Shining among Darkness

By
WingzemonX

Chapter 10
That girl did it, right?

After her pleasant meeting with Anna Morgan, Matilda took the rest of the afternoon to rest, think, and decide. She failed to do much of any of the three things. In the early night, she returned to her hotel room, took a hot bath to relax, and changed her clothes to something more comfortable: a baggy shirt she was given at a congress in Arizona she had attended four months ago, orange shorts, and no stockings or heels for the rest of that day.

She stood a few minutes in front of her laptop, trying to write some notes about that day. However, what kind of records could she write from the fact that a woman had directly asked her to kill her daughter? Yes, there was definitely a lot that could be taken out of that behavior, but she could only think about how much something like that could hit and affect the recovery of her accurate patient.

She gave up about it and preferred to do something else to clear her mind: talk with her mother.

In the time she had been in Salem, she had spoken with her mother by a phone call two or three times, especially on the weekend. Usually, she would first send a couple of messages to make sure she was not busy, and then would dial to speak more comfortably; neither was at all fanatic of having long conversations by text, especially if they have important things to say. On that occasion, however, Matilda chose to call directly without prior notice.

Luckily, Jennifer Honey was not busy or not enough to not answer a call from her beloved adopted daughter. When her phone rang, she was alone and silent, sitting comfortably in one of the armchairs in the living room of her spacious house in Arcadia, California, reading a detective-themed pocket novel under the light of an old-fashioned but functional lamp. But she did not hesitate to put her book aside when she saw the photo of Matilda and her, appearing suddenly on the screen of her phone, accompanied by that generic tune of an incoming call that she had never known, or even duly investigated, how to change.

At first, she felt somewhat alarmed by the sudden call, but that was something of any mother, or so she supposed. Matilda soon explained that it was nothing to be alarmed about, but that it was something a bit serious and she needed to talk to someone. Jennifer already knew the general context of Samara and her parents (as far as professional secrecy allowed), so the previous introduction was quite short, and she could go almost immediately to tell her about the little fruitful meeting with Mrs. Morgan.

"It sounds horrible," Jennifer exclaimed, almost horrified right after Matilda finished her description of the encounter.

"Keep calm, I have faced more horrible things."

"How is that supposed to calm me?"

Jennifer's voice had taken an almost comic tone, admittedly accidentally, that Matilda was hopelessly amused. She raised her feet to the bed, sat down, and hugged her legs with her free arm. Finally, she rested her chin on her knees and stared at the television off.

"This girl's situation is so terrible," Matilda whispered slowly. "It seems as if every adult in her life, those who should take care or help her, only end up hating her, wanting to hurt or take advantage of her. Her biological mother, her adoptive parents, her doctors... And the worst part is that she is aware of that." She sighed regretfully. "She is so alone..."

"No, she's not," Jennifer pointed out firmly. "You are with her, and many times, all you need is a single person that extends her sincere hand to move forward."

A small smile peeked over Matilda's lips.

"I know that very well."

And she did know.

"But the truth is that I'm no longer sure what to do now..."

She lay on the bed, covering her eyes with her forearm.

"I made a rookie mistake, and now I have to remedy it in some way," she lamented, tiredly in her tone. "I got carried away by my perceptions and desires. And all this time, I have promised Samara to help her get out, meet her parents, and return to her normal life. But now, that may never happen."

She raised her arm from her eyes to her forehead and placed these on the white, smooth ceiling.

"It seems really difficult that the relationship with their parents can be repaired. Her mother is too affected and out of her mind, and her father doesn't really seem interested. I fear that it is likely that even if I manage to get her out of that Psychiatric Hospital, the Morgan's won't wish to continue taking care of her."

"They can't just get rid of their daughter that way."

"My parents did it, and I was their biological daughter."

"That was different. You actually got rid of them."

Matilda grimaced. That had some truth, in fact.

"You really don't think the father will agree to stay with her?" Jennifer questioned, trying to find some solution to all the problem.

