Hey guys! Welcome to another chapter of my (so far) depressing story!

First of all, I'd like to thank my beta reader, blossom2012 for helping my editing process and assisting me with suggestions. Thanks a bunches. I forgot to mention that last chapter, but I'm a dope and I forgot... hehehe. But thanks!

Okay guys! I think you guys will like this next chapter! Thanks for your support! It means a lot to me!

-Blythe

Chp 4: The Accident/Discovering Sleeping Beauty

By the time Dave returned home, Alvin had given up on creating any kind of excuse to cover up for the mess he'd created. He'd thought of many things he could tell him: That there were too many plugs in the wall at one time, that he turned on the stove and it spontaneously caught on fire, that his hair dryer was left on, etc. The problem was, Alvin had no access to any of those things - Dave had taken all electrical privileges away since the incident with the auditorium a year and a half ago. Instead of lying, Alvin decided the best thing to do right now was come clean to avoid future consequences for lying. He told Dave about the lighter and the cigarettes and how he tried to put it out. Dave listened to Alvin's story while he watched the three fire trucks that were parked on the front lawn, hosing down whatever was left of the Seville house among the ashes. The flames had been extinguished by then and now a few firemen were investigating the ruins to see if there was anything in the house they could find that wasn't burned or damaged.

Alvin just sat motionless in the grass while Dave let loose on him, shouting at him and using his whole body to describe the immensity of the situation. Alvin began to think that if Dave lectured him any louder, he would've gone hoarse.

"Do you have ANY idea what we'll have to do now?! We're going to have to buy a new house and pay off the damages of this property because chances are, my insurance is probably not going to cover all this! Was it worth it to come home early, Alvin? Was it?!"

Alvin shook his head, keeping his eyes completely focused on the ground. Remorse was eating up every fiber of his being. He couldn't stand to look at the hurt in his father's eyes.

"I'm...sorry, Dave," he replied weakly, "i-it was an accident, I swear..!"

"Oh, an accident?! No, Alvin! This was no accident! Houses don't burn down like this because of 'accidents!' Buying that lighter wasn't an accident, was it?"

Alvin shook his head slowly, cringing at his first mistake. He should have known that lighter would only lead to destruction - it always did.

Dave took a deep breath in and released it, surrendering the angry energy that'd been fueling him for the last fifteen minutes, "Alvin...do you know what this means we're going to have to do? I'm going to have to call Dr. Callaway about this. And...I think you need to go back into the psychiatric hospital for a while. For your own good."

Alvin, leapt up from the ground and immediately began to pull at his hair, his usual reaction when he feels he's being pushed into a corner. Dave's words felt like boiling water being thrown at him over and over again.

"I SAID it was an ACCIDENT!" Hissed Alvin, "accident meaning I didn't mean to!"

"You're the one who bought that lighter! You knew good and well that you aren't allowed to own one of those! We've been over this! You can't even use a fork without my permission!"

Sadly, Dave was correct. Alvin was unfit to possess so much as a sharp pencil. Plus, his recent attitude problems and eating disorder gave Dave more reason not to trust him. The stunt he pulled with Dr. Callaway that evening was an indicator that Alvin's unwillingness to open up was getting stronger, and the frequency of his nightmares causing him to endure many sleepless nights was clearly a sign of psychological instability. Alvin was indeed very sick and needed immediate attention; he was relapsing.

It wasn't long after Dave called Dr. Callaway that the administrators at the institution were alerted about the circumstances. Alvin would need to come in first thing in the morning for personal one-on-one treatment as soon as possible. Dave drove him to the institution and promptly at 7am and checked Alvin in immediately, waiting while the doctors took down his weight, height, medical history, his past medications, psychological tendencies, drug abuse history, attitude changes, and more. It was an ailing process, to say the least. Hours and hours of paperwork needed to be filled out and filed so they could place him properly in the institution. They finished all of the paperwork and filing by 10am and spoke to Dave outside about what they were going to do for Alvin's treatment.

He could just see it now: he would need an escort at all times going from room to room, a daily search to check for harmful items in his possession, two therapy sessions a day as well as group therapy, and he would also need to be monitored in response to medications they prescribe to him in the future after determining the source of his depressive episodes. He didn't know if that was a correct assumption, but it wouldn't be far from the truth, he figured. Alvin was not happy, to say the least. If things go the way he thought they would, it would mean that there'd be people in his life all the time with no way to get rid of them.

