Genre: Horror/Suspense

Summary: There's a new patient for Dr. McRoy to see.

By: Heather Grey

A scary sickness that everyone fears.

Lunatics. Psychotics.

That's where I come in. A dirty job but someone has to help these loonies for the sake of their families. Sorry Momma, but John ain't ever coming back. He's dead and all that remains is a vacant zombie with your dear Johnny's face. Terrible, I know, where a mind can lead to, but Hell, its life. Some are sane and everyone else is crazy. That's my wonderful world, ladies and gentlemen.

Tap… tap… tap…

Waiting for a new patient here in Happyland and, according to the file, a young one too.

Oh, that sucks. Only eighteen and already committed, her life gone and replaced by white walls and a tight tailored jacket. Not the best way to go, but Daddy's paying for a miracle.

Yeah, right.

No miracles ever occur when a person goes bonkers. Impossible, yet these fools hope for a happy ending that's never going to come. So close up that book of fairy tales and face reality. Miracles are farces for the naïve and fool-hearted.

Door opens and here she comes in escorted by two nurses. Yeah… hello to you too Bertha, Tony.

They lead her to the run-down, moth-bitten recliner, unceremoniously dropping her before leaving. I catch their amused chuckles and rolling eyes, but say nothing. I know what they're thinking, "an hour session with a brainless twit. How fun for him." But, of course, like we all know, money talks.

The door closes. I scrutinize the patient and, oh yes, she's a goner. Staring off with a blank, faraway look in her puke-stained hospital garb. Already I can sense this will be a pain in the ass. Though I must admit, despite the fact she's in the loony bin, she's a looker even though the flat, straw hair, stone-gray eyes, and pasty white skin could be a turn-off for some. For me… yeah, I would do the bump and grind with her even if I was old enough to be her father. This old-timer would die a very happy man.

Hmmm, let's see what else we have…

Suffers from delusions and has a tendency to behave violently. I might even raise a brow at this statement. Her! This tiny, frail babe is violent? Could have fooled me…

Blah blah blah. Creates meaningless, undecipherable verbal jabber, typical in her case… aha! Claims to see Death.

Usually the crazies around here "see" some kind of demon, angel, or even Satan, but never Death. I would expect the Grim Reaper to be clad in black, a razor-sharp sickle mingled between skeletal fingers, but not according to these descriptions.

Instead, the Angel of Death is far from being in the grave. Death is a woman: blood-red tresses framing over a pale oval-shaped countenance, smoky gray eyes, and a gown of ebony and crimson silk wrapped around a slender body. Very beautiful and ethereal compared to the usual dreary depictions.

Well, I know these appointments are going to be futile, though can't complain about the paycheck. I'll humor the Father for a while before breaking the grim news. Have to show something for the time spent anyways.

I glance up from my pad to see my patient rocking back and forth, slowly… whispering ever so quietly that I almost missed her words, "Tick-tock, tick-tock."

Her chewed up nails grips the arm of her seat, a bit of drool begins to form at the corner of her mouth. Sickly pale she is and her white blonde hair doesn't help much in her pallid appearance. Dark heavy bags hang limply around her bloodshot eyes as she stares out into space. Terrible and the same time fantastic.

All of her kind are fine specimens but dull to observe. Though, strangely enough, I find myself drawn to the hidden secrets locked within her bleak soul. What could she be thinking? Can she even think?

I try asking the usual menial questions—name, background, you get the picture. No answer. No response, save the tiny bit of drool falling down her chin and the ever constant beat to and fro, muttering, "Tick-tock, tick-tock."

I repeat myself, loudly, in case this nut job is also deaf, but her tempo only begins to pick up faster… faster, tick-tock, tick-tock. I gaze in morbid curiosity as her movements increase each second, tick-tock, tick-tock, and before I can open my mouth, she emits this shrill wail. Louder and louder she gets… Ah! Cover my ears… piercing, buzzing noise… more pressure… doesn't stop… ears ringing, blood pulsing… about to burst… silence.

Her mouth is barred closed, the rocking back to a slow, even count of her tick-tock, tick-tock.

Those expressionless, cold grays bore intently into my own, bringing out icy chills down my spine. What the Hell was that? Is this crazy son of a bitch trying to blow my hearing out? Yet I am still stuck in a perverse awe. What could be going on in that damn head of hers? I want… crave…to know this world she exists in.