"I can try to persuade him, but I have a feeling he won't do it without his wife. It may be a risky deduction, but it seems to me that she was the one interested in having children, and he only fulfilled her wish. Likewise, I think he contacted the Foundation more interested in save her than Samara."

Matilda had noticed all that since the conversation they had in Moesko. The way he expressed himself of Samara at times was too distant and absent; as if it were more of a neighbor or a distant relative than her father.

"I don't know how I'll do it, but I think I'll have to prepare Samara for that possibility. But I fear that no matter how I do, it will end up destroying her. If you saw how her eyes light up when we talk about her parents, especially her mother... And she, on her side, asks a complete stranger to kill her."

"What about her birth mother? Don't you think she might want to meet her and recover the time?"

Such a comment impressed Matilda so much that she unconsciously sat back on the bed, almost alarmed.

"The woman who wanted to drown her while she was a newborn? I don't think that will be a viable better option."

"You say she has been in treatment for twelve years. Maybe she's already better."

Matilda thought for a few moments. It was not a possibility that she had seriously considered, not even in those moments. Could it be possible? The more she thought about it, the less clear the "yes" or the "no" seemed to her as answers to that question.

"I don't know," she hesitated, somewhat uncertain. "I don't even know if she's really still alive. I hadn't had time to think about it properly."

"Don't let this affect you so much," Jennifer exclaimed in a somewhat empathetic tone. Matilda wondered if she had heard something in her voice that would make her comment. "It's not too late for you to take Jane's advice and pass the case to someone else."

"No," she said immediately firmly. "I can't do that, not now."

"I admire your effort to want to help all the children who need you, Matilda. But sometimes you must have enough humility to accept when you can't do it. Don't let your mere pride end up affecting you and that girl negatively."

"It's not pride..." she stammered, with the same feeling of doubt as before.

She rested her forehead against her hand and closed her eyes for a few moments. Was it pride that kept her there? Perhaps there was a bit of it because the thought of stepping back in those moments with the tail between the legs seemed cowardly and humiliating. Maybe she exaggerated. But more reasons prevented her from going back... more personal reasons than mere pride.

"What would have happened if you had done that?" She exclaimed suddenly, taking the woman completely by surprise on the other side of the line. "What would have happened if you had stepped aside? What would have happened to me? Would I have ended up like Carrie White, perhaps?"

A deep and awkward silence formed in those moments, of which Matilda immediately regretted having created. Even without uttering any sound, she could see her adoptive mother hesitating sitting in the armchair of her living room, facing the muted fireplace, with her arm resting against the side back, and her face full of confusion and fear at the mere mention of that name.

"I'm sorry," she excused herself, a little calmer. "Eleven told me that this case affects me too much because it reminds me of Carrie's... And I think she's right."

"Matilda..." Jennifer muttered, somewhat fearful, and unable to say anything else.

"They really do look alike so much, and not just because of the things their mother told me. She is so affected and hurt, and everyone around her already labels her as a monster. I feel that if I left her right now if I neglect a little, she would end like Carrie. And I can't let it happen again.

"It won't happen," Jennifer declared with much more certainty in her voice. "I know that no matter what you have to do, you will help this girl. You are the most capable person I know. So calm down, relax, and let that beautiful brain of yours think of the next step when you feel ready."

Matilda smiled, satisfied by those words.

"Thanks, mom."

She managed to hear a small, but present, laugh escaping from her mother's lips just after that comment.

"What? What happens?"

"I don't know. I only remembered when you started living with me, and it was tough for you to call me like that."

"How? Mom?" A pretty similar giggle arose from Matilda's lips without her proposing. She lay back on the bed but now face down, resting on her elbows and with his feet hanging from one of the side edges. "Don't worry, you'll always be Miss Honey for me. Even today, you continue teaching me as a good teacher."

Her voice was much quieter and more relaxed, and that caused the same feeling to flood, although to a lesser extent, to Jennifer Honey's chest.

