Mad House

Valentine had many opportunities over her long, long 16 years on this big spinning globe to be scared. Like when she was 4 and fell out of that tree in the backyard, maybe. Or that time in the fifth grade, at the zoo, where she almost fell into the bear pit because Annie Eberly tripped over her unmade shoelaces and pushed her. Finding her father's body hanging limply from the rafters in the basement at her 13th birthday party probably could have scared the living day lights out of her too. The way that Bobby (Uncle Bobby) smiled at her a few days after her father's funeral made shivers run down her spine. And yeah, okay, maybe she was a little scared after she blew his brains out and repainted her pretty pink ceiling in goopy grey matter and blood -- self defense on account of him sneaking into her bed in the middle of the night and getting off to her screaming for help -- but nothing, nothing in the whole wide world scared her half as much as hearing that blood curdling screech down in the basement with Millie.

Nothing.

Valentine crept into the sleepy dormitory slowly, biting her lip as she pushed some of her sweat-slicked blonde hair behind her ear.

It's over now. It's over. She reminded herself of how Wesley would say it, with his quiet, drowsy Southern drawl -- he had been born and raised in Mobile, Alabama his whole life and was very proud of it, thank you very much -- iss all ova, babygirl, all ova, you gon' be right as rain soon 'nuff. She smiled for a second and bit her lip -- where was he when she needed him the most? Where? She made a note to ask in the morning for his forwarding address.

She jumped as a clap of thunder roared angrily outside, holding a hand to her chest as she took a deep breath, plans of contacting Wesley abandoned for the moment. She made her way to the dressers blindly, waving her hands as she searched for something to hold on to. A flash of lightning let her see Rosie (a quiet girl, pretty with her long brown hair, the very same Rose that made the otherwise very talkative and obnoxious Louis feel at a loss for words and mildly more upset than usual) staring at her with her lips in a small pout, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her chest. Valentine's tiny fingers gripped the cross on the thin gold chain as she tried to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

(The chain was actually from Zayn. The cross was the only thing she had left to remember Wesley by, tiny and sweet, a little heart in the middle that he had snuck in -- he had those kind of connections that she'd never really understand -- a gift for her birthday. She didn't have a chain for it though, but always managed to keep it in her bra, nestled between the wire and her skin. It had slipped out when she was playing checkers with Zayn one sleepy, rainy afternoon -- it meant that he was looking, which made her happier than she would ever care to admit. A few days later, while she was draped on a chair reading one of Wesley's books -- the stupid smart bastard -- he dropped it into her lap, light and thin and gold. When she asked him who it belonged to, he simply said, "You, buttercup. You're welcome.")

She wasn't a coward. That was what got her sent here in the first place.

"What?" Valentine snapped quietly, narrowing her eyes. "Go back to bed, Rose." She hadn't meant to get short with Rose, not really, but she couldn't help it. She was still so shaken up by what had just happened. She pulled the damp white slip over her head and tossed it in the dirty clothes basket, shivering as she grabbed a fresh, dry one. She was so scared that she sweated right through the light cotton material of her nightshirt. Granted, so would anyone else if they heard what she had heard.

Valentine could still feel Rosie's questioning eyes on her and she sighed, biting her lip as she tried to keep her voice even.

"Sorry, Rosie. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, yeah? Everything's just peachy."

Someone (or something) was hurting (or killing) innocent women in the dead of night. Of course, at first Valentine had thought that maybe she was just hearing things or something and that she had nothing to fear - the building was old, the stairs creaked, the pipes leaked, and it was perfectly reasonable to conclude that the noises she heard were just normal, old building noises.

And then one morning, before breakfast, she went to the bathroom to pee, and there was blood all over the floor in one of the stalls. Valentine couldn't keep down breakfast, but at least she got to throw up on the doctor during her therapy session that morning, so it was a mild win. A few days later, she was with Wesley (her sweet baby Wesley, with his green eyes and black hair and soft smile) in the basement, and in their haste to get to one of the extra cots in the corner -- they only had twenty minutes before someone realized they were missing -- they tripped over something wet and squishy and she ended up falling on top of him.

