To Hell and Back for You

Chapter 37: Sight

"Where are we going?" I demanded as the three of us loaded into the car outside the restaurant. Devin, of course, was driving, but I had allowed Fiona in the passenger seat so I could keep close watch on both of them.

"Gross Psychiatric Institute."

"Gross?" Devin repeated distastefully.

"It's the name of the family who originally founded it," she answered plainly.

"What a horrible name," he cranked the engine, "Did they consider how that sounds?"

"It's an old hospital. I doubt they thought of it like that, just how only newer generations have such an aversion to the nickname Dick," she replied, giving a tiny laugh as she added, "But yes, I get what you're saying."

"How far?" I leaned forward, allowing my wings to stretch the width of the rear compartment.

"I don't know; I'm not from here," she admitted, "Don't you have a map or something?"

Our driver pulled up his phone and typed the name into it, "Says twenty minutes outside of town."

"Great. Meet you there; ask for William," the girl instantly phased into the air.

Now That I had a sense of her energy and knew that she was hanging around, I was able to decipher that she had indeed left.

"Want to ride up front?" Devin twisted in his seat.

"Actually," my wings twitched, "It's more comfortable back here."

My brain had been attempting to compare Fiona and Emma since the new girl had shown up yet despite the similarities, something felt quite different. It was perhaps to do with a difference in personality.

The younger seemed more mature and less dependent on the misfortune of others. However, I couldn't simply chock it up to that alone; I knew we needed to learn more before fully determining whether or not she was a threat or whatever else.

During the drive, Devin and I discussed these things until finally the electronic voice of the GPS alerted us to our destination on the right. We had only traveled a few blocks away from the nearest commercial area when we saw a sign posted in fresh grass reading Gross Psychiatric Institute. 

There was an extremely discomforting essence about it, probably due to my own experience within such places rather than its appearance. Truthfully, the hospital didn't appear out of the ordinary, save for the clearly old construction: standing alone, made of aged bricks which had been painted white while the closest businesses were mostly connected to one another and established with fresh materials.

We pulled into the lot, following the route labeled 'visitors' and found a free spot. Loitering about for a few moments in search of our ghostly companion, Devin soon sighed and marched inside. She had given us her father's name though I wasn't sure if she knew we were aware of who he was when she did or not. 

The institute's interior was clinical, just as any other hospital. Directly inside was a lobby where a receptionist greeted us- or just Devin, I suppose- without pleasantry, asking for name, ID, and manner of business. When he said he meant to visit William Foxx, she seemed surprised, but didn't question it.

After a few moments of clicking information into the computer in front of her, including scanning his driver's license and taking a signature, she pointed toward a closed door. There, she said to wait for someone who would come presently and show him to a meeting room, which happened sooner than expected. The man was just as detached as she had been as he unlocked the door, watching carefully as Devin entered before guiding him to a small room with nothing except a table and two chairs.