Within the next hour, Alvin was shown to a small room on the west wing of the building. The walls of the room were tangerine, making the room seem like it was shrinking, and the carpeting was a bright white color, as if it'd just been cleaned. There was a rectangular coffee table in the middle of the room with two stacked piles of magazines and a box of tissues in the center surrounded by a red leather couch and two wooden antique chairs. In the corner was a desk piled high with folders and notebooks, a few pieces of paper drooping off of the edge and ready to spill to the ground. The trash bin next to the desk was nearly full of crumpled scraps and wrappers from foods. There weren't any windows or hanging pictures in the room, which Alvin found a bit eerie. Whoever works in here must get distracted easily, he thought.

The door opened, revealing a tall, narrow man dressed in a long, alabaster doctor's coat. He had neatly combed black and silver hair and thin spectacles with a black lens bridge that rested on the tip of his nose. Dr. Walters, read the chest pocket in navy blue cursive letters. He closed the door behind him. "Alrighty...What do we have here?" Said the man, "So...your name is Alvin...Seville?" He asked, reading off of a metal clipboard. Alvin nodded slowly, eying the box of tissues on the table.

"Oh, well howdy! I'm Doctor Walters. I'll be your new psychiatrist. Nice to meet you!" He said cordially, holding out his hand. Alvin didn't shake it. Instead, he gave the man a solid glare; Alvin detested doctors - especially psychiatrists.

"Hmm...I sense a little bit of animosity there, Alvin!" He laughed, retracting his hand and stuffing it into his coat pocket, "Let's see...so you are sixteen, have a little bit of an eating problem, and..." He adjusted his glasses, "you set fire to your own house?"

"It was an accident!" Protested Alvin, "But no one seems to believe me!"

"Uh huh... it also says here that you attempted to burn down your school's auditorium, a year and and half ago, too..."

Alvin went silent, crossing his arms and casting his gaze to the ground.

"That seems a little rash, don't ya think? Why don't you tell me about that?" Said Doctor Walters, seating himself in the chair across from Alvin.

"No. I don't want to talk about it. That was a long time ago. My life is difficult enough as it is now without bringing out the skeletons in my closet." Argued Alvin. He was pushing away, just as he always did when the subject was brought up. He was getting sick of discussing the past.

"Okay...well. Can you tell me then, Alvin, when you think your life became difficult to live? What happened to you that made you begin to do these unhealthy acts of rebellion?"

"Why? It's no one's business but my own," growled Alvin defensively.

Dr. Walters, sighed, putting his pen down on his clipboard for a minute. Being a psychiatrist in the institution meant that he needed to identify with his patients in order to help them, and he'd had a couple of resilient kids like Alvin before. Patients like him were usually the most troubled.

The doctor sighed and leaned forward in his seat, looking Alvin dead in the eye.

"Listen, Alvin. My job is to help you and hear what you have to say so that I can begin to make your life a little easier. If you don't tell me what happened that's causing you to feel grief, I can't help you. And if I can't help you, you're going to be in this place for a while. The other doctors here will try to solve your issues with shots and pills and I doubt you'd want that. I'm here to help you, Alvin - to talk to you, not to poke you with needles. Do you understand?"

Alvin loosened up a little bit, but said nothing, leaning back against his seat. He was silent for several minutes.

"Fine." He huffed, taking a moment to think, "...It was the accident."

"Okay. Tell me about the accident. What do you remember?"

Alvin took a deep breath in, closing his eyes. He thought about the lights, about the pain and the confusion; about what he had lost.

"One night, Mom picked us up from our house and told us we were going to the grocery store."

"Who's 'we?'"

"Me, my mother and my two younger brothers."

"What are your brothers' names?"

"Their names were Thomas and Steven"

The doctor took a moment to write that down, then he nodded.

"Okay. Go on. What happened?"

"Well, for some reason, we always had to sneak out of the house when Mom came around."

"And why's that?"

"Because..." Alvin pondered the question for a moment, "Well, Dave didn't let Mom see us sometimes. He'd only let us see her when he came with us. I don't know why. I never understood why me and my brothers didn't live with her."