"I promise I'll go visit you and Max as soon as I have a chance to leave here for a few days."

"Don't worry," Jennifer said sweetly; as sweet as her last name could be. "Your current case is seen to be very important. Here we will be waiting for you as long as necessary. But do your mother a favor: ask Jane for advice, she may be able to tell you what to do."

Matilda wanted to let out a moan of annoyance after hearing that comment, but it was drowned in her throat.

"So far I can hear how you roll your eyes, young lady," Jennifer said sternly, taking her adopted daughter by surprise. "You can't stay mad at her forever."

"I'm not mad," Matilda grumbled slowly. "I just can't run to Eleven every time I have a problem. Besides, she was supposed to send someone to help me, but she hasn't even told me who will be or when he will come."

"Maybe she's busy too."

"Maybe..."

Deep down, Matilda hoped that she had actually forgotten, or had not found that person with the other type of experience. It was difficult for her to assume that someone could give her the help she needed at the time to remedy the problem that had arisen that same day. Besides, Samara had barely agreed to meet Cody; she couldn't just reach her with some other stranger.

That reminded her that she had to talk to Cody and see when he could see Samara. She made a quick mental note to speak to him in a little while; although first perhaps she had to determine whether she should talk to Samara about what happened with her mother, or not. Maybe it would be better to work it after she saw Cody and thus was more receptive... but what if she managed to detect some of it in her mind? Just as she had discovered about Carrie.

Hard decisions.

"Well, maybe I will call her," Matilda said after a while of meditation. But only to update it.

"That was enough for me."

Both laughed and continued talking casually for a few more minutes before said goodbye and hanging up.

"Thank you for everything, mom. I love you."

"And I to you, my dear."

Once they cut, Matilda lay down, with her chin resting on her arms, and her eyes on the red curtains, behind which the window overlooking the street and the air conditioner was hidden, at that time, turned off.

Matilda disliked hotels, but she found it relaxing; mainly because of its silence and its stillness. It reminded her of a library. That kind of silence always helped her think better. No scandals, no laughs, no televisions on making a devilish noise, no people screaming. Of course, there was not always absolute silence in the hotels, but that one, in particular, was very calm. However, even then, she could not decide more easily her actions.

She placed her cell phone in front of her face, and stared at the screen as if trying to turn it on with her mind; In fact, maybe she could do it if she tried.

Should she really talk to Eleven? She did not feel very encouraged to do so. During those days, she had been mailing her progress; or at least the ones she considered necessary to be aware of.

Not that she was upset about her last talk, but... she wasn't happy either.

Before talking to her, she should first talk to Cody and tell him what Samara had said. By mere reflection, she went to her contacts, but after two seconds she remembered that she did not have his new number stored, but that Eleven had passed it on. She then went to the call log, looking back for the last call she had made; hadn't really had so many during those days, so it shouldn't be an exhaustive task either.

He stopped at the first unknown phone she had on her record, but... that wasn't Cody's; In fact, it was an incoming call, and a week ago, early.

It took her a while to remember it, but in the end, it came: Doug Ames's call, the day the incident with Samara occurred.

That had been completely erased. And, as she recalled, Doug said he would send her an email with the information that was possible about that hard case that Professor Armstrong had recommended reviewing with her. However, he never sent it, or at least it seemed to her that he hadn't.

She decided to check on his laptop for more convenience. She focused her gaze on the device on the desk, and it rose in the air as if two invisible hands had to get it. Then the computer approached with moderate speed towards her, crossing the room with total normality. Matilda hoped there really wasn't a hidden camera inside that room, or that recording might end up on some unsolved mystery channel on YouTube.

Matilda sat on the bed, and the laptop landed delicately in front of her. She opened it, and a few minutes later, she was checking her inbox from last week. She had several emails, but none even remotely related to Doug and his case.

She rechecked his call log; there was no missed call, nor from the cell phone had he spoken to, nor of any other.