"So it's going to be like that?" he asked, pushing up the hem of her dress.

"Maybe," she laughed, pressing soft kisses to his neck.

"Hello? Is anyone down here?" the monsignor asked, frowning a little as Valentine looked up at him. Monsignor George Avery was young, pale with light brown eyes and brown hair he combed over, always dressed in black with his white collar and a gold rosary hanging out the pocket of his black slacks. His hands were clasped together as his eyebrows knit with confusion. "Oh, hello." Wesley glanced up at the priest, cheeks tinting pink. "What are you doing down here? Isn't it lunch time?"

"I was, um, I was just teaching her how to pray, Father," Wesley stammered nervously, gulping.

"Our Father thou art in, um," Valentine began to say, biting her lip. "Um... thou art in, er, um - "

"Heaven, sweet pea," Wesley corrected quietly, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as he helped her stand up.

"Heaven. Right. Our Father thou a-art in Heaven, hallowed be t-thy name," she continued as she dusted her skirt off. "Thy, er... thy..."

"Thy will be done," the monsignor murmured, a small smile on his face. "I'm happy you're finally reaching out to the Lord, Valentine. It's about time." He kept talking, and Valentine still doesn't really remember what he said, but she will never forget the spots of blood on his collar, or how there was a tiny little tear near his shoulder, and how the scent of a woman's perfume hung around him.

Did Father Avery have something to do with it? It's not like he would actually kill anyone. He was a priest, for God's sake. Didn't that kind of go against his vows? Was it the doctor? Why would he kill people in the basement? And who did he kill? Why kill at all? Did the monsignor really know? Was he helping him hide it?

Whoever it was, however, was here, roaming these halls, and the thought made her ill.

Valentine knelt in front of the cross on the wall in front of her bed, eyes closed as she blessed herself and clasped her hands together as she finally let herself cry.

"Our Father that art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us today our daily bread. Forgive us our sins..."

+

Millie, despite all her pleas on her behalf, still couldn't manage to get Valentine out of solitary for nine days. At least they didn't put her in a straightjacket this time. The only reason Valentine was in solitary in the first place was because she didn't want to tell the doctor why she had been roaming the halls at three in the morning in the first place (didn't want to become his next victim and all). She spent the week and a half praying, crying and jumping at the slightest noise. Her only visitors were Millie, a new nurse named Delaney, and the monsignor, who had a habit of visiting the patients confined in solitary to keep their spirits up.

Millie came and brought her tiny sweets, a piece of a chocolate bar, a peppermint, etc. Since the patients who were in solitary had to be supervised at all times, Delaney sat with her in the bathroom, helped her untangle her hair, relax, and get her mind off whoever was in the basement, killing people. Father Avery sat with her and prayed for the salvation of her soul or something -- her fear and the fact that she couldn't hear anything above the blood pounding in her ears kind of had something to do with her not being able to remember a single word he said.

Valentine had prayed more in the last nine or ten days than she had in her whole natural born life. She wasn't really that religious, but due to recent events, she felt like she had no other choice but to turn to a power much higher than her own.

When she was released on Monday, Valentine spent the day wandering the hallways upstairs, pressing herself against the wall. She wasn't crazy. She knew she wasn't crazy. If she had heard noises at night, wouldn't she hear them during the day too? She hadn't really been listening during the day, but she usually spent her days in the rec room, playing table tennis with Harry and occasionally discussing those things that went bump in the night, or in the library, playfully fighting with Zayn over everything and nothing at once, or on the rare days when the sun came out, in the courtyard. She turned the corner and walked down the hall of the boys dormitories, closing her eyes as she felt the smooth plaster of the wall against her cheek.

"Buttercup?" She glanced up, eyes raw as she looked at Zayn. He looked down at her, lips in a worried line. "Where've you been?"

"None of your business," Valentine replied, playing with the hem of her dress. She turned to face him, sullenly pouting at his interruption of her investigations. "Can you move, please?" He rested both his hands behind her head against the wall, looking down at her as she scowled at him. "Zayn -- "

"It's only hide-and-seek if both people know they're playin'," he asked. "So where you been hidin', buttercup?"

