Juke's House for the Critically Insane

"Shailee Ann," she said. "That's what I like to be called. Nothing more, nothing less. Just Shailee Ann."

"Do you say that every time you meet somebody new?" he asked with a quirked smile.

"What people call me is the one thing in my life I have control over," she answered curtly. "So yes, I like to establish that fact pretty quickly."

He lit a cigarette and reclined back in his chair. Shailee Ann watched him take a long drag and then blow out a stream of smoke towards the ceiling. "Don't you have control over your mind?" She laughed bitterly and reached forwards, prying the cigarette from his nimble fingers and stubbing it out on the ashtray between them. He sat forwards in aggravation. "The hell did you do that for?"

She cocked her head to the side and tossed the stub down. "My voices told me to. And I do what they say, or they shout."

"Yeah, and what else do your voices tell you, besides to put out a perfectly good cigarette?" he muttered.

Shailee Ann studied his face carefully before answering, "As of lately, that there's an invisible monster hunting down patients."

She noted he didn't look alarmed at all. In fact, he had a look of satisfaction at her answer as he drew out another cigarette. He struck a match to light it and leaned closer to her, blowing out a stream of smoke just to the left of her face. "Well, I'll tell you what, Shailee Ann, nothing more, nothing less: they aren't wrong."