“Hrmm, according to Leithern, Force is akin to what some would call astral projection, in a way…but that still doesn’t tell me how I’m supposed to convert my mana in to force type... Maybe if I-”

*Ding*

Malcolm looks up from the reception desk, to see a young woman with sleek black hair, a tight leather jacket zipped up halfway and a pair of black jeans, stands by the bell with a small wrapped package.

“Ah madam, what can I do for you today?” He musters up whatever cheeriness he has left in him while trying to divert his eyes from the revealed ample bosom

“I would like to give a small, stay strong present to my friend” She waves the bottle shaped package in front of him, showing it off

“Ah, visiting hours are closed” Her face visible deflates “Buuut, I’ll be able to take it to her myself”

The woman doesn’t look too happy about that but she nods and places the package on the counter.

Taking it, he asks her who it is for.

“For Clara Jennings” She says after a short hesitation

“Ah, the new girl” He musters a smile “Sure, I’ll get it to her right away”

“Thank you, at least let her open the bottle first” She tries to look serious and he successfully stops himself from chuckling at her feeble attempt

She quickly leaves and he sits back down, opening his notes once more.

Thinking on the possibilities of how he can summon force mana for a short while, he eventually takes a break and looks over to the present.

He should give it to the actual recipient, but that would mean he would have to go through the whole ‘why am I locked up here’ routine with her.

Crazy people annoy him.

According to the day shift, she was dragged in screaming and wailing about being not crazy, like all the other crazy people who end up here.

So he’s not really looking forward to go say hi.

Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t know what the friend brought.

Sliding his chair over to the package, he unwraps it and finds out it is an old bottle of two thousand port.

He morally debates, but finally decides he can’t really wait.

Cracking it open, he takes a nice long whiff of it, letting the fruity smell with a hint of almond waft up his nose.

Coughing at the slight nutty hint, he moves the bottle away from him, closing it off.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance; since he is allergic to nuts and the port seems to contain nuts.

Though he hasn’t really heard of nut port before.

Grabbing the bottle once more, he has a look at the back label in small hopes that the smell is just some strange concoction that is not nut-related.

Luckily for him, he is correct; there seems to be no nut-related ingredient, not even extract.

Opening the top once more, he takes a swig.

“I swear drinking on the job still isn’t a thing” A voice comes from the other side of the desk

Spluttering out his drink in shock, he slams the bottle down and hides it, albeit way too late.

Looking back up, he spots the familiar face of a young man on the other side of the counter.

“Yep, I was right. Seriously though, waste of good port to spit it all out like that” He chides Malcolm

“Dammit, scared the hell out of me there. Thought it might’ve been someone important”

“Hey! Anyways, I’m here for the usual checkup”

“Usual? You haven’t been here for almost three months now. And you’d be pleased to know that the woman who gave me this bottle told me I could have some”

“Right…anyways, I’ve been busy with LEO and I know you’d understand” He gives a wink and a nudge as he points to Malcolm’s notes

“Being a wannabe mage is difficult.  By the way visiting hours are over”

“I know they are”

They both grin, knowing full well that this is the usual.

The young man jumps over the reception rubbing his hands in anticipation “Ah I’m excited”

“I still don’t understand why though”

“The less you know-” he starts playfully

“The better, I know I know, let me find the keys” He walks to the cupboard to find the correct keys

After a short moment, he grabs the correct ones and turns round, to spot his friend smelling the wine.

“Hey, that’s…mine I guess”

“Wow, not even trying to hide it. Well this is some good smelling port, nice and fruity” He chuckles and takes a couple of swigs

“The nutty smell is a bit weird isn’t it?” Malcolm shakes his head at his friend stealing the drink he technically is stealing too.

“Nutty smell?” He cocks his head

Malcolm raises a curious eyebrow and moves towards the port.

*Sniff*

“I’m just going crazy” He confesses

“Well you do work at a mad house” chuckling, his friend puts the port down, jumps over the counter once more and begins to saunter down the corridor.

Malcolm finds the bottle-cap and screws it back on tightly. That port still smelled of nut and that was a dodgy thing indeed.

Following his friend down the many corridors and past a few still screaming residents, they finally reach the desired room.

Giving his friend a couple of essentials, he then opens the door.

Inside is Sarah, sitting in the corner of her white room as usual.

She looks away from the ceiling “Who is it?”

“Sarah heyyy” His friend runs up to her, grabs her and gives her a big warm hug

“You…BASTARD” She tackles him and begins to punch him with her weak arms.

Malcolm goes to a corner to sit down and watch, since this sight was not unusual, no, it was actually the expected sight when those two were together.

He really never got why his friend keeps doing this, but then again, he doesn’t know much about him.

The most he’s gotten out of him in these past four years is the fact that something happened to her daughter and she blames him for it. All in all not that much.

But he seems to think he is to blame because he keeps coming and allowing himself to be beaten up by her. Although the way he’s still smiling after it is kind of crazy.

This is the main reason why he’s not allowed to visit her during visiting hours. The other is the fact that if he came in normal hours and this happened, he’d probably be locked up for being insane, or at least that’s what Malcolm expects would happen.

Internet helped him piece a few things together, but nothing really suggested it being his fault; Jocelyn, Sarah Richards’s daughter committed suicide of her own volition.

The way he acts does suggest he might have had something to do with it, but something about the way he’s doing it suggests not.

Though anyways, he does still think he’s decent friends with the man, since the two of them used to hang out every work night for the better part of four years; mostly recovering after the beating, but sometimes talking about life. Nothing personal though, never anything personal.

Deciding the beating had gone on enough; he sedates Sarah and drags his friend out the room.

“Seems like she took out three months worth of vengeance on you”

His friend chuckles with a small gout of blood coming from his mouth as well as the mouth guard.

