Chapter 22

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I have been employed at Wickendale Mental Hospital for the Criminally Insane for 4 months and 26 days. I've worked eight hours a day, five days a week. 760 hours total. Although usually long and dreary, in the eventful minutes I've spent at Wickendale grew a feeling I've never felt before. And I never thought I would feel it; at least, not with a mental patient. But whether I liked it or not, there was something that held him and I together and I couldn't ignore it. If I left this place I would never be able to forgive myself for leaving him behind, and that undeniable something between us would pull my stomach into knots the further I parted from him. So I had to stay until he was able to come with me.

But in these hours at Wickendale as I got to know Harry, I had also learned many things. Some weren't of much importance, like how I learned how to properly clean cuts and scrapes or how I had gotten quite skilled at applying stitches. Some things weren't as trivial, though, like knowing how to evade a killer. And more importantly, knowing that that killer was James. Knowing that Ms. Hellman was his mother. Knowing that Cynthia was missing.

I had accepted the known, though, and I had swallowed the puzzling and horrid facts. But the known was not what I was afraid of. The known was something that we could either except or deny, but at least we're not left wondering. What seems to scare us is the unknown, the endless possibilities. Like where James was, and what he was hiding from. He hasn't been at work and I didn't have a clue as to what he was up to. I also didn't know what happened to Cynthia still, her whereabouts remaining a mystery. I didn't know that Norman was slowly waking up from his coma, and that he was being watched over in the back of the surgery room. I didn't know the other doctors and nurses who were part of that wing, and I wasn't sure who I could to trust besides Kelsey and Harry.

Most importantly, I didn't know how I would even begin to get Harry out of Wickendale. And these were the things that scared me. But that was the plan for today, to make the unknown known and to render my questions answered. I was sick of being helpless and of watching Harry suffer in this prison when he didn't deserve it. So today was the day I would get answers. I made sure to catch up on sleep last so that I was alert and aware today, wanting to retain as much helpful information as I could. Usually important words were said and actions were executed, but my drowsiness or distraction let them slip by without notice. And by distraction I meant Harry.

But due to Ms. Hellman's orders I wasn't allowed to be near him, so that wouldn't be a problem but yet be my biggest problem today.
Instead of thinking about Harry, though, Cynthia Porter's image floating into my mind as I saw Thomas. He was walking through the large corridor of the medical wing which was a mix of operation tables, hospital beds, sedatives, and medical records in each of the rooms.

My shift didn't start for a few minutes so I figured I'd talk to him. He was my best shot at figuring out this whole Cynthia scenario, considering he was the one who brought her into surgery before her strange disappearance. I usually hated talking to people I wasn't familiar with, but Thomas was an exception considering the circumstances. "Hi Thomas," I said just before we crossed paths. He didn't say anything in reply but just kept walking.

"Thomas," I addressed more sternly in hopes of getting his attention. "What?" he asked rather rudely.

"Um . . . can I talk to you for a second? I have to ask you something."

He sighed, stopping and looking down on me like I was a pesky child. "What is it?"

I wasn't sure how to word the question, so I just said the first thing that came to mind. "What happened to Cynthia?"