Maniac (AHS Based Story)

Chapter Three

Outside, the weather has shifted from the slight dewiness of morning, to the usual dark sky of Seattle. It was going to rain today, I thought.

The bus comes to a stop, and I realize that it's my stop. I am completely out of it today. I would blame it on the ludicrously small amount of sleep I got last night, but that isn't the problem. He is. He was invading my thoughts and dreams, all through the night. It was nearly impossible to fall asleep.

As I step off the bus, I immediately regret leaving my coat in my apartment. Although the walk is only another block, I will surely freeze in the meantime.

Once I am finally inside the quarters of the institution, I am grateful that I still have a few minutes before my shift starts.

I walk into the nurses office, and the head nurse, Elaine, is sitting at her desk already furiously working on paperwork. She is quite, but when she says something, it's always worth listening to. She's a very wise woman, and I respect her.

"Blake?" She calls my name, before I leave. I turn around, nodding for her to continue.

"I am a little behind on meds this morning. Would you mind going by," She pauses, bringing her glasses down to the bridge of her nose, as she reads off of a paper, "rooms 419-423?"

"Of course. I'll get right to it." She gives me a smile, and I stalk off to Ward A, where all the four-hundred rooms are.

There's a room on each ward that holds all different types of medication- pain medication, prescribed medication- that only certain employees have access to- doctors, nurses, and pharmacists. I take the key ring out of my pockets and find the corresponding key to the "Med Room", as Brooklyn and I nicknamed it.

On the wall, there's a list of the patients on this ward, the medications each patients receive, and their room number. I scan the list for 419, immediately recognizing the name.

Ginger Douglas.

Her husband came here, about three months ago, seeking help. She had been acting different for weeks, he had said. That this wasn't the woman he knew. So, Sister Clare took her in. We had a doctor and a psychologist examine her for any possible mental illnesses, and it was determined she had Schizophrenia with mild Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

I found her medication easily, since all of the medications are alphabetized. I glanced back at the list of names, and my jaw dropped.

James Blair.

I don't know why I am so shocked. Sister Clare deliberately told me that I would be on his service, but seeing his name on the list just makes it reality.

Quickly, I gather all of the remaining patients' medications and start rounding each of their room, starting with Ginger. I mentally plan to leave James' room for last. I felt like the more I put it off, then I wouldn't have to do it.

I stare at his door. Room 422. I swallow every ounce of fear inside and walk to his door. My hands are shaking, as I look for the key.

I don't know what I expected to see, when I opened the door, but the sight didn't scare me. He is just sitting on his bed, his head resting in his hands. He doesn't look at me, as if I am invisible to him. I don't know whether I should say something or keep quite.

He speaks up, before I have the chance to.

"Just give me my medication." He holds out his palm, and I place the two pills in his hand. I watch as he swallows the pills without water.

He brings his eyes up to meet mine, and a chill runs through my spine. Now that I am up close, I notice things I hadn't before. His eyes, though still dark, are rich with golden specks. He has tousled dark brown hair, both thick and lustrous. His prominent features looked even better at my angle, and his pale skin made him devilishly handsome.

"You should probably get back to your job." He sneers. I turn my head to avert my gaze, but the rosiness of my cheeks surely give it away.

When I leave the room, he goes back to exactly what he was doing before. I linger outside his room a minute longer, just to watch him.

As I walk back down to the nurse's office, I try to push aside all my thoughts of him, but James is a prisoner to my mind. My mind is the cell, and the key has yet to be found.