"And Dave is...?"

"My adoptive father."

The doctor took more notes, crossing one of his legs over the other, "Okay. And so what happened?"

"Well, my brothers and I were excited. We loved Mom and we never spent time with her. Mom was fun and cooked for us sometimes, and told us stories about when we were babies... She loved us very much... so... we snuck out and went with her to the grocery store."

"And then what happened?"

"Well..." Alvin slumped a little more in his seat, reluctant to talk about pain the memory inflicted on him. He wished he could say he forgot, but he remembered it all too well. "We...never actually made it to the grocery store. You see, Mom was driving down the road and... and we saw the headlights of a car driving towards us. We didn't think anything of it at first, but then it was approaching really fast and it was on our side of the road, s-so before it hit us, Mom tried to steer away as best as she could but..."

There was a long pause.

"But...she was too late. The car smashed into our car and...and my brothers took the hit first because they were in the backseats where the car hit us. Mom's head banged into the steering wheel and she was knocked unconscious. I was sitting in the front passenger's seat and I was the only one who came out of the experience with a couple of injuries. I had glass lodged into my skin and my eyes and mouth...and I couldn't move my arms or my legs for a long time. I kept hearing screaming and voices I didn't know..."

"And what happened to the others?" Asked Dr. Walters.

Alvin looked down at his fingers, picking at his fingernails again like he always did when he was uncomfortable, "...My brothers died upon impact...and Mom was put in a coma."

The air was empty for a moment while the Doctor stopped writing. He sensed pain in the boy's voice and stopped writing.

"Oh dear... I'm so sorry to hear that. That's absolutely horrifying."

Alvin nodded, saying no more. He was beginning to relive the experience in his mind, his skin tingling as he recalled the shards of glass stabbing through his skin. The blood. The fire. The screaming. Everything.

"And the worst part is," Began Alvin, fighting off tears, "The guy that hit us just drove away..! He just drove off like nothing happened! He had killed my family and ruined my life and it just didn't matter enough, I guess!"

The doctor was silent. Alvin was opening up more than he'd wanted to, but it seemed to just pour out of him; his emotions were finally coming to the surface.

"I didn't even get to go to my brothers' funerals," he said, his voice getting louder and more tense, "I was in the hospital for five weeks because of my stupid injuries from that accident. My neck was broken in two places, I'd broken my collarbone, two of my ribs, three of my fingers, and my right leg, but I begged them to let me out so I could go to their funerals! But they wouldn't let me! That's why I hate hospitals!"

The doctor came back into the conversation, "Did your father go to the funerals?"

Alvin's face was tense as he thought about Dave, "the first few weeks, he denied there ever being funerals for them. It was like he didn't even want to face the truth or something! But now whenever I ask him about it, he admits to going, but he doesn't say anything else about it! It's like he's ghosting the subject! Like he's always hiding something from me!"

"What does he do that makes you think he hides things from you?"

"He doesn't give any details about the funerals or about how he felt when they died. It makes me so angry - it's like he forgot about them... or never cared in the first place."

It made Alvin's stomach turn thinking about Dave. Dave was the one who put him in here in the first place. Dave was the one who'd been keeping him from freedom. Dave wouldn't even give him the decency of believing him when he said he didn't mean to set the house aflame. But what hurt most of all was how Dave never told him about what it was like to say goodbye to his brothers. He accused Alvin of having the psychological problems, but Dave almost seemed like he was in denial when it came to talking about them.

"Alvin, what happened to your mother?"

Alvin sighed. He was getting tired of talking about the experience. It exhausted him physically and emotionally.

"She was put on life support for two and a half months. She was still unresponsive by then, so they pulled the plug. I was allowed to go to her funeral. I remember it very well."

"And what happened when you attended her funeral?"

Alvin scoffed in response, "What do you think happened? I said goodbye, that's what happened! Isn't that what normally happens at funerals? A bunch of crying, a casket, people dressed in black saying goodbye?" Alvin got up from his seat, beginning to feel irritated, "Look, I don't wanna talk anymore, okay?"

