The Psychological Mystery of Thomas King

Chapter Thirty-Two: After All This Time

Thomas

I jolt awake, gasping and sweating. I sit up in bed, breathing deeply to slow my racing heart. I brush strands of hair out of my face and throw back the covers. I carefully get out of bed, careful to not wake my wife, Sienna. I tip-toe to the bathroom and splash icy cold water on my face. When I look up into the mirror, I half expect to see the little ghost girl, but I see no one. Almost disappointingly, I dry my face, and after seeing the time, get ready for work.

I slip on a light green dress shirt and black slacks and adjust my light brown tie. I put on a blazer, the same color as my tie, and walk out of the room. I grab my wire-rimmed glasses and slip them on my face.

I quietly walk into my two daughters' bedroom, to check on them. 3 year old Savannah and 5 year old January are still sleeping in their beds. Savannah clutches her pink teddy bear tight in her arms, her blonde hair glistening in the sunlight and January is snoring, her brown hair looking lighter than usual in the light. After making sure they were safe and asleep, I smile and close the door. I walk down the stairs, pour coffee in a disposable cup and walk out of the house to my car.

I drive to work in complete silence, looking at the calm scenery. The dream comes back to me in a rush, along with my questions.

What was that dream? Were they actually there? I try to dismiss that dream, but it's the only thing I can think about.

The red door.

To me, it signified everything that's evil. Everything bad that happened to me when I was 18.

No.

I shake my head and continue driving. They're gone, Thomas.

They're gone.

I take a deep breath and look at the forests on either side of me. The brown, orange and red leaves glisten in the bright sunlight, making the leaves look like stained glass. It looks exactly the same as it did 15 years ago, when I first drove to the asylum.

After about 30 minutes, I come to the Autumnwood Psychology Center, which is named after the Autumnwood Lake nearby. I get out of the car and look up at the building, closing the car door. The building looks completely different than it did then, but it still creeps me out. 15 years ago it used to be the asylum that I was admitted to when I was 18.

The Whisperwood Mental Institute, it was called.

After the police officers found the asylum, the governor ordered for it to be torn down and rebuilt into a psychology center. Neighborhoods and other buildings surround the psychology center, making the center not seem so alone.

They still don't know what really happened here and they probably never will. All the evidence is gone, burned to ashes.

I walk through the front entrance, nodding hello to Dana Jenkins, the receptionist. I walk up the stairs, ignoring the feeling of deja vu. At last I come to my office.

Room 492.

It's the same room I stayed in when I was in the mental institute. I'm not sure why they would give me this room. Does anyone know that I was admitted here?

I shake my head, putting my bag down. I should stop making assumptions. After all, I was the one who wanted to work here in the first place. For some odd reason, I felt like I had to work here.

"This isn't over." She said, slowly vanishing. "In fact, this has just begun."

I shiver, shaking off the memory. I remember what my mom had told me all those years ago. Could that be the reason why I wanted to work here? I check the clock on my desk, which reads 8:25. I sigh. In about five minutes, my patient will come. I better get ready.