"Why do you need to know?"

"Just wonderin'."

"Did you miss me?" Valentine counters, batting her eyelashes at him. "Were you worried? Think I got hurt?"

"You? Hurt?" Zayn laughed, but there was something about it that made Valentine curious. His smile faltered for a second. "You weren't hurt, were you?" His voice dropped to a light whisper. "Did that creepy doctor touch you?" She tiled her head, laughing.

"No. Ew." Dr. James tried to touch her once, despite her 'crime' of sorts, when Wesley was still here. He had a pretty bad temper, almost as bad as Louis, and ended up sort of almost knocking Dr. James' front teeth down his throat. It was probably the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her, even if it did earn Wesley three weeks in the hole and a strict bread, water, and sedative diet. "Were you actually worried?"

"No." He played with a piece of her blonde hair, twisting the soft strands between his fingers and looping them. "Were you with him?" She frowned, staring at him with a small scowl. "With Harry, I mean."

"Why would I be with Harry?"

Millie's quick steps echoed down the hallway -- only Millie walked like she was in a hurry all the time -- and Zayn backed off, smirking at her a little as Millie approached them. Valentine narrowed her eyes at him.

"It's time for group in the rec room," she said softly. She wrapped a gentle hand around her elbow, leaning in as Zayn walked ahead of them. "How are you feeling, Val? Did you take your medicine?"

"No. I don't need those stupid pills."

"Have you -- have you heard anything else?" she asked her softly, leaning in a little.

Valentine had, for a short time, entertained the notion that she had actually lost her mind. After all, anyone else in her shoes would have -- her father dies, her step-father rapes her for a little over a year, she kills him, then ends up here, loses the boy who was probably the one -- wouldn't they? It would explain the noises and those strange things she had seen, how easily the doctor dismissed them and how, after every time she hinted at seeing something or hearing something suspicious, her medications had doubled, or sometimes, tripled. She was going crazy. She told Wesley about her suspicions before he left, and all he said was, "You're letting them Nancy Drew books fill your head up with nonsense, ain't you? Don't you know I'd never let anyone hurt a single hair on your pretty lil' head? Relax, Valentine." So she smiled, let him kiss her forehead, and accepted the fact that she had officially gone off the deep end.

(Of course, Harry said he believed her, but the kid lied about pretty much everything so how was she supposed to take him seriously? Sometimes, she wanted to question her friendship with Harry, but always remembered that he had been there for her, always, at least when he wasn't in shock or the hole.)

And then Millie told her that she heard them too, and Millie hadn't been here long enough to lose her marbles. Not yet. So maybe Valentine wasn't that crazy after all.

"Not really." She shrugged, thumbs pressing into the tiny cross. "I'm okay, Millie."

"Are you sure?" the young nurse pressed, concerned. "Do you want to talk about what we heard?"

"I'm fine," Valentine insisted shakily, letting go of Millie as she almost raced down the steps, zipping past Zayn and Niall, who had been leaning against the railing and looking at Adeline with a small smile. (Niall and Adeline were pretty cute, in their own innocent way. The other night, she saw their fingertips brush behind the bowl of potatoes on the table and saw how pink Niall's cheeks got.) Valentine took her usual seat next to Harry, eyes glued to the floor as she gnawed on her lip nervously.

"Tina?" he asked softly, green eyes concerned. "You okay? How was the hole?"

"It wasn't any different than last time, Harry. It's the hole. It's not like they've upgraded it or something." Valentine's voice dropped to an almost inaudible murmur. "It's happening again. I heard it. Someone was screaming and dying and -- it was awful." She glanced at him worriedly, watching as his eyes grew.

"It'll be okay. Don't worry."

He nodded and squeezed her knee gently. She heard someone clearing their throat. It was Zayn, shooting daggers at Harry as his arms crossed. She simply stared at him and dropped her hand on Harry's knee.