Matilda felt at that moment a rather strange sensation throughout her body; something similar to worry. But why? Just because a person with whom she had not spoken for a couple of years and who sadly still could not put a clear face on her mind, hadn't sent an email or contacted again in a week? There were many explanations for this. Perhaps he had felt some reluctance to want to help him, which was not precisely false. Maybe he passed the case to someone else, or maybe he found another expert who could help him. But none of those explanations relieved that feeling of concern and... Guilt? Did she feel guilty?

She thought a little, hugging her legs, and having her eyes focused on her computer screen, with her inbox open. She tried to remember a little about what Doug had told her about his complicated case.

But at this moment, I have a somewhat complicated case, he had said. It is about a girl whom her parents tried to burn alive in her oven. Maybe you heard about the incident in newspapers or social networks. There was much echo because of the horrible act.

It definitely sounded like something that would make a stir, although she personally hadn't heard anything. She decided to do a quick search about it, and it didn't take long to skip the results with news and articles. The first two pages she opened were mostly summaries, not much more than Doug's own description of the case, except for one fact: the names of the parents and the girl.

The parents were Edward and Margaret Sullivan, who at that time were admitted to a mental institution. The girl's name, meanwhile, was...

"Lilith Sullivan," Matilda read in a low voice without intending to. It seemed a curious name, but not strange. In spite of the direct or indirect biblical relationship that anyone could do, it was still a pretty name in its own way.

She kept searching and opening links until she could find some pictures of Lilith or at least more information about her. Because she was a minor and the care they had with her privacy, Matilda was a little surprised even to have found her name. Finding its location, or at least one photograph could become complicated... but in the end, she found the latter.

It was an article, from a few days after the incident, who talks a little more extensively about the case, although it was slightly used as a basis to be able to elaborate speech about child abuse in general, that was still occurring in the United States. The case of Lilith Sullivan, although in the text they referred to her more as Lily, was the main headline, accompanied by a photograph of a girl of about ten-years-old, with a sharp face, small eyes of a grayish blue, and dark brown hair, straight and held in a ponytail. She wore a discreet red sweater. It looked like a yearbook photograph because the photo basically covered half of her chest to the tip of her head. She looked at the camera, her body slightly side face, with a studio background, and a small smile on her thin pink lips.

Matilda looked carefully at the picture. She was a pretty girl, primarily because of her striking and penetrating eyes. Anyone who saw that picture would surely take it as a totally normal girl, a victim of her deranged parents, or an innocent soul who had the bad luck of being born in a home so dysfunctional and broken. Matilda herself had had that feeling since Doug told her about it, or while checking all the links she had opened. However, seeing that picture, seeing that look, that smile... something seemed wrong. Matilda did not know what it was exactly, but simply, after seeing that face, she felt that something did not fit, that it was not right.

What could it mean? Quite a few things, it seemed to her.

She thought about touching the image on the screen and seeing if she received any kind of information flash. At first, she hesitated, but in the end, she approached her fingers, until they were placed on the surface of the screen. Not every time it gave results, and she had never tried touching something on a screen. Luckily, it worked... but a part of her would have wished it weren't.

Suddenly, she felt as she ran out of the air, and a horrible pain flooded her chest as if someone had forced his hand and pressed her organs between his fingers. A series of awful images ran through her mind one after the other, without any order or logic. These images were accompanied by sounds that sounded with direct intensity in her head; most of them were incompressible, but they seemed to be... screams of despair.

But more than the images, more than the screams, the most overwhelming were the sensations that ran through her body: fear, terror, confusion, anger, despair, desolation... agony.

She pushed herself away from the laptop, stood up from the bed, and kept backing up without realizing it until her back was against the wall; and yet then she wanted to move further away from that picture. She then went to the bathroom, leaning over the sink, feeling so dizzy and unsettled that she thought she would vomit; luckily, it was not so. She suffered the attack of a pair of arcades, but everything remained in.

