Crimson Mists

14. The Voice Of A Diary I.

Note: quote would be added soon.

Word count : 1889.

Chikamharida's POV.

He led us to a door marked HB, one of the many on a wide, grey hallway. Nurses dressed in white or blue walked about, either with trays, books or with patients.

After knocking Henry turned the knob. The door was unlocked and he walked in first.

We were in a room— grey walls, a single bed and no windows. A curvy lady sat, sketching on a pad. She was quite properly kept contrary to what I expected of a psychiatric patient. Neatly braided hair, and a nice dress of black pants and a long sleeved shirt.

She didn't look up when we got in.

"Hilda," Henry called her, making me freeze. I didn't freeze because he called me, no. I froze because I wasn't expecting him to know Hilda. How did he know? I thought Adele mentioned how conservative the knowledge of Hilda was at the Jones estate.

He looked at me, a question in his eyes. Was he asking if I was alright? Was he curious of if I had an idea who she was?

I shook my head to answer his question, still standing by the door and waiting for further instructions.

What was happening?

I looked at the lady who looked nothing like Adele; Adele had never been plump. I may be wrong. I may not be.

"Harida," Henry said as if sensing my inner turmoil. "Meet my twin sister, Hilda. She's the reason I make most of my decisions. She's the reason that Jone's estate still stands and the reason it will be destroyed."

"Henry," I said, walking forward till I was beside him and holding his hand. I could tell he needed comfort, I just didn't know how. Maybe it was from his vibrating fingers or the stiffness in his shoulders.

My eyes went to the lady. She was looking at us, but it was like she couldn't see us— eyes, glassy, dreamy.

"Can I speak with her?" I asked.

"You can, if she'll hear you," he said. "I've been trying for years. I'm sure that doesn't just decide to work one day."

"Hey," I said, crouching before her, making her drop her sketchbook in fright, so that the pencil working of a newborn baby clothed in linen was only visible from the floor.

Immediately, Hilda went from not noticing us to being afraid. She'd scrambled away from me, climbing the bed and sitting at the very edge supported by the corner of the wall.

"I'm not here to hurt you," I said.

The lady only shook her head like a frightened child, eyes down, focused on the sheets and not on me.

"Don't push further Harida," Henry said. "Let's go. She's afraid of practically everyone including me."

He opened the door first and I was left to follow but not before looking back once again to meet Hilda's stare head-on. It was creepy and appeared lifeless, not moving from my face. It was as if she wanted me to know that she was looking at me— as if she was warning me.

By the counter, we returned our visitor's badge. "Thanks Jennifer," Henry said, signing on a book before leading us out.

The walk to his car was silent and I'd be lying to say that I wasn't a bit relieved to be sitting in a confined space away from the outside world, away from Hilda and her creepy stare, in place where it was just Henry and I, where he was free to vent.

"I don't think I can drive us home without skidding off the road," Henry said out of the blue, forcing my gaze away from the doors of MayPsych and on how hard his knuckles were gripping the steering.