Self Destructing Messenger

#1 - Committed to Commitment

"So, you hear voices Ah- Az-el-ia was it?" A less than interested middle aged woman sat behind a desk, peering over her glasses at paperwork given to her by the triage nurse. She gleaned the essentials, twenties, no mental history, no arrest record, no listed employment, friends or family. The girl before her looked normal enough, seemed to bathe regularly and was smartly dressed. The complaint listed; voices. Working many years at Broken Hill Mental Health Facility, formerly the politically incorrect Broken Hill Lunatic Asylum, had clearly affected the good doctor's ability to care about something so mundane as hearing voices.

The girl opposite her had rearranged the extra chairs in the doctor's small office to create a comfortable lounge.

"No Dr.-" the blonde leaned forward, gray eyes scanning the plaque on the desk. She then took care to pronounce the name as incorrectly as possible as was only fair, "-Sneedur. I hear a voice. Only crazy people hear voices. Its Ah-zah-lee."

At the large amount of snark, the doctor looked up. "Sn-eye-der."

"Whatever."

"Does this voice tell you to do bad things?"

"Yes," she smiled. "It told me to come here."

"And getting help is bad?"

The girl's head lolled over the back of one of the many chairs she was on, her medium length hair falling away from her face to reveal the distaste she had for this conversation. "I don't need help. I occasionally do what it tells me." A second passed and she grimaced. "Okaaaaay, I always do what it tells me."

"Well if you don't need help then quit wasting my time. This is a free clinic. A lot of people need my care so-" She was stopped mid sentence as the girl stood up casually and slapped her. The hit was hard enough to dislodge the woman from her chair.

"It told me to," she said simply.

The next thing the girl knew, she was face down on the desk with her arms wrenched painfully behind her. "Not the first time," she muttered as two men pulled her upright, zip ties restraints secured to her wrist. All in all she appeared to be taking her forced commitment in stride.

"I bet not." One of the men commented as he escorted her to her quarters for the involuntary commitment.

Experts at obvious observations will tell you that the human brain looks for symmetry constantly in an attempt to identify the faces of others, this is why people see Jesus in toast. The same could be said of sanity. The gaze of the psychotic terrifies those able to distinguish danger in their fellow man. Its as obvious for some as a blood drenched hitchhiker with a machete and necklace made of teeth.

It was that base instinct that guided Azalea the next morning as she entered the common, a large room filled to the brim with unstable, milling patients. The scent that reached her was thick with all things human, sweat, urine, worse and despite her best efforts, the blond couldn't force her body to stop breathing. The will to live sometimes came with horrible consequences. Low round tables with even shorter mismatched chairs were arranged in small sparse groupings, pillars and walls painted a sickly pale yellow that had obviously not been touched up in decades. Of all the crazies, one man stood out and the two recognized safety in each other instantly. Eyes locked and many agreements were made without a word or gesture. Should pairing be required for whatever therapy exercise, Azalea would be able to tell the woman with curlers in her hair(What was she always getting ready for?), that she was already taken.

Honed in on a buoy of sanity in the sea of lunatics, Az made her way over, pulled up a chair and straddled it. "Azalea. Involuntary commitment. Assaulted a doctor."

He nodded. "Cayce. Court ordered therapy. Angry substance abuser." Sharp green eyes studied her, the same hue tinting his relaxed mohawk.

The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable, in fact both were quite relieved to have a partner in hell. Words weren't needed. Cayce was pleased to no longer be the sole sanity staple in a hardware store full of nuts and Az was happy to be in her own jacket, romper and wedges and out of the nasty hospital gear she'd been forced into the day before. Seated so close, the implied intimacy kept most of the crazies away, sparing the twosome interruption from the man who was shot in the face and the woman begging spare change for coke, presumably from the cola machine.

Joining them in the common, a cluster of white coated interns followed the duo's lead, clinging to each other for safety as they trailed behind a female doctor with a large black welt on her cheek. Dr. Snider guided them around the room, pointing and commenting on various patients until she noticed Azalea. She pulled an intern aside and relayed some quiet instructions to him. The young student's short dirty blonde hair fell back into place between nods of understanding, as if by magic. He then ran off, returning quickly with a few friends in tow.

"Suits," Cayce remarked, raising a brow in the direction of the approaching storm of mental health staff muscle.

Azalea rolled her eyes and shrugged, ignoring them.

"Congratulations. You've been discharged."

Glancing over her shoulder, Az recognized her previous cuddle buddy from the doctor's office and his bros. "That seems pretty negligent of the healthcare community but whatever." She turned to Cayce. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No, not really. In fact I forbid it so long as I'm stuck here," he replied.

"Well then," she said to the staff. "I am officially a visitor so I'll just see my own way out when I'm done. Thanks." Her sentiment shared, she carried on in ignoring the men behind her.

"Visiting hours are over."

"Not for me." Azalea waved her hand over her shoulder, starting to get annoyed. "Be gone."

Not accustomed to such treatment, the glorified bouncer jerked her up by the arm. "You aren't nearly as cute as you think you are."

Cayce rose to intervene, adjusting the rolled up sleeves of his plaid shirt. "The hell she isn't."

"I knew we were going to be friends." Azalea remarked, feet firmly planted.

"You really want to change your out patient status for someone you've known less than a day?," the man growled, pointing a stubby finger at Cayce. When Cayce hesitated, the man tugged on Azalea's arm. His hand collapsed on itself, gripping air and he stared dumbly down at his fingers. She hadn't slipped away, her arm simply was no longer in his hand. He shifted his gaze from his hand to her face, a small smile there waiting for him to catch up. Confused, he reached out and clutched at her arm once more.

"Listen, Walls," she said, poking his name tag with her free hand. "We really should be on a first name basis if you are going to keep putting your freaking hands all over me. In any case I'm staying until I'm rea-"

'LOOK OUT!' The voice in Azalea's head shrieked, vibrating her skull and jarring every vertebrae in her spine. Unable to focus with the ringing in her head, she wrenched away from the hospital staff and threw her body backwards. Her frame collided with Cayce and they both fell, witnesses to the fate of Mr. Walls. Before they had even hit the ground, his head exploded, covering everything in the room with bits of grey matter.

Cayce cursed as Azalea flailed to right herself, elbowing him several times in the process. The body slumped to the ground, blood flooding from the gaping hole, effectively turning it into a gory fountain.