When she finally got her breath back, she sat on the closed toilet and rested her face against her hands. She could feel her heartbeat rumbling in her head.

She had never felt anything like that; did not believe that her almost scarce and intermittent clairvoyance, which she barely became aware of during her puberty, could produce such a flash of images and sensations. She didn't know what it meant, but she was sure of one thing. It was like an intrusive thought that flashed in the depths of her mind, and it had taken root firmly there: that girl is dangerous.

Matilda got up again and went to her phone on the bed. She looked for Doug's number and dialed it, but there was no answer. She scored a total of three times, and the result was the same: it jumped straight into voicemail.

"Damn!" She let out frustrated. Without realizing it, she had started to walk around the room in circles.

She quickly thought of some alternative. Search him online or on Facebook? Where else could she find it? She remembered what he had said about his work as a child psychologist in Family Affairs. Would it work if she called him there? She wasn't even sure he worked directly there or anywhere else. But still had nothing to lose. She knew she had little chance of finding him there, but she felt desperate; that intrusive thought did not leave her alone.

The doctor hurriedly searched the number of that office in Portland. She dialed the number, and after hearing the menu options two laps, she chose the option to request information from an operator. She waited a few minutes, accompanied by a sticky melody before someone finally answered her.

"Department of Social & Family Affairs," the voice of a young girl exclaimed solemnly.

"Hello, goodnight," Matilda said in turn, trying to sound as calm as possible. "I know it's a bit late, but I need to communicate with Doug Ames. I think he works there as a child psychologist. Will he be there, or do you know how I can communicate with him?"

There was silence on the other side, a silence that lasted too long from the perspective of the young psychiatrist.

"Hello?" She exclaimed after waiting patiently, fearing that perhaps the call had been cut. But it was not like that. A little later, she heard her falter.

"One moment please," the woman on the phone said at last, and immediately the waiting tune returned, long before Matilda could even thank her.

That seemed strange to her, and it was of no help to appease the concern that flooded her chest. She kept waiting, now even longer than before. She walked with her bare feet for the carpet in the room, wondering how difficult it was to communicate with someone, or just tell her that the person she was looking for is gone.

When she was already getting fed up with the waiting tune, it was cut again, and once again a female voice attended, although it was not the same as before.

"Hello? Who is?"

Matilda broke loose a little but tried to respond quickly.

"Hello, my name is Matilda Honey. I was looking for Doug Ames."

There was an instant of doubt from the other woman.

"For what matter, if I may ask?"

"We were classmates in the Doctorate. A few days ago, he called me to ask for an opinion on a case, but he hasn't communicated with me again. I'm dialing to his cell phone, but he doesn't answer me."

"Some days ago?" the woman questioned interrogatively.

"Yes, like a week ago. Is there where he works or do I have to call somewhere else?"

Again silence, followed by small hesitations that left the young woman quite confused.

"I... I'm sorry," the woman said dubiously on the phone, "but Doug... He died just a week ago."

Matilda's feet were planted dry in place, and her breathing cut off suddenly. She needed too much self-control not to drop her phone from her hand.

"What?!" She snapped dumbfounded. "What are you talking about? That can't be true."

"It was sudden, I think an accident in his bathroom last Tuesday."

"On Tuesday? No, no, Tuesday was when he called me. What happened?"

"I don't have the details, I'm sorry. All the children he treated were passed to another psychologist. Maybe I can give you her information if you like..."

"Hold on a second," she snapped, forcing the woman to shut up. Matilda separated her phone from her ear and stared thoughtfully at the red curtains on the wall. She needed only a second to calm down. She had just come out of her previous impact, and now she was hit again without warning.

Dead? Was Doug dead? How had it happened? The feeling of disgust in his mouth and pain in his stomach returned again, but this time, she managed to control them. She breathed slowly and counted to ten; the lights jingle a little at that moment, but she hoped it was just coincidence.

