Maniac (AHS Based Story)

Chapter Two

I never have particularly bad days, but today happened to be one of them. I sit in the nurses' office and stare out the window. It's one of the few windows we have at the institution, since windows are considered a hazard at places like this. I continue to pick at the pack of crackers on the table in front of me, having lost my appetite just an hour ago.

There is something about him. He isn't like the other patients, and I'm not the only who's noticed in the little time we've observed him. Never have I seen a patient act so calmly, when being taken inside. It was almost as if he'd already accepted the fact that he was insane. But, he doesn't look insane. He doesn't act insane.

It could all be an act, though. I remember the institution's psychologist telling all of the nurses, at our first training session, that psychopaths can mimic human emotion flawlessly. Psychopaths are manipulative and deceitful. So, this is all just an act, right?

I am startled, when the door creaks open, to reveal Brooklyn. Having seen the look on her face, I know that she's heard.

"Can Sister Clare even put you on his service? Is that even allowed?"

"Not technically. A nurse cannot be specifically assigned to a certain patient's service." I explain to her. Brooklyn is one of St. Mary's newer nurses. In fact, she's not even a nurse, more so a nurse aid.

"Then, don't worry." She smiles, and I want to roll my eyes at her stupidity.

"Still, it doesn't dismiss the fact that I will not only have to administer his medications daily, but that everywhere I am, he will also be."

That surely shuts her up. She only looks at me, with her eyes full of sympathy. This morning I wasn't troubled by him being admitted here, but now that I am on his service, everything has changed.

I get up from the table, not wanting to discuss this any further. Brooklyn turns around in her chair and looks at me quizzically.

"I have to oversee first lunch."

With that, I walk out of the office, leaving Brooklyn to do charts or something. I turn down a hallway, passing one of the guards on my way. He makes eye contact with me, but his expression doesn't alter. Yet, it felt as if we've exchanged hellos. That's how it is here. No one speaks to each other, as if we would be reprimanded for it. I never understood it, but I was quick to pick up on it, when I started working here.

I brace myself before I pull open the doors to the cafeteria. I don't know why I am acting like this. I have overseen numerous lunches before. I know that there are a minimum of four guards in the room at all times. Even if he were to lash out at me, I would be safe. But why was I so scared?

When I finally walk into the cafeteria, none of the patients seem to be fazed by my presence. I stand in my usual spot, near the back of the room. I don't see James, yet, which I am thankful for.

It seems as I had spoken to soon, when the door swing open. The atmosphere changes, and suddenly I'm on edge. In that moment, I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't dare to look at him. Instead, I look down at my feet.

From the corner of my eye, I watch him walk over to a table in the corner. He sits all by himself, alike many of the other patients. His shackles make clanging noises with every sudden movement of his.

There's something about him to which I am so fascinated by. I can't seem to keep my eyes off of him, and it isn't just because of his undeniable beauty. His demeanor is the exact opposite of any patients I've witnessed in my six months of working here.

I wanted to enter into his sinister mind. I wanted to hear all of his thoughts. To be able to analyze his brain. What an thrill it would be.

Of course, I have to be careful with whom I share my thoughts with. If anyone could hear the things running through my mind, I would then be a patient, here. Because what sane person expresses such an interest in a serial killer?