Chapter One

There are probably a lot of grammar and tense mistakes in the first fifteen chapters. I realize that. I was careless when I began this book, and now that I've finished it I'm working on those horrid mistakes. The tense is of the book is present tense but they're past tense verbs acciendly mixed in. Hopefully it's not too bad. I'm doing my best to edit this book ASAP. So enjoy ;P

Edited

Part One: How It All Began

Chapter One

I smell bleach in the room I walk into. It was an odd smell for an office but all mental institutes have the same smell.

The young women that sits at the wooden desk looks up and smiles. “Good morning Athena, take a seat.” She says in her calm sweet voice, after all it’s not like she has a choice. She was taught to be patient.

“Hi, my name is Doctor Johnson.” Johnson, such a simple, American name. Like all the therapists.

“Hello.” I mumble back. I’m not really that enthused whenever I met a new doctor/therapist. She isn’t any different from any other doctor I was forced to go to. They were all the same, all eleven of them.

“Athena, please tell why you were brought here today.” She asks in a very patient voice. I roll my eyes. “Doesn’t my referral tell you that?” I ask back. I’m getting annoyed quickly; after being through eleven therapists you wouldn’t judge me.

“Yes it does, but do you always believe what’s written on paper? I want to hear from you, what you think is wrong.” Now, this was the part I hate most; the explanation or what I like to call five minutes in hell.

I take in a deep breath and start. “I keep seeing invisible people or “ghost”. I see them almost everywhere and all the time.” The therapist processes what I said, nods, and then writes it down. The sound of her pen moving across the surface of the notebook paper is emphasized in my ears since it’s the only sound in the stale office. All I hear is that annoying sound. I ball my hands in fist, trying to control my sudden anger. My fingernails bite into the fabric of the chair.

After she stops writing she looks at me with a frown of her eyebrows. “I see past doctors have diagnosed you with schizophrenia. Do you think you have schizophrenia, Athena?” I have always hated therapists. They’re so calm and patient it makes me want to scream.

“Yes, it seems to be the only logical answer to me seeing dead people.” I retort rudely. I didn’t really mean to be rude; it’s just I hate having to explain my life story to every doctor.

“How do you feel when you see these ‘dead’ people?” She asks, making the ‘dead’ sound like she’s skeptical.

“Depressed, angst, misery, you name it. It all started when I was six. I started getting these nightmares about murderer. Every nightmare is so vivid, so realist. Then right after that I started to see ghost. Once I saw a ghost you start to feel their sorrow and depression. You know how depressed you get when you wanted something for so long and once you get the chance to get it or you have right in reach, it gets taken away from you? Well that’s how it feels but ten times worse. I try to cope by drawing these scenes that come to head and then destroying the drawings afterwards. So I never have to deal with the pain ever again. It helps a lot with the forgetting.” I take a deep breath to give the therapist time to think about the load I just dropped on her. I realized after the third therapist that all therapists and doctors need time to think about how they’re going to address and mentally unstable patient. Like me.

“Can I see these drawings?”

“NO!” I practically yell. Then I look down at my hands sheepishly as a silent apology for my sudden outburst.

“Why not?” She asks with a frown.

“These are not just pictures you’d show to anyone. They’re not very happy looking, they’re disgusting and disturbing.” I say that last part in a whisper. More to me than an explanation to the therapist.

The therapist just shook it off realizing it’s a sore topic. Smart woman.

“Do you ever have suicidal thoughts?”

“No! No I don’t have suicidal thoughts because of these creatures.” I shudder in disgust for the ghost that haunt me.

“Okay, well that’s all the time we have for today. I’m going to prescribe you to some anti-depressants—”

“Whoa, wait, I told you I wasn’t depressed! I might feel depression of the dead but that doesn’t mean it’s my own.” I object.

“I know, I know. But it might stop your dreams and eventually stop you from seeing these ‘dead people’.” She says in a calm way, like every therapist was taught to do. I sigh in frustration and get up and grab the prescription slip from her. I walk out of the room and hear her say “See you next session!” In a very disgusting cheery voice.

I walk out into the waiting room looking for my mom who’s waiting patiently in a stiff chair. I walk over to her reading her People magazine.

“How did it go sweetie?” She asks in a motherly voice that makes me cringe.

“Just great mom, like every other therapist I’ve seen. She gave me my prescription for anti-depressants.” I wave the slip like I am proud of it, but really I’m far from it.

“Ah, I’m going to get this filled out!” She says eagerly. I roll my eyes as I watch her leave to go to the front desk where a chubby lady in scrubs is typing on her monitor.

