Page 31 of Echoes

That's his mistake though. He might flaunt whatever title he has, but there's bigger, scarier people here.

"Nothing at all," I remark defiantly, dropping to my knees in front of the stacks.

I can feel his anger next to me, a tense silence filling the room.

Giving a little huff under his breath, he walks back to his desk, slamming a few things in the process.

I never thought I'd see the day where I'd be loyal to Damon, but I guess even Hell can freeze over.

Scanning the first piece of paper, I find the corresponding letter, making smaller, separate piles to stack them.

And then I repeat it, over and over, until I have lots of tiny paper cuts on the tips of my fingers.

Sometime later, I hear the bell signaling for breakfast, but I already know that I won't be allowed to eat. Thankfully, the foodfrom last night has given me the energy to be a stubborn little shit, holding Mr. Whittingham to his challenge.

A couple of times I scan over the contents of the paperwork, noticing it relates to patients. I'm not surprised though—the staff have already made it clear that ethical boundaries mean nothing in a place like Lilydale.

Some names I recognize, others I don't. And as I take note of dates, it dawns on me that this paperwork probably doesn't even need to be sorted. Multiple pages have 'copy' stamped across them, and judging by all the modern technology around the place, I'd be willing to bet that most things are electronically saved.

This is just another torture method since scrubbing floors and shit stains hasn't done the job.

Eventually, halfway through the mountain of sorting, a guard pops his head in the door, motioning for Mr. Whittingham.

"White is due for her appointments with Dr. Smith and Dr. Markel."

I'm not sure whether to feel relieved or annoyed. Another day in a row where I'm forced to interact with those two idiots, but a blessing in disguise to get away from this task.

"Fine," Mr. Whittingham snaps, glancing down at me. "We will continue later. Get her out of here."

The guard harshly pulls me up from the ground, making me yell out. "I can walk you know!"

Ignoring me, I'm shoved through the doorway, eyes landing on Teddy at the reception desk. She turns up her nose at me, muttering something under her breath. I don't catch it though, already pushed through the other doors, back into the secured area.

"You can let her go, thank you," Dr. Smith snarls at the guard when we reach the doorway. "She's more than capable of using her own limbs."

"That's what I'm saying," I growl, ripping my arm out of his grip.

My appreciation for Dr. Smith is short-lived when I enter his office, noticing a board game set up on the floor.

"What the hell is this?" I ask.

He smiles from his desk, standing up. "Have you played chess before?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Not really."

"It's quite simple once you get the hang of it," he muses, kneeling in front of the board. "I'll explain it to you."

I don't move, standing by the door as I glare at him incredulously. Dr. Smith sighs softly, tilting his head to the side.

"Sit down, Avery. Isn't it exhausting always beingon?"

"It's exhausting being here," I tell him. "And having to deal with your weird tactics. What psycho bullshit are we doing today?"

He smiles knowingly, only motioning again for me to sit.

Begrudgingly, I walk over, dropping to the ground. I've seen chess boards before at school. Lake St. Louis High was pretty proud of their extra-curricular clubs. Unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to join any, but I was forced to watch a school championship chess match in my junior year. It was the single most boring thing to watch—more deafening than a Wimbledon tennis match.

"It's a strategy game," Dr. Smith starts, fixing up a few pieces. "We have sixteen pieces each. The aim is to capture the king."

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