"You're awful," Harry laughed. The rest of the patients filed in, filling in the circle of chairs around the room. The doctor walked in, adjusting his glasses. Harry's and Valentine's hands found themselves back to their owners' respective laps as he took a seat, glancing at all of them with mild boredom.

"Good afternoon," Dr. James greeted, teeth wolfish white as he grinned at the patients. One of the newest nuns, Seraphine, kept her eyes glued to the floor. Valentine didn't miss the tear in her stockings or how she scooted her chair away from him a little, her black habit slipping over her coppery hair. Yet another victim of Dr. McCreep. Valentine felt bad for her, poor thing. "I trust that you're well. Okay, at least. During today's session, we will be discussing the topic of honesty." He shot Valentine and Harry a pointed look. Maybe neither one of them had a track record of telling the doctor the truth all the time. Maybe. Valentine rubbed the bridge of her nose with her middle finger, scrunching up her face as she sniffled. "Why is honesty important?" He started clicking his gum as he looked around the room.

"Because it just is," Louis pointed out snidely. "No one likes being lied to."

The doctor spent almost fifteen minutes talking about the topic of honesty, which Valentine thought was pretty damn ironic, considering that he was probably the guy slicing and dicing people downstairs in the middle of the night, then came to work with a straight face and preached about rehabilitation and feelings and stupid things like that.

Harry started becoming restless, shifting in his seat and rubbing his neck worriedly. He started to sweat a little, tiny beads starting to roll down his forehead. He tugged at his stiff collar, breathing heavily.

"Harry, cut it out," Valentine whispered, nudging him lightly. Niall glanced at them, biting his lip anxiously. He always worried about everyone too much, the sweet little thing. And it didn't take much to worry Niall, not at all. Just not saying hi to him right after he greeted you was enough to get the kid in a full blown sob fest.

"I can't. There's a murderer walking around here, Val." He started gnawing on his bottom lip, tapping his foot against the floor. Valentine shot him a look.

"Shut up."

"We're all gonna die," Harry said softly. Valentine rolled her eyes, sinking into her hard, cold seat. "Don't you understand?"

" -- and so honesty is key to your rehabilitation, ladies and gentlemen. The first key is to be honest with yourselves and -- " Dr. James stopped short, glancing at Harry angrily. "Is there a problem, Mr. Styles? Why are you talking when I'm talking? Do you have something you'd like to share with the group, hm?"

"No," Valentine interjected, shooing Harry a sharp look. "He's fine."

"I wasn't asking you, Miss Scott. That bed down in the hole? I have no problem sending you back there, so zip it. Mr. Styles -- "

"I actually do have a problem," he said, swatting Valentine's hand away as she tried to calm him down. "I - I - there's some crazy person here -- "

"Yes, yes, Mr. Styles. This is a mental asylum for the criminally insane, so yes. All of you are technically certifiably crazy and basic lost causes." Millie shot the doctor a look, eyes wide. Obviously, she wasn't used to Dr. Frankencreep's disregard for those under his care.

"No, no - I mean -- " Harry started tugging at his hair, frustrated as he groaned loudly. His face started to turn red as he whined, choking back his tears. (Harry was one of those kids who cried when he was angry, and then lashed out.)

"Mr. Styles, relax -- "

"I can't relax! You know what?! You relax, Elliot! Don't tell me to relax when there's some crazy person running around here -- " Harry stood up and started pacing, tugging at his shirt as he almost roared. Rose narrowed her eyes at him. She was on laundry, again, and if Harry popped off those damn buttons she wasn't sewing them back on. The needles always managed to prick her fingers and he hated bleeding all over everyone else's clothes just because Harry freaking Styles had to have one of his infamous episodes.

"The only nutjob I see here is you, so park it before I call an orderly -- "

"Call whoever the hell you want, Doctor! You know what, you should call the cops because there's a homicidal maniac running around here -- "

"Harry!" Valentine exclaimed, worried. "Shut up!"

