Steve Smith placed the phone back on the receiver. Is he seriously suggesting my parents have mental health issues?
"Dr. Miller, the inpatient fees here aren't exactly cheap..."
"So there is a family history of psychiatric disorders?" Dr. Miller's expression grew grave. "Early intervention is key to treatment..."
"No, what I mean is," Steve interrupted in his usual flat tone, "please spare them. If the whole family ends up in here, who's going to pay the hospital bills?"
Dr. Miller choked on his words, taking a moment to recover. "It doesn't necessarily require hospitalization. We could resolve things through family therapy. It might actually benefit your recovery."
"I don't mean to be sarcastic, but I'm curious—is seeing symptoms in everyone a professional hazard for you?" Steve asked.
"I suppose so," Miller admitted, not denying the bias. Then, he pivoted sharply. "Mr. Smith, what is tomorrow's date?"
Steve glanced at the calendar on the wall. Today was August 21st. "August 22nd."
Miller corrected him gently. "Tomorrow is August 11th. It seems your time perception is still experiencing significant lapses."
Steve: "..."
He hesitated for 0.01 seconds over whether or not to flip the desk. He decided against it. Aside from the professional obsession, Miller was a responsible doctor.
"Well... no need to rush, and no need to avoid it," Miller said, scribbling in his notebook. "Take it slow, and you'll improve."
Steve: "..." Expressionless face x2.
"Alright," Miller looked up with a smile. "We'll try again tomorrow."
Steve wanted to say, 'Just call it, Doc. I'm a lost cause.' But he knew that would only result in a bowl of "inspirational chicken soup" for the soul. He changed the subject. "I'm applying for a temporary leave."
"For what purpose?"
"To buy a few books."
"I'll need to know the titles. Any issues with that?"
"None."
"What time do you plan to return? I'll log your exit."
"Five PM."
"The forecast says rain. Remember an umbrella."
Leaving the grounds required a set return time and an escort. Such was Steve's life in the asylum. His shadow for the day was a young doctor named Nathan.
Nathan was young, dressed in a crisp black suit, and trying very hard to look stern and unapproachable. To Steve, it screamed "rookie."
"Officer Nathan, you seem nervous," Steve remarked casually as he piled his chosen books on the counter.
Nathan shot back instantly, "I am not."
Steve mentally slapped another 'Rookie' label on him. Nathan was a far cry from an old pro like Miller who could smile while dissecting your mind. "Don't be. I'm not violent, and I'm perfectly rational."
Nathan let out a silent breath of relief. Only then did he glance at the books Steve had selected.
The stack on the left: Introduction to Psychology, The Measurement of Personality, Abnormal Psychology, Experimental Psychology, Psychological Statistics...
The stack on the right: Murphy's Law, The Anatomy of Human Destructiveness, Studies on Hysteria, The Interpretation of Dreams, Criminality and Personality, Telling Lies...
Nathan: "!" (┛ಠ_ಠ)┛彡┻━┻
What are you planning? What is the goal here?!
"That's all," Steve said, having already paid. He slid two books into his bag and wrote an address on a slip of paper for the clerk. "Box the rest up and send them here. If I'm not in, leave them with the doorman at the apartment reception."
"Certainly!" the clerk said, taking the slip. "We can have them delivered by three today."
Steve nodded, taking only the two books he had set aside: The Interpretation of Dreams and Introduction to Psychology.
Nathan hurried after him. "Uh, Mr. Smith... about those books..."
"Are they prohibited?" Steve asked calmly.
"Well, no, but..." Nathan hesitated. "I'm not sure. I'll have to ask Dr. Miller when we get back."
Steve nodded and focused on the traffic light. Nathan felt like crying. They were standing side-by-side, Nathan in a formal suit and Steve in casual gear, yet somehow he felt like Steve's junior assistant.
Is this 'presence'? It's not scientific. I'm the doctor here...
Rain began to mist from the sky.
"Oh? Rain?" a pedestrian nearby muttered, reaching out a hand.
The light turned green. A couple hurried past, bickering.
"I told you it would rain today! You didn't bring an umbrella."
"Neither did you!"
"Good thing Dr. Miller reminded us," Nathan sighed with relief, pulling two umbrellas from his bag. "Mr. Smith, since my bag is empty now, let me carry those books for you."
"Thanks." Steve took the umbrella and handed over the books.
The rain intensified, the gray sky darkening further. Pedestrians blurred into hurried shapes, splashing through the growing puddles. As they walked further, the streets emptied.
Near the sidewalk, a tiny figure appeared. The child was draped in an oversized white lab coat, head bowed, leaning against a wall for support. She was barefoot, staggering slowly through the wet.
Steve saw the figure and stopped.
Nathan followed his gaze, confused. "That child..."
The next moment, the little girl tripped over the hem of the lab coat and collapsed into a puddle. Her auburn hair was instantly matted with dirty water.
Steve sighed internally and walked toward her. Seeing the legendary "Anita Hailey" looking so pathetic in the rain was actually a bit heart-wrenching.
Anita struggled to stand, wiping rain from her face with a soaked sleeve. She looked up and froze.
Two tall men stood before her, holding black umbrellas.
One looked older, in a sharp black suit and white shirt, hair cropped short, looking professional and severe.
The other—the one who clearly held the authority—looked younger. He was also dressed entirely in black: a dark windbreaker zipped up to his chin, his black hair damp, and a pair of pale violet eyes staring down at her with chilling indifference.
The Organization?
Have I... have I been found already?
Anita turned deathly pale. she stood paralyzed, staring up at Steve with eyes wide with terror and alertness.
Steve realized her distress. He looked at his own clothes, then at Nathan. Great. Two guys in black suits. Real subtle.
He crouched down to her level. "Where are you going? I'll give you a lift."
Anita: "..." Death stare.
That calm tone. That cold gaze. He was asking where she was going, but it felt like a mockery of her desperate situation.
Nathan, still trying to look "tough," softened his expression and cleared his throat. "Mr. Smith, I think you're scaring her. You should smile at children, not look like you're about to read their last rites."
Anita: "..." Extreme death stare.
Are these two... toys with me?
"Oh... is that so?" Steve said noncommittally. He could guess what was happening. At this moment, Anita wouldn't trust anyone except maybe Jimmy Wood, who shared her fate.
Especially not two "Men in Black" during her most vulnerable hour.
Anita reached her breaking point. If she was going to die anyway, she wouldn't do it while being mocked. She took a deep breath, her voice cold despite her shivering frame. "If you've had enough of the jokes, just finish your mission. You..."
She pointed her gaze at Steve. "You aren't a low-level grunt, are you?"
Steve: "..."
"You have a codename," Anita stated. She couldn't read minds, but she could sense the danger radiating from him. With that level of coldness in his eyes, he couldn't be an average member. "Who are you? Gin? Vodka? It doesn't matter anymore."
She went limp, her expression turning into one of grim acceptance. "Just do it."
Nathan was utterly baffled. "Uh, sweetie, what are you talking about? Wait! Mr. Smith, what are you..."
Steve had already scooped Anita up. Umbrella in one hand, shivering girl in the other. "She told me to 'do it.'"
"No, I meant—but—" Nathan stammered.
She said 'do it' and you just 'did it'?!
"Look at her. She's in bad shape," Steve said, touching her forehead. "She has a high fever. We need to get her to a hospital."
Nathan snapped back into professional mode, pulling out his phone. "I'll find the nearest clinic... Little girl, where do you live? Do you have your parents' number? Hey... sweetie?"
Steve looked down at Anita, who had closed her eyes and gone limp in his arms. "She fainted."
Nathan: "..." Was I being too talkative?