She must think quickly, make that beautiful brain works. She tried to remember the conversation that she and Doug had step by step.

"And I'm not saying that girl is involved, but the social worker who is in charge of her is a good friend, and I think she also senses something strange after what happened."

The social worker, perhaps she knew more than Doug had told her. Matilda put her cell phone back in her ear and exclaimed:

"Can you transfer me to Social Work... or wherever the social workers who are dealing with Doug's cases were?"

"The social workers?" "The woman answered, confused.

"Yes, I need to talk with the social worker about Doug's case that he wanted to consult me. Can you contact me or should I call another number?"

"I'll see what I can do... Wait."

Again the tedious waiting music, but Matilda barely noticed it on that occasion. She took that pause to clarify her ideas a bit. She still had a hard time believing that really a person she had just talked to a few days ago was now dead, and out of nowhere. It was inevitable for her to think in Carrie White again... In that awful night...

But she couldn't let her mind wander about it; she needed to focus on the present. Was that the horrible feeling she had just meant? No, what she had felt was something much worse, if the sudden death of a person was no terrible enough. Besides, she couldn't avoid the most important thing: she had felt it when she touched Lilith Sullivan's picture. All that could not be a coincidence...

The most obvious answer would also be the most worrying...

"Hello, Adrian Wayne speaks," a deep, now masculine voice, suddenly sounded on the line and making her react at the same time.

"Hello, I am looking for the social worker who took the case of the girl that her parents wanted to burn in their oven."

"Excuse me?" The man exclaimed between confused and annoyed, perhaps because of her subtle description.

"The case of the girl who wanted to burn in an oven, Lilith Sullivan. Do you know it or not?"

"Yes, I do, Miss." His tone became quite defensive. "If you are a reporter, I advise you in advance that..."

"No, I'm not a reporter. I need to talk to who takes that case; it is urgent."

The man who had introduced himself as Adrian Wayne was silent for a few moments. It seemed to Matilda that he was trying to determine if what she was saying was true or not.

"The social worker in charge of that case has retired for today," he finally informed her.

"Damn," Matilda let out by mere reflex, without realizing it. "Can you give me her mobile or home number?"

"Sorry, but I can't give you that information, especially if I don't even know who you are."

"Didn't you hear the urgent part ?!" Matilda exclaimed forcefully, fueled primarily by frustration and the great mixture of emotions that enveloped her. Adrian Wayne, apparently, did not take this very well.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't help you. If you like to communicate tomorrow, you can do it. Goodnight..."

"Hold on please!" The psychiatrist said quickly before he cut. Luckily, he listened and stayed. Matilda took the opportunity to take a deep breath and calm down. "Sorry, I am upset. Let me start over: I'm Dr. Matilda Honey, I'm a psychiatrist and colleague of Doug Ames. Did you know him?" Wayne did not answer anything, but by his silence, Matilda sensed that the answer was a yes. "He called me a few days ago, just before he died. He wanted to ask me for help on this case, about the girl in this incident. I just found out about his death, and I need to talk with the social worker who took care of the girl. It's imperative. Can you help me?"

It seemed to have been too much for Mr. Wayne because he failed to respond immediately; again, most likely, he was trying to determine whether or not to believe in what she was saying.

"I... the most I can do is pass on your message so she can contact you as soon as she can."

Matilda sighed, frustrated, and resigned.

"Yes, all right. I will give you my number. Tell her that I'm Dr. Matilda Honey, Doug's colleague. That called me immediately, please."

After providing him with her cell phone number, and a final farewell word, they hung up. Matilda sat for a few moments on the bed and covered her forehead and eyes with his fingers. That was definitely not her day. She wanted to throw herself to bed and just rest, but she couldn't do it; not yet, because she had two, or maybe three, calls more to do.

She didn't know what was happening, but she would find out.

The first of her calls go to Cody, but no longer with the same intention she had initially. She searched again for his number in the register and dialed it. This time, the middle school teacher did answer.

