Asylum

The Therapist's Daughter

"Snap out of it!" I shout, trying to be louder than the voices. More of Kya's words come to mind. If it gets out of hand, try singing. Even if you don't have a great voice, it's soothing and will put your nerves at ease. Why don't you try it? I start to blurt out the first song that comes to mind when I think of a relaxing tune. It's a slower song, the lyrics telling someone that despite the hectic storms around them, they'll still be okay. The louder I sing, the more the voices screech in fear of being lost again. I close my eyes and raise my voice until they go away.

Dog Boy! one of the voices shouts at me. Dog Boy, I need help! this is a new one. It's a bit unusual compared to the other ones I've been given, but I block it out nonetheless. Cerberus! I dive into the song's chorus, this voice oddly reluctant to go away. Alex! My real name is enough to silence me.

Shocked, I open my murky-colored eyes. Barely through the doorway, there's the Reaper; an old man held in her chokehold, dressed in drab gray clothes. Alarmed, I shut the door behind her, locking it and stealing a glance at the clock: 2:30 AM. What the hell were you doing, Reaper? The man in her arms gasps for air, but the Reaper is indomitably strong. Her grip around his neck doesn't let up an inch.

"Reaper, who is this?" I shout, voice strained with trying to keep my composure.

"One of Ren's Sages," she hisses through gritted teeth. "I need you to prepare a chair and rope. Once he's out, we've got to tie him up and wait for him to come through." The man continues to struggle, which only makes things worse for him. I would know. "Damn bastard isn't giving up."

"This wasn't the plan. We didn't even have a plan. Where were you? Why did you take him? How did you even know where to find one of these guys?"

The Reaper shoots me a deadly glare that sends shivers down my spine. Being given a glower by someone currently choking a man out isn't exactly soothing. "Are you my servant or my father?" she growls. The Sage's head suddenly goes slack and his gray eyes roll to the back of his head. I wonder if this is how I looked whenever the Therapist paid me a visit; pupils constricting, head lolling back, whites of my eyes all exposed. It's a pathetically weak state, and when I look at the Sage, I almost see myself.

Part of me wants to help him out, but when I look at the Reaper, all I see is my death sentence.

I drag a chair out from the kitchen and place it by the foot of the futon. "Take care of this," the Reaper demands. "I'm hungry." She opens the fridge and takes out a mango, skillfully peeling the skin with a dramatically-sized blade. I prop the Sage in the chair. I tie him with rope that came from the Reaper, binding him exactly the way I was. From watching the Therapist so much, my fingers expertly move, and it makes me nauseous. "You do this before?" she asks, mouth full.

I cast a look at her, expecting frantic pacing and a list of tortures to execute. But she leans on the counter, chewing her food every two seconds, eyes glazed over in thought. "No," I answer. "Where did you run off to?"

Her onyx eyes slide to me, sizing me up as if she's judging if she should tell me or not. I rip off part of the futon sheets and stuff it in the Sage's mouth, partly for his own good. If he calls for help, who knows how the Reaper will punish him? "Tokyo," she tells me, slicing into her mango and popping a slice in her mouth. "Sightseeing."

"You don't seem like the sightseeing type," I tell her, keeping the snide out of my tone.

She shrugs. "I had business to take care of."

The Reaper bites extra hard at the mention of "business." I stand across from her, placing my hands on the counter. They're still disfigured; bent in odd places, bones popping out at strange angles. "It didn't go well," I assume as she slices into the fruit.