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Chronicle: Record of factual events in the order they occurred.

W hat is the ending going to be?

Stalking around an asylum was the last thing I wanted to do right now, especially the one my professor was part of for years…but I needed answers.

The smell of the health facility was like that of a hospital, but one scent overpowered the rest—that tangy metallic scent of blood.

I cleared my throat and approached the front desk.

It sat in front of the menacing bars lining the walls.

I could see people in white paper scrubs walking around with no real focus.

They were like lost zombies. This could be a scene in a fucking book of horrors, and I was cast as the dumb blonde that ran toward them.

If I could figure out what caused this cataclysm, maybe I could save a few more people from dying.

“Good evening. How can I help you?”

“I am here to see someone.” I forced a small smile.

“Visiting hours are over for the day.”

I took a steadying breath and pulled out my completely bogus ‘badge.’

“I am a reporter, Fallon Summers, and here to interview the establishment’s owner.” I kept my words clear and concise.

The woman looked down at her computer and sighed. She clearly didn’t like reporters.

“Hmm. One moment, ma’am.”

Picking up the phone, she typed in some numbers and waited for an answer. I felt myself holding my breath, trying to catch the conversation.

“There is a ‘reporter’ here, Warden. She claims she’d like to interview you about the facility…Yes, sir. I agree it would help, maybe…But did you?…Okay. I will have her escorted. Thank you.”

The woman hung up the phone and looked me over. I probably looked like hell. I’d barely showered from my trip to the hospital with baby Xavier before setting my mind to completing this futile mission for information. And I still couldn’t believe Hannah was dead…

“King will escort you to the Warden’s office.”

A large black man with an incredibly stifling presence walked forward from the bars behind the ‘Welcome Desk.’

He had bandages on his neck and face, and I couldn’t help but wonder how they got there.

Did a patient attack him?

“Good evening, miss. Follow me, please.”

I swallowed my intimidation down and fixed my blouse as I passed the camera. The receptionist snorted when she saw me, and I made a face at her before walking away with the guard.

“So…uh, how did you get that?” I said, unable to ignore the bandages.

The soldier-like man snorted, giving him a more human look that penetrated through the honor and military persona.

“A not-so-secret admirer.”

He didn’t leave much room to elaborate, and I gave up.

Instead of talking to the man who didn’t speak much, I took photo after photo of the facilities we passed.

I snapped shots of the glass panels with patients pacing around, the cafe-looking area with patients eating and chattering, and the lines of endless hallways.

Together, they all created such an eerie effect.

I saw a few nurses milling about, administering care to the patients here.

One woman in particular looked like she was definitely in charge.

She was shorter than I had ever known a woman to be, but her presence was very demanding, and no one looked down on the curly brown-haired woman when she spoke.

I admired her ability to be heard in such a place as this.

The guard led us down another hallway and a few steps.

Opening a door, we finally entered a room that looked like an office but was made into a patient waiting center.

There was a single patient on a bed with a big tube shoved down his throat and a bunch of monitors.

The guard escorting me made an effort to avoid looking at the patient on the bed, and I studied the pain in his eyes he tried to hide.

Before I could ask what that was about, I was being led to another door directly beside this room.

I lost my damn breath. In front of me, behind the desk, was a man who looked so much like my professor. It made me stutter my response to his greeting.

“I-I…You...Who?”

The man smiled and stood up from the desk.

I blinked, slowly moving my eyes up to his face. This man was too tall. I thought my professor was the tallest guy I’d ever met, but this guy was definitely a few inches taller than even Pharaoh.

“Please have a seat, Ms. Summers.”

I tried to get my act together and nodded my head, more or less falling into the chair in front of his desk.

The guard took a stance by the door, resembling a stone gargoyle.

“This is the first time we have had a reporter interested in interviewing Hospital Thirteen,” the Warden said, conversing.

He was smiling, but I knew the toying nature behind it. It was just like Pharaoh. Those lips curved in the same ways that meant you were just another fun toy to break.

