Madness At Noon {COMPLETED}

Something Wicked This Way Comes 7/10

Here it is at last, my lovelies! Please forgive me for the delay; school is cruel.

It was strange, his face.

Strange in the way the light never seemed to touch it. Whether it was the way the long, dark strands of his hair kept cascading across his face, despite his efforts again and again and again to brush it behind one ear, repeatedly disrupting the pen thoughtlessly tucked there, and as he bent over yet again fumbling to chase after a simple pen as it rolled away from him like a cat off a leash, those same locks of black hair fell once again in front of his eyes, though never blinding him, instead keeping the rest of us from looking into those twin windows to see just what kind of man he really was beneath the oversized suit and terribly ugly green and orange striped tie; and also that he seemed to be always in the shadow of something, some monstrous dogwood tree, either admiring the great skill of manicuring or scanning the ground for some missed clue the police overlooked, or inside the ever-present shadow of the Asylum itself, that gaping wound that infected every soul that came in contact with its disease. He seemed to wear the darkness like a grave shroud, his image always shaded, just out of focus like a broken camera lens.

Strange in the way that it seemed to have aged since last I had seen it, or had it grown younger? Every time my eyes slid shut, a new man stood on the marble steps, dropping his pen, fidgeting, and harassing every passing security guard; every irritated, overworked officer; every numb orderly, most of which flatly ignored every question he spouted. To the medical staff, he became young and kind, trying to strike up a casual conversation as if this were a local café on the streets of Paris, not the cornerstone of the madhouse. To the guards, his friendly smile turned tight and the corners of his eyes hardened with pity and respect. To the officers of the law, he aged a decade and in that face there could be found no innocence at all, only determination and a whiff of mistrust.

Strange in the way his lips never stopped moving, whether it was rambling on to others or to himself. He was direct, quick, and smiled at everyone. That smile, so painted on, yet painted beautifully, so delicately on his face with just a hint of softness around the corners and a single dimple on the left side. That smile, pulled back just far enough to reveal teeth, nearly blinding in the early morning light, but so soft and so beautiful that even the most hardened official paused to give him a glance before shaking that too-good-to-be-true invitation away and shouldered on past.

But strangest of all was why a reporter for Vexus Virtues of all papers would be on the doorstep of Sceptre Asylum when no one else other than absolutely necessary personal had been granted permission to enter the premises.

Did I not just kill Damian Corbin just a little while ago?

Or did I let him live... It is so hard to keep track of who killed who, who did not kill who, who will eventually kill who once a little free time opened up.

The reporter was just one exotic creature in the menagerie Sceptre Asylum had become due to the deaths of three maximum level inmates. My name was on every pair of lips. Never, I think, had I been so popular... and for the first time, I did not deserve the praise.

I watched the little circus from a cozy spot deep within the shadows of the perfectly manicured dogwood trees on the peninsula's west side. From the completely inconspicuous, little tray table and foldable wicker chair I set up in the thick foliage so I could spy and enjoy my afternoon tea, I marked every face that stepped on the marble steps. It was daytime... so the chance of a Gentleman appearance was slim, but that did not mean certain acquaintances would not show up. It was those faces I searched for; they were the most valuable to me.