The morning began with the skies giving way to sheets and sheets of rain. It never got to see sunshine for the first few hours because every dark blue patch was enveloped by gray swirling clouds. When Yunho pulled into the parking lot of the library, the instant he opened the car door, he was met with a sudden crack of blinding lightning followed by a deep rumble. He glanced up at the station building and saw, with surprise that the lights on the 2^nd floor were on, twenty minutes earlier than it should be. Shielding his head with a plastic file, he locked his car and raced towards the colonial building, drenched under the cascade.

Junsu, the forensics analyst was seated near the window, the air-conditioner off and the windows open, letting in ventilation and low temperature. He was shivering under the only light that was on, as his fingers moved in a white blur before his ancient laptop. He grunted his 'morning' to Yunho as the tall senior investigating officer appeared, drying his file by tossing it in his grip, and resumed typing, obviously in a very thoughtful mood. Yunho yawned, threw a cheery greeting to Junmyeon as he walked in, half-soaked with a thermos of coffee in his hands. They were starting to talk about the weather when Junsu elicited yet another moody grunt. Junmyeon and Yunho exchanged glances.

Yunho, quite used to his moodiness in the mornings decided to ignore him for the first twenty minutes, whilst Junmyeon was slightly more cautious. Hence, they were very much confused when Junsu suddenly stopped typing and leaned over, staring at them intently. The dark circles under his eyes were deeper than a panda's and his lips were chapped. Junmyeon heaved a slow breath, and murmured, “what's up?”

“You're bloody welcome.”

“Explain?”

“Your minion, Kyungsoo dragged in a couple of specimens last night. I had to work through the night extracting DNA and labelling them. Here,” he slammed a couple of papers laminated in cheap plastic, “are your new suspects.”

“Wait, Kyungsoo did what?” Junmyeon looked confused as Yunho picked up the list, and it was he who answered, “Kyungsoo's my personal assistant, I asked him to grab a team and take samples off the post office grounds. Eliminate all the customers, and...” he snapped his fingers, “you're bringing them both in.”

Junmyeon started as Yunho tossed the papers to him and he stared down at the names.

“Roger.”

*

Junmyeon checked the tiny slip of paper lying in his palm for the fifth time, mouth ajar as he stood, frozen in the shadow of the giant infrastructure. The monster building, only one of the many skyscrapers that scratched the skies of Seoul City loomed over him, standing at least a thirty floors high, with a lobby fully exposed by glass walls and doors taking up the first two. The air was filled with the clacking of shoes against pavement, and when the door buzzed open at the swipe of ID cards at the entrance, they turned to heels clinking on polished marble. He heaved a deep breath, exhaled as slowly as he could and made his way to the buzzer, pressing it with a pale finger. The security guard took one curious look at him, and buzzed him through.

“Excuse me, is this,” he peered at the slip and read the address.

“Yes, it is,” the man nodded politely.

“Urm, I'm looking for NYAA, the psychiatric clinic that's supposed to be in his building?”

“Staff or visitor?”

“Visitor.”

“May I have identification, please?”

Junmyeon pulled out his wallet and displayed his badge. The guard looked unimpressed, and motioned for him to put it away as though he had just produced a toy.

“I asked for identification, not your career statement,” feeling foolish, Junmyeon pulled out his diriving license, tapping his feed against the marble as the guard made a copy and produced his pass, “it's on the 45^th floor, you can go ahead right up.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“No problem. Have a good day.”

It must have taken Junmyeon five minutes to reach the floor he wanted, and when he did, the doors clinked open in synchronization with an electronic voice announcing the level. The clinic's logo – NYAA in elegant Gentium Basic font, was displayed in silver lettering over blue wallpaper behind the receptionist's desk, where an attractive lady was seated, taking a call. She held up a manicured finger with a smile as Junmyeon approached the table and when she was done, put it down with a smile, “hello, welcome to NYAA, how may I help you?”

“Uh, Dr. Lee works here? I was told I could come up?” Junmyeon was starting to feel extremely inappropriate.

“Which department is he in...?” she was watching him intently, a red eyebrow cocked as she took him in.

“She's a pychiatrist. Her name is...”

“I know Dr. IU well, is she in trouble?” she intercepted and he looked confused.

“Wait, how did you know I'm a cop?”

“Tired overworked eyes, too little hair gel, tan lines near your wrist and the gun behind your jacket. Your badge is sticking out of your wallet in your back pocket and you stink of doughnuts.”

“Oh, sorry about that,” Junmyeon automatically clasped his hand over his mouth.

“It's not your breath. There's a smell of cocoa on you; and I could recognize J.Co cocoa milk anywhere even if it were drenched in black coffee and malt vinegar.”

