[BOOK 3] "𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙄'𝙢 𝙡𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧, 𝙩𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪."
Aspen's sanity walks a thin tightrope, drawn between death and destruction. Betrayals are made, while hearts are broke...
longest chapter of this book so far — 6,000 words! buckle up
🎵Heal — Tom Odell
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DEREK felt an uneasy chill flow down his spine as he parked his car into the gloomy, slate-stone facility he'd been warned to stay away from. The sky was blanketed a misty miserable grey, the sun barely peeking through. He took in a deep breath as he hopped out of the car with a nervous feeling in his gut, making his way over to the gates. Visiting hours were still open, so all he had to do was press the buzzer and state his reasoning for being here.
"Welcome to Eichen House," said a nearly-robotic voice through the speaker, "Please state the reason for your visit."
"Visiting a patient," Derek said in response through the speaker. There was a long pause, in which Derek looked around at the place nervously, and then instead of receiving another voice in answer, the tall steel gates clicked open.
The Hale man sighed shakily, turning on his heels and slowly walking through the gates and up the slate staircase. Aspen wasn't kidding when she said this place looked like the pure manifestation of a nightmare. Something about the air even felt different, pricking chills on Derek's skin as he walked towards the main entrance.
When he finally got to the front door, he took a deep breath in as he wrapped his fingers around the handle, bracing himself for whatever was waiting for him inside this hell-house. He only wished it wasn't so terrifying inside as it looked outside, but he knew that was false hoping. As he opened the door, his eyes were met with a dim lit reception-room. It was empty of any other visitors or patients, or even staff—except for one grey-haired man who sat behind a desk, his legs kicked up on the counter with a newspaper in his hands—appearing very bored with his job, it seemed.
The man behind the desk snapped his head up to the door where Derek Hale had just emerged. With a huff and a roll of his eyes, he lowered his feet off the counter and span his chair to sit formally in front of the large desktop.
"Hello—" Derek tried to say in a friendly tone, then cleared his throat as he added, "I'm, uh—here for visiting hours?"
The grey-haired receptionist tutted as he started to rapidly type into the computer. He looked up at Derek who still stood by the door hesitantly, and indicated him over. The Hale man hesitantly walked over to the desk, trying not to think about how much he hated even the air of this place.
"State your name, please." Said the receptionist.
"Derek Hart," the Hale man replied, using an alias last name just for safety measures. He was, after all—on the supernatural dead-pool. With an institution as corrupt and evil as this one, he didn't want to risk anything.