My stomach shifted with the thoughts of how my professor used and broke me.

“My name is Fallon Summers. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Warden.” The giant waved a hand at me to sit before he sat back down behind his desk.

“Call me Goliath,” he said. “Goliath Masters is my name, and forgive me, but I think we have met before, Fallon. You know one of my brothers, correct?”

How he said the word ‘know’ made me realize pretty quickly that Goliath knew he was more than just my professor.

That made sense, though. He was related to Pharaoh. They looked like carbon copies of each other.

“He is my professor,” I said with an unintentional huff to my tone.

I hated being toyed with. This asshole was no better than his dickweed brother.

“So I am trying to find out about the history of the Hospital. I understand this is a reconstructed facility of the prior facility known as Hospital Twelve, correct?”

The giant lost his smug grin, and now I was the one with a smile on my face.

“I also understand that the prior facility was destroyed after a number of patients were killed by a fellow patient. Is this correct?”

Goliath’s face confirmed my questions.

“What I don’t understand is why exactly there was a cover-up in regards to those deaths and why there is no known information as to what exactly happened. There were survivors of the Hospital Twelve massacre that were sent here, of course, including a patient that was exonerated.”

The Warden looked slightly curious in his annoyance. The way he stroked the pen on his desk made me uncomfortable. I could see his calculation of my entire being. He was studying me as much as I was examining him.

“It seems as though you came here for answers you already have, Miss Summers.”

I picked up my camera and scrolled to the picture of the article, turning the image to face the man behind the desk.

“What was covered up? Who killed those people? Everything you have presented the public with is just a bunch of lies and red tape. Why? What are you hiding, Warden Masters? What became of this killer that everyone refuses to name?”

Goliath sat back in his chair, still staring at me with intrigue and humor.

“I can see why my brother has taken such an interest in you, Miss Summers. The feelings of intrigue seem mutual.”

I snorted. “No. I want answers to my questions. I don’t care about your brother or why he was let out.”

Goliath sighed, setting down the pen.

“Some ghosts are better left hidden, Fallon,” he said. “When you go digging them up, they will begin to haunt you.”

I bristled, his words cementing the fear I felt with all this bullshit. I needed answers, but I didn’t at the same time.

What if Pharaoh is the monster they tried to hide? He was in the cemetery that night that Hannah died. Was it all an act? Was he freed from the prison he destroyed?

He was fucked up in the head. That was clear. He talked to someone who haunted him. Was this person a ghost he knew…or created?

“His name is Joe Derjerh, Little Sleuth. And if you did your homework correctly, you’d see your ‘professor’ is a hero. One of the one’s that fucking killed that scum bag, saving the love of my life and so many others that night.”

Pharaoh…

Was this the truth? Or is he trying to cover up his brother’s sin?

“Can I see some history files on this, Joe? How did he even get out?”

Goliath shook his head.

“Look, you can look into whatever you want, but good luck finding anything. The big cover-up you keep whining about? That wasn’t us who put the blinders on people.”

I waited for him to continue.

“It was the cops. But here’s a question for you. Instead of chasing dead ends and pretending to be someone you’re clearly not, why not just ask your boyfriend the truth? He was there. We all were.”

I pondered that.

“He’s not my boyfriend.” I snapped. “And Professor Masters wouldn’t tell me the truth even if I did.”

Goliath gripped the pen again, his tattooed fingers gliding down its length.

“You’d be surprised what that man has gone through for the people he loves.”

I blinked rapidly, my mouth falling open in shock.

“Love? You’re insane. Now I understand the blind leading the blind in this fucking nut house. The only thing your brother loves is keeping his secrets buried.”

Goliath ran his hand over his face, his big body looking crumpled in his chair. “Oh, Roe, don’t bury yourself with them.”

I tried to decipher his mumbling. The article said he was a father and husband. Was that who he tried to keep buried? Was their death his secret?

Or did he bury them.