Chapter Two （MMPI）

CHAPTER TWO (MMPI)

HAZEL

My orange jumpsuit smelled, and I was more than ready to rip it off and set it on fire before I attempted to find the intake office all on my own. Once I finished my list of "everything I might want", I ripped open the wardrobe.

Thankfully, it wasn't empty. Confusingly, it was an entire collection of brand-new clothes—tags still on. I tugged on the clothing, seeing piece after piece of skirts, dresses, lingerie… all in my size. Despite the person who ordered these knowing my size, they clearly didn't know my normal attire. Who had picked all this out?

I was an assassin—I didn't wear dresses. They were some of the least ideal pieces of clothing to fight in and strictly forbidden. I pulled a pink dress out of the closet and got it on. I wasn't sure how to describe it, what fabric it was, or what people called the sleeves. It was feminine, light, flowy, and like nothing I'd ever worn in my life. Assassin chic consisted of black, black, and more black. It meant breathable, form-fitting tops and pants that wouldn't hinder movement. It most definitely wasn't fluffy pink dresses that looked nice with my skin tone.

"I just needed to get the jumpsuit off. It's not like I want to wear a pink dress." I'm not sure who I was talking to. I bit my bottom lip and spun. The skirt floated up a little, and a giggle came out of nowhere. I shot looks around, trying to sus out any potential cameras. Nothing obvious, thankfully.

I felt ridiculous all of a sudden. I probably looked ridiculous too… I bit my bottom lip again and decided it was easier to just leave this on instead of going through the effort of putting on my prison jumpsuit again. Because it was smelly… or something like that.

I pulled on a black leather jacket, slipped on some black tights, and got my ball-stomping boots back on. With those in place, it went from Barbie doll to edgy femininity. I looked down at my outfit. I felt…nice, actually. I eyed the rest of the clothes hanging up and the urge to try on more hit me.

Instead, I shoved a bunch of weapons and various items under my skirt that I might need and closed the closet door. Luckily, no one had removed them during transfer—they'd been too busy putting me in a straitjacket to check what all I was hiding under my jumpsuit.

I peeked out of my room with my list of demands in my hand. No one was around—patients or staff. I walked into the hallway and stared down the stretch of black and white linoleum tiles.

The lights that were still working flickered. Above each door was a little sign sticking out giving the ward letter and room number. The C for my room's ward had been given purple devil horns and a devil's tail. I realized every single one in this hall, for as far as I could see, had the same change—purple horns and a demon tail.

I decided to go left, where I could hear murmuring. As I made my way down the hall, I took note that all the doors were open and all the rooms were empty. Inside were unmade beds and piles of spoiling clothes towering in the corners. Dust hung in clumps from the tops of wardrobes, and leaking faucets dripped loudly in attached bathrooms.

Something was off. Whatever thoughts I had about mental hospitals, this didn't align with them. I also didn't like that no one was around. The farther I walked without seeing a soul, the more paranoid I got that they were hiding nearby. After a minute, I was sure I could feel eyes, making the hair stand on the back of my neck.

I turned around, but no one was there. I heard shuffling and the squeak of a room door. I swallowed thickly and jerked back around. Someone darted into a room, and the door slammed.

"Okay, then," I said aloud. So the people here were strange—that made a lot of sense, considering. I took a step forward, rolling my eyes, and then halted.

Baz was somewhere in here.

I stared at the closed door and felt dizzy. I swung around and looked behind me, but no one was there. For a moment, I was stuck in place. Was he close? I closed my eyes and took a breath. When I opened them, I stomped down the hall with bravado, pretending the possibility didn't even exist.

That wasn't him darting around. There's no way that after two decades of looking for him, I'd find him within the first thirty seconds of leaving my room. I had no real basis for that thought, but I chose to believe it and kept marching down the hall until it opened into a big common room.

I ignored the little voice in my head telling me I was avoiding the possibility he was nearby. Who needed little voices in their head anyway? I sure didn't. I envisioned stabbing the little voice over and over. There ; she was dead.

The large room in front of me was the opposite of empty—it was thriving and chaotic. People pushed and shoved each other to get by. It was like a crowded street market, except instead of stalls with fresh fruit and pretty products, it was half-broken cafeteria tables held up with torn books on both ends.

