Madness At Noon {COMPLETED}

Something Wicked This Way Comes 1/10

            There was one question the Mr. Damian Corbin asked that every reporter who has ever dared step foot in my house has asked me.

"Mistress Noon," they say eagerly as if they have stumbled upon the secretly key never before unearthed by mankind, "do you dream?"

It is an odd question, no doubt asked in an effort to humanize me, to delve into the dark mystery that is Noon and pick out a glimmer of normality, to find some answer wherein they will say: "See! She's just the same as you and me!" Then the psychiatrists will swarm with their clipboards and theories and drugged-filled needles and declare me sane.

After all, it was only human to dream.

As I told Damian – whose anticipated article was sadly never published due to the young man slipping into an unexpected coma – and every man and woman who came before him:

I do not dream.

I remember.

"Ah... Isn't the moon beautiful tonight?"

My eyes slid open. White moonlight trickled through the tiny, barred window directly above me, pooling into a small puddle around my chained ankles. Had I fallen asleep? I winced, rubbing the back of my neck. Dozing off on the floor with nothing but the padded wall for comfort... how unladylike.

I looked up at the air vent directly in the center of the ceiling. "I was not aware I was to have a neighbor."

Solitary confinement. It was not as solitary as some would have you believe. At Sceptre, these cells had a flaw: they were built in pairs with a shared ventilation system. This meant neighbors had plenty of time to get nice and cozy with one another; it was the only social interaction you were going to have for an age. This little defect could save your sanity... or send you screaming into madness even faster.

"I'm quite new here," the voice said cheerfully. "A mysterious shade of the night swept in by the Western wind and the dreams of yearning womenfolk across the ages."

The corners of my mouth twitched. "You should find another wind, sir shade. This one has blown you to a place most foul."

"Oh, I don't know about that. What more could you possibly want? Free room and board, nice squishy floors to lay on – it's like sleeping on a cloud! – and I am discovering that the company here is world-class finest.

"They really should have a sign," he went one, "right above those big, scary iron doors out front. Welcome to Crazyworld, Vexus City: the maddest funhouse on earth!"

I made a face. "How tacky. This is an asylum, not a circus." I sat up, pulling myself into the moonlight. The bright glow burned my eyes but I withstood the stinging pain until my sight adjusted. The moon was at its fullest, haloed by a ring of throbbing stars – the heavens in all their glory, so bright, so beautiful, and eternally unreachable. My neighbor was right; the sight was quite magnificent.

I wondered: Was he looking up at the sky as well, thinking of me?

"The Palace of Pandemonium is a much better title," I said.

Something large thumped against the wall to the left and the most bizarre sound came through the vent. My neighbor was laughing, pure and wild. That was a sound not heard too often in this place.

"Would make you the Pandemonium Princess?" he cackled.

The sound of his voice went against the very nature of this place: young and cheerful, as if he and I were old friends joking outside in the free world rather than inside the cells of the damned.

Not only that but his voice was foreign to me; I did not know who he was.

"But you know," my neighbor continued in the same easy tone, "it should be the Quadrangle Quoin. That way you can be Queen."

"Heavens no," I said, shaking my head. "I will not associate myself with royalty. That bumbling Prince of Vexus ruined that title forever." I paused, wondering if I should play this little game. It was late. I was tired. An unknown psychopath may or may not be flirting with me.

Sounds like a typical Tuesday.

"I prefer the Malignant Madhouse," I added, "as I claim the title as Mistress of Mayhem."

"Oooo." My neighbor positively purred. "I like that. I like that a lot. The Malignant Madhouse. Madhouse... Madhouse... Would that make me the Melodramatic Madman?"

I quickly covered my mouth with a hand to hold back an extremely ill-mannered snort. "I certainly hope you do not choose that as a permanent name. No one would take a melodramatic madman seriously."

"Eh. You never know. Now you've just sold me on the idea so I think I'll take my chances."

Lips stretching in a grin, I sat up on my knees, placing my hands delicately over my legs, straight and proper as a lady should be. The ankle chains rattled noisily. "Now you have to tell me: Who are you?" My voice echoed through the ventilation shaft.

"Curiosity killed the cat, don't you know that?"

I licked my lips. "Me-ow."

My neighbor chuckled. "The Lunatic Looneybin?" he suggested. "For you, Lady Lynx." Voice bubbling with amusement, he told all. "I am... twenty-something-I-think years old. I like long walks on the beach and reading a good book by the fire while drinking strawberry hot chocolate with six mints. Let's see... height is something with a six... It's rude to ask a sensitive man his weight... And I am a – I just had it – ah! – I am a Leo, which, may I add, makes us perfectly compatible, Ms. Aries."

I scoffed, "What makes you believe that I am an Aries?"

"Determined, confidant, passionate, always first in line... Fiery spirit, aggressive in leading, impatient with inaptness. And everyone knows Mars is the red planet, and you are the Red Lady, and my horoscope last week said I would meet 'a rare and exotic beauty who will grant all my heart's desires.' Although my popsicle stick said that the best side of the house to put a porch on is the outside... The universe is sending all kinds of mixed signals lately."

"I am sorry to disappoint but I am not an Aries."

"Damn... Thought I had that one... Leo?"

"Nope."

"Sagittarius?"

"Not even close."

"Cancer?"

"I have been called worse."

"'Please don't kill me'?"

I laughed. "One of my favorite names."

"Mine too!" His voice was like the purr of a cat, as smooth as silk and raw honey. "We have a lot in common, you and I, don't we?"

"Oh... That is a very dangerous trait to possess, sir neighbor," I said. Very dangerous indeed.

When was the last time I had an easy conversation with another living soul? And yet with all these passed words, my neighbor seemed to know about me, but I had learned nearly nothing about him.

Except for the fact that he had a smart mouth and found Sceptre Asylum to be akin to a playground.

I had to know. "You still have not told me your name."

"Haven't I?" I jumped, a reaction so unexpected and rare I nearly choked. The voice of my neighbor had not come from the ventilation shaft above. It came from the door. The door which was opening. "How terribly rude of me. Hello! My name is..."

I do not dream.

I remember.

But then someone slips into my bedroom and puts a pillow over my face, and I forget.