Junmyeon tried not to envision the combination, “anyway, I just need Dr. IU's help in an investigation. We just pulled in 2 suspects and one of them is knd of twitchy.”

“Sure, go on in,” she said, handing him a pass, “she's free for the afternoon.”

There was a glass door behind the wall, leading to a floor of cubicles and rooms. Most of them were clad in white coats and collared shirts, ignoring him as he walked past. He read the names of on the mahogany doors on his right, and finally, reaching Dr Lee Ji-Eun's name printed in silver on the door, walked in without knocking.

“Your secretary hates me,” was the first thing he said. Jieun looked up, slightly ajar in surprise at the sudden intrusion, but closed it again when she saw it was him.

“What do you want?”

“We pulled in a couple of guys in this morning, one of 'em... hey, she wrote down her number,” Junmyeon's eyes widened at the the pass, “she likes me after all.”

“Tell me about it when I'm free, I'm might have a spare 45 seconds in a year's time,” Jieun swiveled her chair around to face the window for better lighting, as the document she was holding abruptly glowed between her fingers.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Junmyeon tucked the pass into his pocket, “one of the suspects have got withdrawal symptoms, and we ran drug tests when we brought him in – he's not a certified junkie. We need you to go take a look at 'em, since you're legitimately discrete.”

“What about the other one?”

“Nah... wait. On second thought, that guy's way too calm. Why don't you check him up as well, whilst you're at it. We'll pay you your normal rate by the hour plus a bonus by the end of the investigation.”

“I'm not a corporate psychiatrist, officer, I'm a shrink. I'll charge $200 per half an hour visit, and an extra 30 for OT. Take it or leave it.”

“Done.”

“Do you have their files with you?”

“No, do you need them?”

“I like to know my patients before going over and pretending not to know them.”

“Uh, I have their names, if that helps. Lee Seungri and Kim Jaejoong. Seungri's the chipmunk I mentioned.”

“Seungri? As in black hair, thin eyes, twitchy fingers and crisp voice?”

“That's surprisingly accurate. Why? Do you know him?”

“He was my patient back when I was a consultant in Busan. He's got schizophrenia.”

“Basic madness,” Junmyeon clicked his tongue triumphantly, “I knew the guy's brain was a bag of cats. Yunho sooooo owes me galbi...”

“Not so basic, I had him transferred to a mental hospital in 2009 because he started getting violent. He was assigned to me after being proven insane in an assault trial. He nearly killed an elderly lady.”

“Damn.”

“Well,” Ji-Eun slipped out of her white coat, and shimmied into a walnut trench, “let's get cracking.”

*

The first time she woke up after meeting Jack, she found him sitting at the dressing table watching her. She had screamed in terror, and stopped only after Jack yanked her roughly by the hair so that her head snapped back to find herself staring into his black eyes, and he sliced a short strand of her brown locks off. He held it in front of her, and hissed, “next time you scream when you see me, will be your voicebox.”

The past 8 days were strictly routined. At 7 am, a kind of music box melody would tinkle through all the corridors and she would sit up no matter how sleepy she felt, turn to her left and say 'good morning' in the sweetest voice she could fake to Jack if he were there. Then, he would let her wash up in the bathroom and squeeze into the chosen dress and shoes, and he would painfully tie up her hair. He wore gloves when he handled her hair, but when his touch grazed over her neck, she trembled. Then, they would have breakfast together. On Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays, they had walnut and oatmeal scones, Darjeeling tea, white unsweetened bread and and blueberry jelly. On other days, the bread would be oatmeal, the jam would be marmalade and the scones would be buttered. Then, she had to refresh her face, change into a green dress and read in the nursery. She could read at her own pace, and he wouldn't be there, but she still had to. If she didn't, she had to sleep in chains, shut in a wardrobe full of clicking noises. Her dress had to complement the green and gold wallpaper of the nursery, furnished with cherrywood. There were soft toys everywhere, as well as antique porcelain figures in delicate houses. In the middle of the huge nursery, was a giant dollhouse will only one floor. There were three life-sized dolls in there, seated around a table in still postures and she had to read to them, or the tiny porcelain dolls every day.

Then, she had to change again for lunch. Lunch on weekends would be a colourful arrangement of salads, cherries and Earl Grey tea. Jack was always there during weekends, and rarely during weekdays. If he wasn't around, there would be crackers in the larder and dried catercress. Tea was always abundant. Then, after lunch, she had to sit in the garden and read again, this time to the plants. It tired her, but she had to sit, rod-straight or Jack would return and punish her somehow. And they were always painful. When she had to use the washroom, she had to put the book down neatly and ask to be excused to freshen up. If she said she wanted to use the washroom, Jack would get upset. He wanted her to be like a doll, nothing less, and worked everyday, slaving her through tedious and mundane existance to ensure it, until some days she felt like she was going insane.