"Miss Scott, please -- "

"How can you all sit there so calmly when there's some murderer running around here?!" Harry picked up his wooden chair and threw it, breathing heavily. Valentine looked over at the nun, who was praying softly beneath her breath. The young nurse was staring at Harry, scared. She made eye contact for a few seconds with Valentine, eyes growing as Harry's tirade got louder and louder. Valentine started regretting letting Harry in on her concerns about the thing in the basement. Maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut. "Which one of you was it, huh?!" Harry yelled furiously, stalking towards Robbie. "Was it you, huh? You little freak. I bet it was you. Why'd ya do it?! Do you get off on the blood or something? You crazy, sadistic -- " Harry was screaming in his face, hands wrapped around his dirty shirt collar. (Robbie always managed to get dirty, even though the patients only left the building maybe once a month.)

"Haz, stop!" Niall exclaimed, shaking his head as he pressed the palms of his hands to his ears. "Please!"

"Are you scared, Nialler? Yeah? You should be! We're all gonna die and -- "

"That's enough, Mr. Styles. Nurse Grace, can you please get Raoul and Peter down here?"

"Dr. James, I -- "

"That's an order, young lady," he snapped, standing up as he walked towards Harry. "Mr. Styles, get it together!" Millie looked at a loss as she stood up, looking between Harry and Dr. Cop-A-Feel. "I said go, Nurse Grace." The doctor shooed her out of the room, continuing to approach Harry carefully. "There's no murderer here, champ. Just you and your little whackjob friends. No one's killing anyone -- "

"Yes! Yes they are! Why don't you believe me?!" he bellowed. He grabbed at his curly strands again, voice cracking. "Don't you understand? Why are you all just sitting there? There's a murderer in this room! And he's going to kill every single one of you!"

Leave it to Harry to spill the beans when he finally decides to tell the truth for once in his godforsaken life, Valentine thought as she stared at him angrily. Raoul and Peter, two goons disguised as nurses that Dr. James kept around for the difficult patients like Harry and Valentine and Louis, barreled into the room.

"Harry, come on now," Millie coaxed, eyes pleading. Harry turned around to look at her, watching as her tiny hands picked up the chair he had thrown in his (justified) rage. She almost sounded like she was crying, sniffling and voice cracking. Was she really that scared? Maybe she had never seen one of Harry's episodes before. She held the wooden chair with both hands, smiling as she trembled. "Won't you sit down and just relax, huh? For me? Hm? It's going to be okay -- "

"It's not going to be okay, Nurse Millie. That's the problem. Don't you understand?"

"Harry, please. You don't want them to take you to down to solitary, do you?"

"Let them take me wherever they want. I don't care! Just get me the hell out of this place! You don't get it!" he screamed as Raoul and Peter grabbed him, one on each side and lifted him up, kicking and screaming. "Don't you understand? He's gonna hurt you, and Valentine and Niall and -- and everyone -- and -- we're all gonna die!"

"That's enough," Dr. James scolded angrily, waving his hand. Valentine watched as he dug his heels into the carpet, tossing his head back.

"Don't you believe me? Ask her! Ask Valentine what she heard that night!" he begged as they pushed the doors open, dragging him out forcefully.

"Miss Scott?" Dr. James asked, running a hand through his hair. "What is he talking about?"

"I think they're in cahoots, Dr. James," Rachel said sagely. Valentine tried to suppress a gag, coughing into her fist. Rachel was the only patient who actually didn't mind Dr. Super Freak and kind of gave into his advances. She thought he was 'dreamy' and spent two hours in therapy instead of just the one for some extra special counseling that came in the form of him bending her over his desk. Rachel was in his good graces always, but made the rest of the patients want to be sick. Stupid Rachel freaking Tooley.

"I do too, Miss Tooley. Answer my question. What is Mr. Styles talking about?" Valentine glanced at Millie, who was, by that point, gnawing on her pink bottom lip worriedly.

"I don't know," she answered firmly, shaking her head. "I think he might be off his meds again. You know how Harry can get. He starts talking all crazy when he's not on them." Valentine shrugged. "I didn't hear anything but the pipes and wind outside. I'm an insomniac, after all. Don't sleep too well." (Living with that stupid bastard, Bobby, had made it so that Valentine had forgotten what a decent night's rest felt like -- though Wesley did make her feel a little better, crooning quiet love songs in her ear until she was lulled, not really asleep, but not awake either. She really did miss him a lot lately.)