Her drool reappears and this time a twitch of her lips upwards causes another tumbling dread in the pit of my stomach. I plug my ears, waiting for that God-awful shriek, but nothing happens. Only that dumb-witted half-grin and her soft, "Tick-tock, tick-tock."

The common sense thing to do is to call her nurses in and have her locked up, perhaps a sedative to shut her up. For some unknown reason, I can't. I remain rooted in my seat, staring at this mental case, wondering what she might do next.

I get my answer.

The drool, forming on her lips, is sucked up and swallowed. A pink tongue snaps out to smack across her chapped lips, her breathing becomes heavy and erratic. Those irises of hers begin to darken—something is going through her head. The gears and shifts are twisting, concocting, and contemplating behind those dull eyes. Mouth opens and a low drone escapes from within her chest. The darkened orbs grow wide with contempt as she rocks.

Sorry missy, but spite isn't going to help you. Not one bit in this place. You're nuts, remember? Daddy can't save you now; you're in the hands of the Big Bad Wolf.

I smirk. No way can she break me, if that's her game. All right, I'll play but my rules, girly. Her smug gaze suddenly swipes off her façade almost reading my thoughts. Think you can beat me? I have news for you, honey, but no one can beat Morton McRoy. He's hard-core and you're a weak beat-up baby doll. Don't forget who's locked up as well, darling. I hold the key to your future; hope you're not freakishly religious. I've seen my share of those wackies filled with that revelation crap. There's no savior or God here. No sirr-ee, here I reign and you follow. Now that we know our place, let's get back to work, shall we?

Name.

A gurgle and a bubble of spit. Gross. That doesn't become of you, my dear. How else will you snag Mr. Right? Ha ha, no future love life for you. I bet you're still a virgin; ain't that a shame. Well, not for me it is. Perhaps when you and I are better acquainted… we can see if this extends beyond the professional. What? You don't seem very happy about that. Oh, let me guess, you left some poor boy heartbroken when you lost your mind. Too bad. You know what they say? You got to look on the bright side, baby, and you got me for the rest of your puny life. How about that? Want me to bring a priest in? Ha! The doc and patient, together for eternity. What a marriage that would be!

No giggle, not even a tiddle? No sense of humor? I see, what a bore you must be at a party. Don't worry. The cell will change you—does the rest of them. In a few days, give or take, you'll be the life of the party and not the crasher. Think of the fun you could have.

No? Fine. Have it your way.

Your Daddy's paying me by the hour—why don't you give me something to tell him? Fresh hope won't hurt until he realizes his Little Girl won't ever be coming back. C'mon. Don't ruin the fun for me. Can't smile if I tell him you're a goner on the first day. How else would I earn my money?

Wait…

"Heatd somec?" Did I hear you correctly? Grin all you want, stupid wench. Is that all I'm going to get? I need more than some idiotic blabber you made up.

"Tick-tock," she says in her raspy voice. "Tick-tock. Heatd somec."

Pupils dilate, oh great. She might faint. What's this?

Her body shakes compulsively, head bobbing atop shoulders, the upturned whites gazing at me. Then… a croak. A croak of "Tick-tock, tick-tock" and she quivers.

"Tick-tock, tick-tock. Heatd somec," she repeats, slightly louder. "Tick-tock."

My God… I break out in perspiration as I watch her. What to do? What to do?

"Tick-tock! Heatd somec!" she shouts, her back connecting to the chair with a slap. "Tick-tock! Tick-tock!"

Her eyes are wild, bulging out of their sockets, the thin lips flapping the words tick-tock, tick-tock, heatd somec. Louder and louder, repeating the apprehensive mantra…

Christ! Holy Mother—

Those stubs, if they could be called nails, begin to tear at the skin on her wrists. No!

I fly out of my spot, grab her arms, pinning them against the recliner. Faces close… so close that I smell a putrid stench radiating from her breath. The roots of her golden tendrils burst into a fiery scarlet. No-no, it can't be…

"Tick-tock. Death comes," she murmurs, a sickening twist of her lips, baring pearly whites. "Tick-tock."

I loosen my hold, back away…

Sharp blades pierce my chest, air… tick-tock… can't breathe… tick-tock… dizzy… tick-tock… numbness shoots through—

The End