His. p r o p e r t y//

The Patient

Chapter One: The Patient

Alana washed the blood from her face. She inhales sharply, wincing at the stinging sensation when the warm towel rubbed against yet another gash or bruise. Another evening of arguing over the little and battery over the minuscule. Dorian's drinking had worsen and she tried to her best to keep their relationship together but she was not sure how much she could take.

Her hushed whimpers were all the echo from the bathroom walls. How could she possibly get herself in order before she goes to work? Her right eye was bruising quickly, and her bottom lip was abnormally twice as large, and still throbbed as it continued to swell. Her cheeks rouged with bruises. She had no time to think, she settled on hiding everything as much as possible with makeup-- Though she was not completely satisfied with the ending result, she quickly dressed in a light gray pants suit then rushed off to work.

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"Inmate number 216784-- Gregory, Mason."

Alana rotated her fingertips on her temples; her frontal lobe ached from Dorian fist crashing into it repeatedly. She tried her best to ignore it as Mason was escorted in, shackled from hand to toe, complete in a white jumpsuit. This was his attire every session, though she asked them to remove his shackles every time—But they refused and stated he was 'too dangerous' for that risk to be taken. Mason was about six foot two and had a slight muscular built for his hundred and eighty weight, chocolate brown hair and black eyes... They said before he was insane, they were a gorgeous shade of emerald green; though he was her patient, Alana did find him attractive, but she would never ever try anything with him-- She would rather deal with Dorian and his bullshit. She gave him a small welcoming smile as he stood before her.

"Please, Mason—Have a seat..."

But he just glared at her.

"Your face..." He said in a low tone, turning his head slightly to the side, repeating his phrase once again, 'your face." Alana nodded my head.

"Yes, my face, Mason—I'm having some allergy problems this morning, now please have a seat." He bought nothing she said—He studied her mannerisms and her posture. She was uncomfortable and her eyes read sorrow and pain in them. He knew she had been hurt, and he didn't like that. Matter of fact... It angered him, profusely.

"Okay, in the last session, we ended talking about Laurie."

He stared at her face emotionless, Laurie was his wife—He shot her eight times in the head and then gutted her with a machete. The grotesque crime was named one of the most heinous acts of violence in Houston's history. But that was not Mason's kill, nor was it his last.

"Why did you marry Laurie, Mason, if you hated her?" 

Again he just stared her in the face and said absolutely nothing. This made Alana very uncomfortable and slightly scared—It was on record when he was in this state that he was known to spazz out and attack. "Maybe we should talk about Jessika?" A smile came across his face that was his little girl. "Can you remember any games you use to play together?"

"I want to see her." He stated shortly, Alana lowly sighed then offered:

"I'm trying, Mason—But you have been in the hole for about six months—the warden is not going to allow you any visitors—"

"I want to see my child." His face grew red and his eyes dark as his tone grew more demanding and irritated. Alana leaned forward.

"Listen to me, Mason—I will do all that is in my power for you to see Jessie—but you have to promise me that you are going to try and control your temper this week, okay?" He licked his lips and thought for a second, then nodded his head.

"Done," Alana smiled and leaned back onto the couch, "you gotta promise me something too." She looked at him and shrugged her shoulders. "Promise Dorian that if he touches you again, he's next on my list." She gave him a look of horror, where in the world.

"Mason... How'd you know..." 

He looked at his hands then back to her.

"Mason Gregory knows all, and all are known by Mason Gregory." 

And that was that.

Seriously after work Alana headed straight home, Dorian was not there, thank God—and work was miles away. She didn't really know how to act, she and Dorian had no friends or acquaintances in Detroit, they moved to the city less than a month ago and Dorian had no job and all Alana did was work. So, it was clear to her that Mason was hacking on to the prison computers and stealing personal staff files about her—Which scared her to death—Her address and phone number were in those files. She sat there on the edge of the bed and her mind continued to wander until Dorian walked into the room, sober.

"Lanni—Are you mad at me?" She glanced at him and got up to leave, but he gently grabbed her arm. "I ain't mean that shit this morning, I was just cranky about not being able to find a job, Sweetie..." She rolled her dark brown eyes as she refused to look his way. "Honey, you hear me?"

"Yes, Dorian... I hear you—Can you let me go, please?" He sighed and let her arm go. Dorian rubbed his hand over his bald head and sighed; he and Alana had been in their rocky relationship for about three years since college to be more detailed. She got her doctorate in Psychology and now a licensed physician and he got his Bachelor's degree in economics and was an accountant for about two years-- until he began showing up to work intoxicated and got fired. Alana walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind her as she leaned her head against the door, she sighed lowly as a million thoughts came at her all at one moment. She could never actually pinpoint when Dorian's behavior began to change... She is a psychologist, she actually found herself dumbfounded at the fact she was like many of her past female patients. Making excuses for her abusive lover, time and time again. Dorian's drinking got worse over time, she never really thought he had a problem, well not until he was guzzling down three bottles of wine a day, by himself. She sighed:

"How could I let this happen?" She asked herself lowly as she walked towards the toilet. She slowly took down her pants and sat upon the porcelain seat.

..................

Three guards escorted Mason to his cell after dinner, he was too dangerous to be allowed in the yard with the rest of the inmates, like all the rest psychotic serial killers in the prison, he was on twenty-three-hour lockdown-- Until his execution. Though Alana's studies showed that he was mentally unstable, he could possibly just get a life sentence.

Alana...

That name always fixated a smile on Mason's face...

She was gorgeous and her body was goddess-like; Mason would lay on his cot at night and masturbate to the dirty thoughts he would ponder of her. How he wanted his hands to touch and caress every piece of the caramel skin on her beautiful body... He had to have her... He must have her, all to himself. Setting at his cot he looked over at the pictures on his concrete wall; most of them were of Jessie when she was an infant, that was the last time he had seen her. She was still in a baby carrier, that was five years ago. Other than his pictures of his beloved Jessie-- The warden made the guards place pictures of the corpses of all his victims, thinking that would break him; not Mason-- He would stare at the photos and laugh in remembrance. He slaughtered his entire family and did not care. Jessika was all that mattered, and now she was in a foster home being raised by his dead wife's mother and stepfather. He snatched a picture of Jessie off the wall and thought back to Alana's promise-- A small smile came across his face...

He knew Alana would not let him down.