"That's right," Dr. James smiled, nodding his head. "There's no murderer here. Well, not really." He glanced at Liam, who was talking to himself quietly and had pretty much missed all of Harry's little episode, then turned his attention to Valentine, who simply smiled.

She didn't consider herself a murderer. Not really -- she didn't kill him for fun, she did it because he wasn't going to stop and even if her mother left him which would honestly never ever happen he'd just do it to some other girl who didn't have the guts to do what she did. So that wasn't murder, not really. It was self-defense. At least she wasn't getting life or something in federal prision -- though she wasn't mentally competent to stand trial anyway because she may have faked a psychotic episode during the preliminary hearing. Maybe. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, and if that means pretending to see a bloody, headless corpse in the middle of a room full of press, lawyers, her family, and the members of the jury, then so be it. Though maybe prison would be better than the asylum. Maybe.

"Anyway," the doctor continued. "You're all mildly safe here. No one's going to kill anyone." He laughed. "That'll be all for today. Miss Tooley, I'll see you in my office for your session in an hour, alright?" Rachel simply grinned as the patients stood up to file out of the room. Ew.

Valentine wandered the hallways again, ducking her head into the kitchens to get a glimpse of dinner. She saw one of the cooks, a nun who was probably a bearded lady in the circus before marrying Christ and all that, crushing up what she was pretty sure were sleeping pills and dumping them into the soup. Chicken noodle with a touch of sedatives. Yummy.

Restless since she was missing her partner in crime, Harry, she found her way back into the rec room, where the chairs had been moved around and it was starting to look like it usually did after therapy. She took a seat next to Rose at the table, where she was drawing those same pair of eyes again. She looked around -- Louis was sitting on the piano bench, Liam was sitting in the corner, alone, Robbie and Tucker were being creeps and trying to lift up poor Suellen's skirt (a soft spoken flirt), Carl and Zayn were listening to the radio, and Adeline was rocking back and forth in the rocking chair while Niall sat on the recliner next to her.

"Hi, Rosie." She didn't even look up, but that didn't mean she wasn't listening. "If I tell you something, you can't tell anyone." Rose glanced at her, sighed, and then went back to her eyes. "Harry wasn't totally lying. That night, when they took me to solitary... maybe I heard something. Maybe not. Whatever it is -- I want you to be careful, okay? Rosie, seriously -- just... don't walk around by yourself after dark. Avoid the basement. Some crazy things are going on in there, alright?"

Rose barely nodded her head, picking up her charcoal as she blew on the page a little.

"I'm being serious. I mean, if something happens to me, okay, fine, whatever -- my mom hates me anyway and I don't care. But you're, you know -- you're just -- I just worry a lot about you, okay? Be safe and don't -- "

"Will all patients please report to the dispensary for their nightly medications? All patients to the dispensary," the loudspeaker crackled. Rose folded her papers and grabbed her pens, shoving them in the pockets of her dress.

"Rose -- " Rose was soon lost in the throng of patients. Valentine sighed. Rose was pretty much susceptible to everything since she didn't talk and wouldn't tell on anyone if anything happened, a quality that made her pretty useful when Valentine used to sneak Wesley into her room after lights out, but that would also put her in danger with that lunatic running around. She wouldn't cry or scream for help probably -- Valentine wasn't sure if Rose couldn't talk or simply chose not to. Either way, she was worried.

Sbe joined the patients, leaning against the wall as the line wrapped around the corner of the wall.

"Are you sweet on Harry?" a soft voice asked her as she bit her thumbnail. It was Zayn, moody and brooding as he waited for an answer. The line moved forward as he pressed on. "Are you?"

"Jesus, Zayn. Don't sneak up on people here. That's how you get stabbed," Valentine mumbled, pushing some of her hair behind her ear.

"You got something with Harry, buttercup?" Valentine frowned, glancing at Zayn.