Tea was worse. She had to dress into her nursey dress again, repaint her face with makeup and join the 3 life-sized dolls at their table, sit as though she had a rod stuck up her spine and have Ceylon tea with biscuits. She had to talk to the damn dolls, telling them about her day and how perfectly beautiful they looked. They were the only dolls whose dresses were changed every day, as though that was enough to make Hayi feel that she wasn't alone. She was freaked out by it all, that was for sure and hated tea. The only consolation of the meal were the chocolate biscuits.

Then, she had to learn how to paint on an actual canvas. She could paint whatever she liked, however she liked as long as she kept her legs pressed together and didn't forget not to cross them. She could paint until dinnertime, or she could paint halfway and read. The painting sessions were the least tiring, and she could turn on the radio at this time of the day. The FM stations were blocked, but she could play CDs. Then, dinnertime again.

Dinnertime was the only meal where she could take meat. It would take place at nine at night. Most of the time, Jack would be there. There would be roasted red meat, steamed vegetables and red wine. She didn't drink, but she had to finish her glass or he would empty it over her head, telling her that dolls didn't waste. The meals would be better if she didn't spend every one of them with her neck clasped against the armchair, and when she spilled something, Jack would prick a wound in her bare arm, until it bled – as a warning.

“Spill anything on your dress,” Jack always told her, “and you'll sleep in thorn-studded chains tonight.” She believed his threats, he always kept a couple of chains sitting on the mantelpiece in the dining room, above where his skull-topped staff rested. It was so hard trying not to spill anything, her fingers trembled everytime he looked at her, scrutinizing her with excrutiating intensity.

Last night, she spilt quarter of her tea onto her plate. She had been too tired, and Jack had hauled her out of the chair, strapped her violently in chains, coiled them around her torso, legs and neck and tossed her under the bed of her Pink Room. At night, everytime something creaked, Hayi felt as though she was going to go crazy. Tonight, she wasn't going to stand his sadism any longer.

She had noticed the patterns of the surveillance camera. They rotated in the direction of heat, but when the temperature dipped at 3 in the morning, the red beeping of the camera body would turn blue and they wouldn't move until 5am. The conditions of the house was thermostatically controlled to have the same trend every night. At exactly 3, when she saw the first flash of blue, she slowly crept off the bed, crouched next to the door and waited for the rest of the cameras to permanently freeze. She kept herself under the cameras and slinked past doors and hallways to the front door. She flattened herself on the porch when she saw that the one above the door still whirred, scanning its vicinity, and as soon as it looked away, she dashed to the side of the house, keeping herself flattened against the wall.

When Jack thought she wasn't looking, she had seen him leave. There was a specific area of double-sided glass that couldn't be seen. The glass displayed an extension of the garden, but in fact, it was a cage. When he reached the side of the house, he would level himself with a sunflower shrub, and knock in the exact direction where the largest sunflower stared at. Three knocks, and a glass door would slide upwards noiselessly and when he left, the door would slide close again. Then, there would be a jangle of metal, signifying that he had really left. Hayi followed these directions, looking for the sunflower amongst all the identical shrubs. She had to try a few before one whirred up. She nearly fainted with joy and was about to leave when something caught her eye.

Something red. She turned, looked upwards and her heart nearly stopped.

A mechanical eye whirred red, trained directly at her.

She leapt out of the garden and onto a wooden porch, and nearly fell into a stream of water. She gasped.

Her glass cage was confined in another metal cage, almost as large as a small house. There was a bolt on a steel gate, opposite her wooden porch and between them... was a river with a cement bed, around 6 ft deep and...

Infested with alligators.

She gave a scream and scrambled against the glass, whimpering fearfully as they swirled beneath her. She started crying.

“I can't swim past this, and I don't know how to get across,” she whimpered.

“No you don't.”

Her eyes widened and when she looked up, she was so certain she saw death.

The hooded man with the skull staff, watching her with maddeningly bright eyes between the bars. She could just see him grin, a disgustingly evil smile.

The devil had been watching her all this time.

Hope you enjoy this chapter. I have some time off college and I decided to finish all my fics! They're mainly writing practice, but I do my best. I wouldn't post half-assed stuff for you guys to read, you're too awesome.

To my old reader out there, who have stuck to my stuff out there, I love you - I truly do.

Do try to comment, if you don't understand or think that something needs to be changed. Don't judge silently! Be a critic! And don't worry about being bashed, I love criticism and I think everyone's work needs judgement. You won't be scorned, you will be listened to.

Have fun reading!