sort of) pharaoh suffering from PTSD. I'd like to see any other psychology student top that for an internship! Befitting his status, he is charming, warm, and intelligent, but he's as forthcoming as an iron vault. There are moments in this career choice when I wish I were telepathic! Ahkmenrah filled out the questionnaires willingly enough, but the results of the ink blot tests were ambiguous to say the least. An infant would have performed better! Obviously he didn't understand the purpose of those tests. Now that I consider it, he probably thought it was all rather bizarre. What experience would an ancient king have with any of this? With that in mind, I shall attempt to be much more sympathetic in the future.

One thing is for certain: something terrible happened to him. I do not know what yet, but what kind of therapist would I be if I never tried to find out?

Ahkmenrah's journal entry, that same night:

My sincerest apologies for not writing more frequently, dear journal! So much has transpired these past months, I had no time to settle my thoughts in order. However, with the arrival of our esteemed guest, I knew the time had come to put quill to paper once more.

I enjoyed my first therapy session, though I hesitate to use the word "enjoy," more like "endure." Of what help it was remains to be seen. I certainly feel no better, but dawn will prove whether or not my visions have been eradicated. I have my doubts about McKenzie- she tries prying into topics that do not concern her, subjects I have trouble divulging to even the closest of friends, and so far she is no one but a stranger to me. Whether or not she will prove herself to be one also remains to be seen. Again, I have my doubts.

Psychology must have been invented by madmen! All I did was answer repetitive questions and analyze ink stains! How will that alleviate my anxiety? I was told by the Guardian she would uncover the source of my current fears, but so far the results are pending. I am beginning to question her motives, for she observes me like a scorpion whenever she thinks I do not notice. Am I even human to her, or merely an experiment? That was all they thought of me at Cambridge... Is she one of them? That would explain some of her mannerisms...

If McKenzie proves to be a threat, I will not hesitate to do what I can to protect this museum and my friends, though that will be very little; the secrets of my tablet are not yet forthcoming. My progress on that is frustratingly slow, despite Teddy's help and Larry's research. Father was perhaps too thorough sometimes...

Is it a coincidence my nightmares coincide with her arrival? I know she is the ruler of this museum's niece and so should be beyond suspicion, but I cannot ignore this corroding sense of dread that something is coming. A threat I will fail to stop in time.

Only Teddy's advice forces me to suspend my judgement, though if he knew the nonsense she spouts occasionally, he might reconsider as well. Regardless, it would be just to give her a chance, and time.

I will be willing to consider her my friend once I determine if she sees me as a fellow human being, and not merely as a subject.


Fear not, more will come soon. :)