“This is but a tickle”

Shaking his head, Malcolm helps his friend to his feet and summarily make their way to the medical ward.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Getting him bandaged up, Malcolm decides to try ask a few questions, since maybe being apart a few months may help get a few answers.

“So what is your name?”

“You always start with that pain in the ass question” He answers back, avoiding the question

“Well we are friends; it’d be nice to call you something”

“Friend, simple enough” he responds, with a tinge of coldness in his voice

Malcolm rolls his eyes “Seriously though, I really want to know your name”

“Have these three months made you forget the reason? Do you need a reminder?” the coldness grows and he sounds rather annoyed.

*Sigh*

“No, I remember; the last person you told your name ended up dead” That was one of the few things he knew about his friend, which was a terrifying thing to learn, if it were true, which he suspects it may be.

“Exactly, so hush about that. Ask me something interesting” he immediately transforms back into his strangely excitable self

Malcolm sighs at his loss, since he would really love to know, but his friend’s warning was clear enough.

He used to think it was a threat, but the way he says it sounds more like a warning to Malcolm now.

One day he’ll learn about this man, when it’s safe for him to he assumes.

Sighing once more, he starts to talk about LEO, getting a decent amount of detail which is ambiguous enough to make him meld into the crowd of the thousands of players.

That man was too anonymous for his own good, but he relieved the boredom.

After a while, he had to leave and Malcolm was left all alone once more at reception, with his strange bottle of port.

Deciding to be good for once, he takes it over to Jennings.

Opening the door, he is immediately barraged by the whole “where am I, I’m innocent, I’m not crazy” monologue.

Placing the bottle on the floor, he sits down and opens it up.

“Have a drink, and then we’ll talk”

She calms down slightly, resisting for a few seconds before sitting down and taking a large swig of port.

“Now, tell me why are you here?”

“I don’t know, all I know is I had this patient who tried to cut me when I came back with my surgical knife. Next thing I know is that I was here”

“Right, then why are you here?

“I TOLD YOU I DON’T KN-BLARARAGGGGGGGH” Mid-sentence froth erupts from her mouth and she chokes, clawing at her throat before she collapses on the floor, blood seeping out and staining the white floor.

Rushing to her side, knocking over the port, he checks her heartbeat, finding it to be still.

“CRAP”

He plops onto the white, padded floor just letting what happened recycle in his mind.

She just died, violently, and not of a natural cause that’s for sure.

Thinking of something, he takes a handful of her froth and sniffs it.

It smells of almond.

Scared yet enlightened, he rushes over to the computers back at reception and types various things in Google.

 Sure enough, he finds that cyanide is supposed to smell faintly of almonds, only to some people though, a reasonable enough explanation which he is inclined to believe.

Though, that small question from his mind makes many more since why was she given poison, who was that woman who gave the poison and much worse, was his friend dead.

His third question was answered almost immediately; his friend had taken a drink long ago, and the poison seemed to work within minutes.

But that just made another question; why did his friend not die, or did he add in the poison, but why?

So many questions and no answers.

He gulps loudly, for he thinks he may have accidentally walked into something very dangerous, possibly the same thing his friend was sublimely warning him about.

Time to quit this job for sure, or was it too late?

Taking a few minutes, he takes in what he knows; he will be in trouble if he leaves the situation as is, since to everyone else it’s simply him giving Jennings some port and she dying from it.

He didn’t even get the woman’s name, damn he’s an idiot! Distracted by her breasts is really screwing him up.

Angry at himself, he returns to Jenning’s room, cleans it up and moves her body to the trash chute, as well as a few important keys.

Destroying the surveillance tape of tonight, he smashes his reception up a bit and opens the main door of the asylum before going to Jenning’s room once more.

Grabbing the bottle of port, he stands over the fresh blood and wine stains.

“Well here goes nothing”

Smashing the bottle over his head, he falls unconscious.

…

“Hey Malcolm, how are you feeling?” A familiar voice reaches his ears.

Opening his eyes, he hears the mechanical beeping and the quiet talking of a reporter on TV.

Looking round the small, medical room, he finds himself face to face with the woman from before.

“I’ve felt better” he says slightly apprehensively

“Good, I was worried when I heard what happened to you, especially when I heard Clara was the one who did it to you” She holds his hands in hers worriedly

“…What happened to me?”

“Oh the Doctor’s told me this could happen. Police say she attacked you and escaped, lucky you’re still alive although with a concussion”

“…Oh” he looks down at his sheets

She looks at him concernedly before standing up “I guess you need some more rest, get well soon Callum”

She disappears through the doors, leaving him alone in his room.

With her abrupt exit, he was unable to ask any questions himself.

Though he was too busy to keep up his visage of forgetfulness to concentrate on asking questions.

He remembered everything, and he was scared of both her and his friend, since he did not know which was to blame.

Though he believes he may just have skidded out of the strange situation he accidentally landed into, whatever that situation may be.

He lay down to get some rest, when something seemed to register in his mind, oddly terrifying him; how did she know his real name?

…

She chuckled to herself as she walked down the corridor.

Callum, smart man making it seem like she escaped, but throwing her down the trash chute was maybe not the best idea. Lucky I was there to confirm her death.

A small dark chuckle slipped from her thin lips. She’s found herself a perfect guinea pig for the next experiment.

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Author's Corner:

Another chapter!

Well I thought, might as well finish off the mini-arc.

Anyways, thanks Uncle Woody for leaving a comment.

I ignored you, simply because you care only about the MC. This fiction isn't only about the MC, damn, the other characters are pretty damn important so my heart breaks at the way you want this fiction to be.

Can't please everyone though, so I hope the rest of you enjoyed it!! :*

-TRUE NORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRD