"I'm leaving-" Ana started towards the door.
"I realized," Scott said softly but surely making her give pause. "I realized my dream, was too specific. The details about you especially. Like your name. The way do your hair. The relationship with your mother. Even the things you like to eat."
He smiled. "Little by little, these things came together. I didn't make them up. You were talking to me. Or at me. And I added that information into this...delusion. The things you told me. The nonverbal patient I'm sure you thought would never speak again."
She froze.
"You said you wanted to beat your mother to death. And...in my dream you did. You told me, you wanted a black card, and in my dream I gave it to you. You whispered, my name is Morgana, but white people butcher it, so I just go by Ana now. All your secrets, are still right here," he tapped his temple.
Morgana crossed her arms. "From temptation to blackmail."
"What can I say? I'm multifaceted. How about the fact you go to Starbucks every day and Becky says hello, caramel frappe again every time you walk in?"
Her jaw dropped as she frowned. "How could you..."
I mean sure Becky says hi caramel frappe again, but I'm sure she wouldn't noticed if I dropped dead.
"All of that anxiety, the fear of being forgotten. You've always wanted a fan, Ana. Someone who existed for you. Well, I do. Congratulations. You have won a mentally ill man with money."
Ana braided her hair, tying the braid off at with a hairtie before leaning against the door.
"What do you love me or something?"
He looked away. "I...don't love you I'm just passing the time."
"How brutally honest."
He didn't know whether it was true or not. Did it even matter? The goal was to have Ana at his side. She glared at him, contemplating.
Without the whole serial killer thing, maybe she'd be more inclined. Either way, what he said today would never leave her mind.
He was sure of it.
Because he knew her. He didn't create Ana. The Ana from his dream. She told him who she was, assuming he'd never be able to speak.
Which, was a good bet. He hadn't said a word aloud since he was 7. Only whispers.
He was her confidant, and his brain took all that information, and made her. Maybe the dream modeled what her behavior would've been, had things played out that way.
Who knows? But he knew her. Regardless he knew her, probably better than anyone.
Her mother called her and made her feel worthless. She did drugs, the ups and downers. She was depressed and suicidal.
She had nothing.
"You don't need to choose now," he said. "I realize it's a crazy proposal, so I don't expect an answer right away."
She put her hand on the knob. "I told you a lot of things about me," she said softly.
"You told me everything about you," he corrected her.
She scoffed. "If I had known you'd come out to be a maniac I wouldn't have."
"It's not my responsibility to manage your expectations," he smirked.
She scoffed again. "You're not wrong. This is a lot to think about. Actually it's not, the logical answer, of course would be no."
"Of course."
She sighed. But what did she have? Nothing. Nothing.
No one. So what did it matter? At least it wasn't dying? Maybe it would be worse, there were worse things than dying.
"I realize my word isn't anything to go by," he said, "But I don't intend to hurt you, Ana. I don't want to do anything to you. I guess, I'm like you. I need someone with me. I want you to be with me. Someone to eat lunch with me. Someone to be there at night, to make the space feel smaller."
He stared at the wall. "I guess that's what everyone wants. Someone to watch them die. To be there. No one wants to die alone. I don't have family. I don't have friends. All I have a delusion. All I have is you."
He smiled. "Which is pitiful. But...there it is."
Ana opened the door. "Have a good night. Don't forget to take your meds."
He held up the bottle, taking one out, swallowing.
"You're supposed to take it with food," she admonished.
He shrugs. "Makes my tummy feel funny. Good night Ana."
"Good night," She shut the door behind her.