"Hello?" She heard the young man's soft voice slowly murmur.

"Cody, hello. Sorry to call you so suddenly, are you busy?"

"Matilda? No, I was just..." He hesitated a little as if trying to find the right excuse; perhaps she had interrupted him at some delicate moment. "What happens? You hear altered."

And it wasn't just how she was heard: she was really altered. But it wasn't time for it.

"Listen, I know this is very sudden and without warning, but I need to ask you a favor. Could you accompany me to Portland early tomorrow?"

"To Portland?" Cody became notoriously confused. "I thought the girl you were treating was near Salem."

"It's about something else. It's long to explain, I'll tell you better when we meet. But there is another girl who was being treated by a colleague of mine, and he is now dead." She surprised herself when she realized the coldness with which she had said that last, but also sensed that it had altered Cody. "He thought the girl could have an Antisocial Personality Disorder."

"So she is a psycho girl?"

"Something like that... But I think it could be something else."

Cody thought for a few seconds.

"Something else like our specialty?"

"Exactly."

It was the theory that made the most sense to her. For some reason, Dr. Armstrong had suggested Doug talk to her, and for some reason, she had felt that horrible feeling when she touched the photo. But of course, all that was circumstantial, and more a sense than anything else. She hoped that maybe Dr. Armstrong could give her a little more light on what Doug told him; that was just the call she would make after that one.

"Maybe it's nothing, but if it's something and I don't know what, I could need some support. I know it's too much to ask and you should miss your classes. If you can't..."

"No, no, don't worry," Cody answered without a doubt. "I'll be there. Where do we meet?"

Matilda sighed in relief; she could definitely use his support. Not only by his knowledge and his unique Shining but also because of his support as a friend, because in those moments, she felt that she was not able to support herself.

After agreeing on a place and an hour, Matilda left him to finish what he was doing, and also made the preparations he would take to make the trip tomorrow. She, on the other hand, had another call to make.

It must have been after eleven in New Haven, and Dr. Taddeo Armstrong was an older man. Most likely, she would catch him asleep, but she needed to speak with him urgently. The phone rang for a long time, so more that she thought it would end up being cut. But it remained until at last a husky and sleepy voice was present.

"Hello? Matilda?" He exclaimed slowly, then followed by a deep and long yawn.

"Hello, Dr. Armstrong. I'm sorry, did I wake you up?" Silly question, but it had escaped from her lips alone, without her intention.

"No, no. I was just reading," the professor explained himself, just before releasing another yawn, although shorter than the previous one. "What can I do for you, dear? Something happens?"

He spoke to her quite naturally, even though they had not spoken directly in a couple of years. Some people are like that, the psychiatrist thought; although not all shine like Dr. Armstrong.

"I need to talk to you about something. Doug Ames of the Doctorate spoke to me a few days ago. He told me that he contacted you and asked for advice, and you recommended him to talk to me."

"Yes, I did. Was it wrong?"

"No, of course not. But... I just found out that Doug passed away; the same day that he talked to me."

Matilda could feel the man's breathing on the line cut off, and any trace of sleep he had on him simply vanished. Matilda had many questions in mind that she wanted to ask him, about what he talked with Doug, about why he recommended him talking to her, or anything that could give some light on that situation that had suddenly fallen on her shoulders without warning. However, the next thing that came out of Armstrong's mouth was so horrible enough, straightforward and clear, that Matilda's blood freezes, and convinces her, even more, to make that trip the next day:

"That girl did it, right?" He inquired gravely, but with noticeable alertness in his voice.

END OF CHAPTER 10

Author's Notes:

-Jennifer Honey is based entirely on the respective character of the 1996 movie, Matilda. More details about her will be given later.

-Adrian Wayne is based on Wayne's character from the 2009 film Case 39. In that movie, his full name is never mentioned, so the name of "Adrian" is an aggregate from me. Also, more details about him will be given later.