Alvin didn't exactly like opening up old wounds. He usually kept far away from explaining how he truly felt about things. It didn't matter to him if it helped him by talking about it. He was just sick of people feeling bad for him all the time. He hated pity.

The doctor nodded and stood up, showing Alvin to the door, "Fair enough. How about I show you to your room so that you can have some time to yourself, hm?"

The hallways in the institution were cleaner than anything Alvin had every seen. There were no scratches on the walls, no pictures, no stained ceiling tiles or smudges on the floor. Nothing but white walls and white tiles. Each door to every room was painted a cloudy grey color and labelled number that went down from 300. Every different section of the building had a different letter representing the every wing from A to E - the wing Alvin would have to reside in was the D wing. The higher the wing letter one was assigned to, the more maintenance they required. In other words, people In the B wing were usually patients who've committed serious crimes and needed to be handcuffed when going from one place to the next.

People in the A wing were the most troubled ones of all; they required twenty-four hour surveillance and heavy dosages of medication and intensive psychotherapy. Many of the patients in that wing had been there for years - their rooms looked like apartment rooms from the inside.

Last time Alvin was here, they put him in the C wing because of his act of juvenile delinquency. He didn't care much at all for the room he was in - a bed that was secured to the floor, bars on the windows, no lights in the ceiling, two metal chair and a round metal table. They might as well have just thrown him in jail. He couldn't do much at all during his last stay. The doctors would come in and treat him like he was too young to understand big words such as "psychology" and "rehabilitation" and it made him angry. They'd also put on gloves before checking his vital signs, making him feel like he was some monster with a contagious skin disease or something. This time, he would be in the D wing, which meant he'd be in the hallway with high-functioning patients around him. There wouldn't be any bars on the windows, no anchored down beds, no doctors who were afraid of him or belittled him. Because he was on a different wing than before, he would have a whole new set of doctors.

"Well, here we are!" Announced Dr. Walters, escorting him to the room with a door that read 1D, "your room, Alvin."

Alvin stepped into the room and felt relieved; the room felt like the one he had at home. The walls were a slight olive green and there was a ceiling fan and a bay window with a pleasant view. It felt comfortable and homey. The memory foam bed seemed to sink when Alvin sat on it and there was a green and blue quilt draped neatly over it, reminding him of something he'd see in a normal house. Alvin was very pleasantly surprised.

"Does everything feel okay to you, Alvin? Do you like it?" Inquired Doctor Walters.

"Oh boy, do I!" Exclaimed Alvin, satisfied with the improved decorating, "this place is so much better than the one I had before!"

"Well the one you had before on the C wing is more designed for patients who need more clinical care. Would you like me to show you the difference between levels C, D, and E?"

"Sure, but what about A and B?" Asked Alvin curiously. The doctor shook his head.

"I'm afraid I can't grant you permission to visit those levels. They required top security and I don't want to risk you getting hurt if something happens."

Alvin looked disappointedly at the ground, "Okay."

"Come with me! I'll show you around."

The doctor showed him down the E wing first, which was in a hallway perpendicular to the end of the D hallway.

"You see, Alvin, the higher up you are on the letter scale, the more medical and psychological assistance you need. Since the E wing is the lowest wing and requires minimal observation, people here don't stay for long; they're usually out within a few weeks. Wing E is for the patients who don't need medication, just therapy and time to rehabilitate. In other words, they've got one foot out the door!"

Alvin looked into each of the rooms. Some of the doors were open and there were people inside dressed like normal people dress in the outside world. Each room looked like a hotel room.

"So they can come and go as they please?" asked Alvin as he witnessed a few of the patients go in and out of their rooms.

"That is correct. They're allowed to have visitors from the outside 6am to 6pm every day. They can go wherever they want in their own wing as long as they don't cause a disturbance to any of the patients living in the other wings."

Alvin was impressed. Immediately, he began thinking about what he could do to get himself on the E wing. If I just listen to what they say and act like I feel better, I'll be out of here in no time! thought Alvin, it'll be like I was never here to begin with!

After the Doctor took him down the D wing, and passed Alvin's assigned room, they began to check out the C wing. As they passed a couple of doors, Alvin began to realize that the windows on the doors had gotten significantly smaller than the ones on the lower wings. He looked inside the room he'd had a year and a half before and saw the same old barred windows, anchored down bed, metal chairs and round table exactly where they all were before. In fact, he could've sworn everything was in the exact same position they were in when he left!