A good two-thirds of the people were sporting dirty white jumpsuits and scrubs. The rest had normal clothes on. People were crowded at the tables near the large fans, seemingly trying to cool themselves off. Everyone looked annoyed.

"Five fucking days with no air conditioning," a guy hissed to his buddies. He was eyeing the tables near the fans, transfixed and furious. Others were complaining of the same thing, going on about the "state of things'' and how the staff didn't care. Some groups were hunched close, ranting theories about how the broken air conditioning was likely someone's doing. They kept mentioning certain names—Doctor Stein, Bree, Rabids… It was hard to keep up.

I stepped into the room, and the uproar silenced in an instant. Everyone turned in unison and looked at me with expressions ranging from terror to fury. My arms felt heavy as I stood there, stunned, and wondering what was going on.

I scanned the room of the world's most unhinged supernatural killers. They looked back, expressions turning into confusion the longer the staring contest went on. They weren't kidding about people being crazy here. I looked for my brother's green hair. There were some purples, pinks, and blues… No green.

"Where's the intake room?" I asked the table closest to me, fidgeting with the dress. A collective groan went through the room, everyone slumping over in apparent relief.

"It's not Bree," was the consensus. Indeed, I was not Bree—whoever that was. Apparently, she was another woman with very long red hair.

"So… intake?" I asked again over the roar of fresh complaints filling the air. A few people pointed to another hall, so I made my way over there.

It wasn't hard to find where I was going, because Nurse Rachel was standing in the hall, biting the skin around her nails. She saw me and sighed in annoyance and relief. She didn't seem concerned at all with the outfit, which meant she hadn't picked out the clothes.

"Come on," she said, waving towards the room. Inside, she quickly slid behind a counter and jerked the mouse around to wake up her ancient computer. I wasted no time handing her my list of items. She stared at it blankly as if the words made no sense.

"What is this?" she asked in utter confusion. I was shocked for a moment.

"You can't read?" I asked. She blinked at me.

"I can read."

"Oh," I said in confusion.

"Why did you give me a list of… What is this? Are these things you want? Luxury bath bombs ? The only bathtubs here are the ones for hydrotherapy. Where you get locked into the tub," she admitted. I made a face.

"Mark the bath bombs off then, I guess," I sighed in annoyance. She appeared baffled.

"This isn't a resort." She shoved the paper back in my hands, looking annoyed.

"The doctor told me to make a list," I growled, shoving it back at her. This seemed to bewilder her even more.

"Doctor Stein told you to make a list of things you want?" she asked. I looked at my nails, frowning at the lack of blood under them. Rachel had about five more minutes worth of being annoying before I fixed that.

"That's what I just said," I replied. Rachel looked at me for a while, then set the paper beside her keyboard before explaining I needed to take a personality inventory quiz.

"Go to number four," she said, pointing behind me. I swiveled around and looked at the room for the first time. It was a moldy closet.

"What exactly does the quiz test?" I asked, finding the massive computer labeled four. I sat down in the plastic chair and saw a start button on the screen that I tried to press. When nothing happened, I glared at the mouse, which was stained black on the buttons. Great . I grasped the mouse and clicked start.

"It's to help us know what we're working with," Rachel said. Ah, so it was to test how crazy I was. I smiled. I planned to pass with flying colors. That was to say, I planned to answer the opposite of the truth so I looked completely insane.

After all, I was a sane person trying to belong in the worst asylum there was. If they figured out I was extremely, shockingly well-adjusted, they'd get suspicious and might attempt to remove me before I wanted to be.

I read the first question on the quiz: What others think of me does not bother me. I snorted. Rachel looked at me over my computer monitor, and I ignored her.

I have very few quarrels with members of my family. Did murder count? Really, given the circumstances, it was the only sane thing. Baz would get over it in Hell, or wherever mortals perished to. I'd gotten over being killed plenty of times. Uncle Vernon had killed me how many times now? Well, I lost count—whether from training or just him being irritated. Sure, I still woke up every night in a cold sweat screaming, but that's called character . I had so much character.