I slump down in the nearest stiff, uncomfortable chair and take in the waiting room. There are five people in the room and later I would find out those five people would change my life forever. And not in the positive way.

In the corner of the room is a middle age man curled in a ball rocking back and forth with a young nurse by his side trying to calm him down by speaking softly. It was typical to have scenes like this happen at a mental hospital. But not really in the waiting room where the crazies would draw unwanted attention.

In the chair across from me is a woman who look to be in her early thirties and I guess her son is next to her. He looks to be my age, maybe a little older. Also he looks very familiar. He has sandy blonde hair that came to his ears, his eyes were shut and he looked like he’s in pain.

Then it hit me, a wave of depression. This one more intense than any other I have ever felt. It’s filling my body like unruly darkness that numbs the brain. My body responds by curling up in a ball. I don’t remember depression feeling like cardiac arrest. This only means one thing; there’s death in this very room, haunting it. I fall to the floor hitting my head on the tile in the process. The sorrow’s unbearable.

Then it all stops, completely. The depression is gone.

I open my eyes to find the familiar blonde boy staring me with confusion and something else. I scowl at him; I hate being stared at like a freak. I’m about to get up, but at that moment something happens that’ll change my life forever.

The sorrow comes back three times worse than previously.

The middle age man that had been sobbing in the corner stand up and pushes the nurse away and runs towards the front desk. But in the process he trips and falls. The nurse runs to him.

“Charles, please calm down! If you don’t stop acting up were going to have to sedate you!” The nurse says frantically. I notice that she’s actually dressed like a nurse from the 1940’s. With her tight nurse dress and the oddly shaped hat. The man’s sobbing; there are tears rolling down his face. It’s always a pain to see a grown man cry.

I dig my nails in my arm, trying to gain some leverage on the painstaking depression. It feels like ice has seeped its way into my bones. My arm starts to bleed.

“Get away from me! He’s going to kill us all! W-we need God to save us!” Charles chokes out. He breaks a vase in the process of getting up from his previous fall. The nurse’s trying to reach him but the man was defending himself from her, like she’s fire. Then the man starts to speak in tongues. God, I’m so scared.

Charles picks up a piece of the broken glass from the vase broke moments ago and stabs the frantic nurse in the throat. I get up from my position on the floor. I hit the back wall of the waiting room.

The nurse falls to the ground while a puddle of blood starts to expand underneath her. I look around the room, no one seem to notice this chaos happening. Everyone is staring at me with worried glance. Except for the boy who’s staring at the crazy man in horror.

My mom comes over to me and asks me if I’m alright. But I didn’t hear her; I was too busy staring at this man.

Charles picked up the piece of glass and holds it to his throat. “Forgive me, God.” He says then slits his throat. Blood gushes from the wound as Charles’s knees buckle to the tile floor.

I scream again and fall to the floor sobbing. I hug my knees to my chest and burry my head in my knees. My mom hugs me awkwardly.

“What happened sweetie?” she asks with concern. I know deep down that she’s not actually concerned, just annoyed at the interruption.

“Th-there was a ma-man… and h-he…killed…a-a nurse.” I say between sobs.

“Athena there’s no one here, calm down.” She says with fright in her voice. I look up from my knees to find nothing on the floor. No blood, no nurse, no crazy man. I stand up and wipe the tears off my face.

“It must’ve been a bad day dream, I’m sorry I was just overreacting.” I say. It’s my usual speech when I see a ghost and freak out. My mom just nods and walks over back to the front desk.

“You’re lying.” Someone says from behind me. I turn around and see the blonde boy standing up looking at me.

“What?”

“I said you’re lying.” He says again.

“Jesse! What’s wrong with you?” Instructs the lady that’s next to him. She grabs his arm and tries to force him to sit down.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, I guess Jesse’s his name.

“You said it was just a dream, your imagination. Well you’re lying because I saw it to.” He says stepping closer to me, shrugging off his mother’s frantic arm.

“You see them to.” He whispers. Then I realize his eyes were violet, just like mine.

“Jesse, stop pestering that girl. Sit down and wait, the therapist should be here any minute.” Jesse’s too far away for his mother to reach for his arm again.

“I don’t want to see another therapist, mom. There all the same.” Jesse says turning his head to his mother.

“Athena, it’s time to go.” Mom calls from across the room. I stand up from my chair and walk over to her. I could feel Jesse’s stare burning holes in my back. I ignore it and walk out of the exit doors. But not without thinking that there’s someone out there just like me and his name is Jesse.