"Harry? Harry Styles? The kid who kind of just had a breakdown in group?" He looked at her blankly as she started to laugh, shaking her head. "Harry was my first friend when I came here." Well, Wesley was, technically, but Zayn didn't need to know about him. "We're just friends. And I think he's a little bit in love with the new nurse." She shrugged. "Though, Harry doesn't really have feelings. He just has really strong emotions. Why?"

"No reason." He shrugged, looking away. "You're just always talkin' to him and laughin' and he's always touchin' you and - " Zayn's shoulders slumped. "Just looks a lil' funny's all." Some floorboards creaked upstairs and Valentine sighed.

"Harry's a funny kid. I - "

There was a loud, wet thud in the lobby, followed by a series of very loud, very piercing screams. The nurses abandoned their station and rushed down, white sneakers squeaking against the linoleum as they ran to the scene. Everyone else followed, searching for the cause of the noise. It smelled like blood, Valentine noted as she walked into the lobby with Zayn, frowning. She glanced up at the second floor, watching as Dr. James stared at everyone, almost guilty. Most of the patients started crying or screaming or even both as the nurses tried to make sense of what had happened and tried to calm them all down.

"You don't want to see it, buttercup -- " Zayn warned her, tugging her close. She glanced up at him -- he was taller than Wesley, face firmer and softer at the same time and it made Valentine smile, sometimes, especially when she'd beat him at chess and he'd smile playfully as he told her that he let her win (but he didn't know what the difference between a queen and a bishop was) but she had no time for his cute face as she struggled to make him let go of her.

"Get off me!" she said quietly, tugging her arm free. She pushed through the patients to the front, watching as they lifted a limp body on to a cot. Ambulance sirens whined loudly in the distance, echoing in the valley. The monsignor was there -- when did he come? (He only left the chapel in the back of the asylum to visit those in the hole, to eat dinner, and to occasiona;ly pray for those believed to be possessed.) He wrung his pale hands worriedly, trying to calm the unsettled patients.

"Rachel has gone to be with the Lord, children," Father Avery soothed, rubbing Niall's back as he cried. Niall even liked her, but that was because not even Rachel had it in her ice cold heart to tease Niall, not one little bit. Sometimes they even sat together during dinner, and she'd laugh at his silly jokes, even though he had told them at least two or three times that day.

Rachel? Valentine stared at the girl, at her matted black hair and at the blood slowly dripping down her nose and into her open mouth. Her teeth were all smashed and there was blood seeping through her tummy. Rachel was a pretty girl. Or at least she was until she jumped and killed herself.

But why would Rachel do that? Why? She'd been sleeping with Dr. Feelgood for as long as Valentine had been at the Brim, if not longer, and the guilt had yet to catch up to her. Quite the opposite, actually. Rachel was loud, annoying, funny, and pretty obnoxious, not at all the kind of girl that had gui;t eating her up inside. The nurses tried to coral the patients so that the gurney could get through. Raoul and Peter made faces at the sticky blood on the floor and on their pristine white uniforms as the sirens intensified from outside those heavy oak doors.

Rachel.

Rachel freaking Tooley.

Valentine hadn't realized she was crying until Zayn pulled her close, resting his chin on her head as he murmured comforting words that she couldn't hear over the sound of her sobs. He wiped at her face with his hand as she sniffled, biting her lip.

"Didn't I tell you, buttercup? I told you. But you're gonna be okay, right? Don't you ever so something like that, you hear me?" Zayn said quietly into the shell of her ear, pressing himself against her as the wheels creaked against the floors. The doors opened as paramedics walked in, pulling their gloves on.

Why would Rachel kill herself? Could it be that she had been murdered? She looked up again. The doctor, who had been so attentive to little Miss Tooley and all her needs, was suddenly nowhere to be found. Why Rachel, of all people?

"Buttercup?" Zayn asked, rubbing her arm. "You heard me? You gotta promise me you're not gonna do like Rachel did, yeah?"

"Yeah, Zayn," she said, voice weak as she hiccupped. "I promise."