There is very little love and companionship in my family as compared to other homes. Why were they asking so much about family? It was starting to piss me off. I violently stabbed the mouse to skip the question and nearly broke it.

I get in an angry rage sometimes. I had a very good control of my anger, so I calmly clicked the opposite, true. I smiled. I just had to keep picking the opposite of the truth, and no one would suspect my perfect sanity.

My eyes drifted to a poster on the wall. I could see little pieces of a kitten in the shredded photo that hadn't been scratched to hell. The saying "Hang In There" had a red, dripping smiley face next to it. I blinked at it and then looked back at the computer screen.

You eat humans. Hah, they were trying to trick me. I left it blank, confused about what the trick was. Hadn't everyone tried a little human? Even humans got up to cannibalism, and certain supernaturals needed to eat humans.

I didn't need to eat humans, but when in Rome had been my motto when on a mission in, well, Rome. I'd been dating my mark because he was weak to women. He adored eating human meat and saw it as a fine dining experience. So, I ate the human steak. It was a good time. I had almost forgotten I was working for a few hours while sampling the slightly sweet flesh of a man-flank. I didn't often get moments like that.

Killing my date had been bloody and violent. I didn't always indulge my desire for a mess, but I'd liked the man that I wanted to savor his death.

An aroused shudder overtook me as I remembered him wrapping his thick hands around my neck. When he couldn't choke me to death, he changed tactics, his fist becoming coated in my blood as he sunk a knife in my gut over and over…

My legs pressed tightly together as I made sure Rachel was minding her own business. She seemed unconcerned with me getting off on memories of violent murder.

What was a girl to do when she was celibate for the cause? Touching wasn't allowed, and killing was the only life I'd ever lived. Mixing those two had resulted in a twisted sexuality.

My eyes slid back up to the fucked up kitten poster on the wall. That couldn't be a bloody smiley face someone had finger-painted, right?

I read the next question on the quiz: You've killed 10+ people. I snorted.

"Something funny?" Rachel asked. Yeah, the meager kill count they thought meant something. Ten people? Christ, who even started counting until triple digits? I'd killed ten people by the time I was ten.

I put false; I hadn't killed at least ten people. Only someone busy battling their personal demons wouldn't find the time to hit that kill count.

I looked at the poster again. I wondered why they would keep up a poster that had been scratched and painted on. I leaned sideways in my chair, looking around my ancient computer to get a better look. Was that a bloody handprint hidden behind the torn-up poster?

"What's up with the poster?" I asked. My eyes scanned the room, and I realized there were several other questionable spots—sprinkles of red and brown decorating the walls, caved-in holes the size of a fist, and a long, fluorescent light only hanging up by one end. What had happened here? It looked like a fight no one had bothered to clean up.

"The poster is what you're worried about?" she asked apathetically, flipping the page of her novel and not bothering to look up at me. Well, that was an odd response. Was there something else I should be worrying about? Oh, maybe being locked up at Verfallen.

"Right, right. I'm stuck here. Sure wish I wasn't," I said with a big smile. I tried to bite it back down, but I was just too happy to be here. Basil was here. I was going to see Baz again… and kill him. She ignored me, so I sat up straight and clicked through the remaining questions. Her computer pinged when I hit submit, and she leaned forward, pushing her book to the side.

"These results…" she trailed off in confusion.

"I know, I'm crazy!" I twirled my finger around my ear in the classic sign of insanity. "Thank God I'm here, but uh, too bad I don't want to be." My skills at deception were… struggling with my excitement. Crazy people acted odd, right? Not that I would know.

I sighed and tried to shake off the discomfort I had about all of this. I needed to get my head in the game. This was the thing I'd been training for my whole life. All those years of grueling physical exertion. All the killings. Becoming known as one of the top assassins in the world. In a strange twist of fate, they called me the Red Viper, meaning our parents hadn't had one snake in the nest, but two.

"It says you're completely normal."

"Bullshit!" I snapped, standing up from the chair so fast that it fell backwards on the ground with a bang. Nurse Rachel stared at the plastic chair a moment before her eyes went back to me. Was her skin a little green?