Young Writers Society

"Are you certain you have permission to go in there sir?" Asked Dr. Aubrin.

The man merely turned and looked Dr. Aubrin straight in the eyes. Soft knowing brown eyes met pale, scientific blue ones. The blue eyes glanced down.

"Right." said the doctor.

The man smiled, a mirthful lightening smile that seemed to draw warmth and life from the cold, sterile walls of the asylum. Dr. Aubrin again glanced down. He turned to walk down the hallway, but stopped midstep.

"You do know that I am not liable if she attacks you?"

Again, the man smiled, little wrinkles crinkling in the corners of his liquid eyes. And then he replied, each word like the richest chocolate, but quiet, so the good doctor almost had to strain to catch it.

"All will be well."

The doctor shurgged in annoyance at this sudden inavasion of life into his sterile kingdom. And then he did walk away, leaving the man alone next to the door. The man watched him go, and smiled again. But this time it was a melancholy smile, sad with knowing. And then he reached out his hand to the cold door knob. With a purposeful, graceful twist of his wrist, the man turned it and walked in.

The door shut with a soft clang. In the center of the room a young woman sat. She would have looked normal, perfecty normal, except for her eyes. Bright green, they kept looking back and forth erratically, never fousing on any one object. It was clear that the young woman was seeing something greatly different than the barren, white-walled room. And if one looked closely, he would see her head give occasional twitches, as if responding to a loud noise. But in the room, there was only silence.

The man fixed his gaze on her intently. She did not seem to notice him. He stepped up to her and whispered her name, or perhaps he shouted it. It was impossible to tell.

"Sophie."

Did she twitch as the mellifluous voice reached her ears? Maybe. But her eyes were still darting back and forth, looking at an invisible world.

The man grasped Sophie's hands and looked her straight in the eyes. Brown met green, and for the first time since he walked in, the green eyes seemed to focus.

"Sophie. I am here."

And the strange thing was that he was. Suddenlly, he was with her, in the strange, terrifying carnival world, with flashing lights and shouting voices and a hundred thousand scents, playing over and over again. Voices, music, chaos. He was with her in the chaos of her mind.

She looked at him with frightened green eyes.

"I've tried to get out. I just-- I can't find the exit signs. I tried-- I tried."

He stood there holding her hands amidst the whirling chaos, holding her there with him, the sole bustion of order in the tempest of madness. And then he spoke in that soft voice, which Sophie could somehow hear over the chaotic noises, threatening to overwhelm her.

"Follow me."

And then as he turned to start walking, she almost tore her hands away from his. She tried to desperately hard to get away that she cut open his palms with her nails. The man winced, but his grip was firm.

"Not that way!" she screamed. "Don't take me over there!"

Because in the direction he was starting to walk was her worst nightmare. Ever since she had been trapped here, Sophie had avoided it always, and even though it followed her close behind, she always managed to stay ahead, just by a little. But then, amidst the terrible, swirling miasma and the approaching horror, the man turned around and looked at her.

"Sophie, do you trust me?" he asked.

She looked into his ageless face, into his soft, liquid eyes, and saw the love. But then she saw the approaching tempest over his shoulder and hesitated.

He took a step closer and drew her attention back. "Sophie, do you trust me?" he asked, just a little more admantly then before.

Again, she hesitated. Blood dripped from his hand.

He stepped so close that they were almost touching.

"Sophie," he said, with the softest whisper, "Do you trust me?"

She could take it no longer. Weeping, she burrowed her head into his chest. "Yes," she said, her voice muffled by his robe. "I trust you."

He held her for a moment and said in that soft voice, "Then follow me."

She took his hand and steeled herself. The nightmare was fast approaching them, even as they drew nearer to it. As they drew even closer she trembled, for the storm was beginning to take shape; and it was what she most feared. It was herself, in all her reality, wickedness, and evil. She could not bear to look--she screamed.

Then, abruptly, she found herself looking into the man's eyes. They were sad, but sad for her. She could not bear to have those eyes look at her, seeing her for what she was. Sophie tried to turn away, to run back into the madness.

But the man held her tight.

A moment passed.

Two moments.

Then he spoke.

"Sophie," he whispered, "I love you."

She cried and shook her head. "How? How could you love me? How could you love that?" She desperately wanted to cry. But no words came out. Still, he held her tight.

"Sophie," he repeated, "I love you."

She wanted to hang her head in shame and disbelief. But the slightest hope held it up.

"Sophie," the man said, this time shouting with the power of a tornado, "I LOVE YOU!"

The world shook and started to fade in and out. The chaos tried to fight but the power in the man's voice held it at bay. And then the whole madness faded like the fog it was. The man and the young girl were left alone in a white room. Sunlight streamed in through the window. Tears dripped from her eyes and blood dripped from his hands.

"Sophie," he murmured, "I love you."