"This was my old room," Alvin mumbled to the doctor, "And it looks the same..."

The Doctor nodded, "It might actually be the same way it was before when you were last here. This wing isn't as full as it used to be. The C wing is the wing for the patients we aren't sure need more clinical care and therapy or less. Mostly we use it for those who've attempted to commit suicide or for those with undiagnosed problems."

"I see..." responded Alvin quietly. They began walking again until they reached the end of the hallway, then they turned around and headed back to Alvin's room.

Although it seemed like exploring a mental hospital would be interesting, Alvin really didn't see much to get excited about; the people in the wings they explored looked like regular, calm people to him. They weren't like those creepy movies where the patients had straightjackets or scuffed up hair and scarred faces. They were calm, serene; accepting of their environments.

As Alvin and Doctor Walters neared the corner, Alvin heard high-toned beeping sounds - sound like a hospital monitor getting nearer. At first, he thought it was some kind of beeper, or perhaps a smoke detector that had run out of batteries, but as it got closer, it began sounding more and more like a hospital monitor. He looked through each room window and saw nothing until he passed a room with an open door that was right around the corner from his room; room 60C. As he peered in, he was taken by surprise at what he saw.

Laying down in a hospital bed was a petite chipmunk girl with pale, paper-like skin and powder pink cheeks sleeping in what looked like a hospital bed with secured metal gates along the sides. She had silky, strawberry blonde locks that delicately draped over her shoulders and lips that resembled the color of roses, and she didn't look much younger than him. Her arms were thin and rested at her sides with wires extending from each arm, and by the way she looked, she seemed so...breakable to Alvin. He stopped for a moment to look at her and wondered why she was in a mental institution instead of a hospital. His curiosity made it difficult to look away; it was like he'd found sleeping beauty.

The Doctor had noticed that Alvin had stopped walking, "What's wrong, Alvin?"

"Doctor Walters," Alvin whispered, "...what's wrong with her? Why does she have all those machines and IVs?"

Doctor Walters looked at the sleeping girl and shook his head, "Sorry, Alvin, but I'm not at liberty to say. Sorry."

Alvin was disappointed. He took a moment longer to look at her before continuing to walk to his own room.

He didn't know what it was about her, but she made him feel so curious. He wanted to wake her up and ask her what her name was, how old she was, what happened to her and why she was here instead of a regular hospital. He wanted to see what color her eyes were and hear what her voice sounded like. He wanted to experience what it was like to carry on a conversation with her. It was the strangest thing Alvin had ever felt before. It was almost uncomfortable for him - Alvin hadn't really noticed girls since before the accident. He shook his head a little, trying to push the thought away.

"Alright, Alvin!" Said Doctor Walters as Alvin returned to his room, "Get yourself settled in and I'll escort you to the dining hall for lunch, alright?"

"But I already know where the dining hall is," complained Alvin, "Can't I just go alone?"

"No, unfortunately. I'm required to escort you to the dining hall for the next two weeks as protocol. Sorry, bud."

Alvin hated it when people gave him nicknames like 'bud' and 'sport'. It made him feel like the doctors forgot how old he was.

"Fine." he grumbled incoherently.

The doctor was about ready to close the door when he suddenly remembered something, "Oh! And before I forget, your father insisted on giving you a peer tutor so that you don't miss out on your academics."

The news felt even worse for Alvin. Great, school. He thought for a moment that he'd finally escaped from the horrors of homework and studying. As it turns out, he was wrong. Alvin rolled his eyes, "great."

"I think you'll like him, Alvin. I believe he's about your age. He goes to a private school not too far from here and volunteers quite often and he'll be coming by tomorrow at around four in the evening to meet you. His name is..." Dr. Walter checked his clipboard.

"Simon. Simon Blackwell."

Okay, guys! Thanks for reading! Sorry for the long chapter!

Who is Simon Blackwell? Who's the girl in 60C? What's wrong with her? Will Alvin ever get to talk to her? What's Dave hiding from Alvin?

Reviews are helpful and greatly appreciated!

Until next time, over and out!

-Blythe