Through a Glass Darkly

Chapter One

Bilba hated taking cases in asylums.

First, there was the fact of being effectively locked in and forced to rely on her contact for aid in moving about and, most importantly, getting out. Putting that much trust and faith in a veritable stranger was a fantastic way to get killed, and that was before she got to the thing that wanted to kill her.

Then there was having to split her attention between the reason she was there (also known as the thing trying to kill her) and the other patients (also known as the people she was trying to help). Not all of the patients were a threat obviously but, unhelpfully, the ones that were didn't come with nametags.

Either way it meant she had to watch her back from multiple angles and ensured she wouldn't be getting a good night's sleep until she had completed the case.

Neither of those things, however, were the main reason she hated cases in asylums. That honor went to the guy sitting across from her.

"It wasn't me." The words came from a man about her own age, with greasy dark blond hair and an unkempt beard. His eyes were shadowed and, when he spoke, his voice trembled with emotion. "I don't care how long I'm forced to stay here." His hands dug into his knees and he leaned forward in his seat to punctuate his point. "I didn't kill my father!"

Dr. Towns, a middle-aged woman with short black hair and a tone that bordered on patronizing, smiled. "We've discussed this," she said in the gentle but firm tone Bilba had heard mothers use to refuse their child a treat," "the cameras--"

"I don't care what the cameras showed!" he cut in sharply, fingers bunching the cotton of the ratty sweatpants he wore. "And I don't care what the DNA said. I didn't do it!"

Bilba studied him with mild interest. He certainly seemed sincere, but Bilba had more than learned the lesson that sincerity did not necessarily equate to veracity. She'd met people who could be caught in the act and would argue their innocence with just as much passion.

Some of them even believed it, and usually wound up in a facility exactly like the one she currently sat in.

So he could be lying.

He could be insane.

Or

There was a one in three chance he was telling the truth.

Bilba had seen people who belonged in that third class, over and over and over again. They sat rotting in prisons, hospitals and asylums. They were angry, traumatized, lonely, despairing.

Innocent.

The thing was, everyone always thought they knew what a monster was. It was the thing under the bed, the darkness in the closet, or the strange creak in an empty room. Monsters, they would tell you with all the confidence of the ignorant, lived in the shadows and were only a threat to the unsuspecting, the unprepared, or those stupid enough to stumble into their embrace.

Bilba supposed it helped them sleep at night to think all monsters were the same, that they all followed the same rules and could easily be avoided. Just...don't look under the bed at night. Leave the closet shut. Stay out of abandoned places and, above all else, never, ever go check out the strange noise you just heard downstairs.

The truth wasn't quite so cut and dry.

In reality, the so-called "rules" were arbitrary, and not all monsters chose to follow them.

Some chose not to live in the shadows.

Some had a desire to kill more than those who simply stumbled into their way.