Asylum (Murdoch and Kristie)

First topic message reminder :

Nothing is easy when you're a patient at an institution for the mentally ill. No matter what you suffer from, there are troubles and tribulations that one must overcome in order to remain somewhat normal and in control of your own mind. Not to mention the fact that, at this particular institution, the treatments are radical and sometimes cruel and inhumane. As a new volunteer, your job is to interact with the patients and help them with their day to day tasks. So how will I, a patient, react when seeing you becomes part of my regular day? Will I dismiss you? Or will I let you get to know the person inside?
The setting, specifically, is a criminally insane asylum (or, at least, an asylum with a criminally insane section).


Myen Bioen, as they say in Germany, or as they call it, “Germanean”. Lol…

Name: Gregory Wilde
Nicknames: He was nicknamed “The Trickster” after his spate of killings in which the victims had been tricked out of everything they owned and then murdered, made to look like suicides. It took the police five years to catch up with him.
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Sexuality: Straight
Height: 6’9

Body Type: Gregory is tall, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist. His muscles aren’t overly large, but are well defined.
Hair Colour: Natural? Black. But he’s dyed it purple.
Hair Style: Wild vertical spikes.
Eye Colour: A very dark green.
Facial Features: He has a somewhat squared, angular face with just a hint of curving.

Personality: Gregory is a tricky individual, being able to leap through loopholes like they were large hoops. He is intelligent and selfish, and does things just for the hell of it more then monetary gain. He is sort of arrogant, and views the entirety of life as a game in which the object is to cause as much trouble as possible.

Other: Find out.

History: Not much is known about his earlier life, and the name Gregory Wilde only appears six years ago, suggesting an alias that means he is not an easy man to work out the background of. He appeared six years ago, murdering 13 people after tricking them out of their possessions, and was on the run evading police for the next five years. He was thus nicknamed “The Trickster”. He takes immense pride in that nickname, and does his best to play up to that persona.

“Is there any specific reason you never showed up?” Outside Mr. Wilde’s room, standing across the hall, Karl was leaning against the wall tapping his feet and whistling in wait. It was the first time I’d ever seen him in an almost relaxed state. I didn’t think him slowing down was possible, all I’d ever heard from him is ‘There’s always something to do’, which is why he was always working and rushing. “Well?” I asked again when he didn’t answer, just stay tapping at the floor. When he did look up to respond, he rolled his eyes and, another first, smiled.
“Felt like giving you more time. Is there a reason you’re upset I didn’t show up? I thought you liked these types of people?” How many people were going to mock me within a thirty minute period? The arrogant satisfaction on his words reminded me of the damn, thing, I’d just spent almost half and hour talking to. Difference is, Mr. Wilde’s smart, Karl’s just a jackass.
“I felt like the patient in that room.” In all that was the sentence to sum up everything that just happened. I was the suffering patient, Mr. Wilde was the analyst picking and poking at everything I said and did. I bet if I breathed funny he’d come to some sort of conclusion, he’d already done it with Randy. “How exactly am I suppose to get anywhere with this one?”
“That’s your job, not mine. The other nurses asked me that too, gave them the same answer. It’s your first day with him; don’t beat yourself up, yet. Your next is in 803, down the hall to the left.” He wasn’t much of a doctor, more like a guy on an assembly line. I wonder if he’d ever actually talked to Mr. Wilde, not just given him medication and walked out of the room, I doubt it. I was handed the key to room 803, where a woman named Julia Bowler was waiting medication, and a chat I guess. Her crimes are just lists of about six names, and murder next to all of them, oh, and she has paranoid schizophrenia – Beautiful. As sad as it sounds, compared to what I’d just endured, it was a break because I actually knew what the hell was wrong with her.

Mr. Wilde, except for the fiendish laugh, didn’t seem all that sick to me. Insane, but without an illness, can that even be said? Couldn’t he just be one cruel ass who had a really good lawyer, landing him here instead of a jail cell? I never thought about it till now, that maybe I’d of been talking to someone no more insane than I was, except for a huge case of antisocialism of course. If you think about it, every murder pleads insanity; it prevents from getting put into a cell block with guys twice their size, and some colourful forms of abuse. “For tomorrow’s game I suppose.”

ooc: Erm....I can't really do anything, obviously, so...yeah. Lmao...

OOC- Well, that’s a problem. Uhh…. Balls. You could be a doll and write up some stuff that my character could find on Wilde? Like, detail out something I could easily find online about your crimes? If you don’t want to, I’ll just come up with another post, and we could skip to the next day if you want. It’s up to you.

ooc: I'd say make them up; the known ones are ones where he stole their stuff and drove some to kill themselves, or others...I don't really have any specifics in mind, but if you just say that you researched and don't give specifics, then it gives us both room to make up stuff on the fly XD
And if you want to fastforward, go ahead

OOC- Alright, fastforwarding it is.

BIC-
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Karl had been pestering me all morning, even leaving his daily schedule to follow me around asking the same thing over, and over, and over. I had only been able to sit and talk with six other patients yesterday after Mr. Wilde, because the last one decided to have a fit. He was talking to me about his mother, how much he missed her, how he talks to her from time to time, and how she must love him because he saved her from her abusive father’s grasp. He killed her, funny enough. He thought if he can’t physically get her away from his grandfather, then he’ll send her to the one place he can’t touch her; heaven. I guess he never thought of just shooting the grandfather in the face, it probably would have made more sense. Burned her alive, said it was “the proper death for such a woman”, but I’m sure his pyromania was a contributing factor for that choice. Now he’s all wonky; sees ghosts, talks to his mother, and yea, sets fires at any given chance. Doesn’t seem that bad, right? Wrong. He got angry with me because I cursed, which apparently his mother didn’t approve of. So, he got up and took one good swing at my head, which didn’t hurt THAT much, but it sent me off the chair and I knocked my head on the table. I was blurry for a bit, but a couple stitches on the top right of my forehead, a sleep at home and I’m back at work.
“It’s a cut, not a concussion. I’m fine.” He kept on peaking over me, looking at the cut as if it were about to burst open and my brains would fall on the floor if I took another step. “Can I have Mr. Wilde’s key now?”
“Unless you did the homework, than no.” His voice said that, but his tone said, “You’re going to fuck up again.” But, even with the five-hour wait for the stitches, I’d been able to browse a bit about Mr. Wilde online. Not much came up when I typed in his name, but when I put in The Trickster; the web spewed it all out. Everything I found wasn’t surprising given yesterday’s events, but it wasn’t anymore calming. Communication was the only way I had of analyzing him, and by what I read, he owned communication. I didn’t understand till I kept reading that our game had been in his favor before it even started. I was a blind woman, in a matching game with a seeing man; I’d lose, unless I found something, somehow to use. I’d never be able to help him unless I had actual information about him, which he never HAS to give me.

“Yes, now can I have the key please?” I asked, getting impatient and just wanting to get into that room. He put the key in my hand, along with a paper cup and two pills lying inside it. “Since when I do give patients medication?”
“Mr. Wilde doesn’t take his. Give it a shot.” He walked away before I could even refuse and hand him back the cup. I didn’t like giving patients medication, I don’t even like them being on it when I’m talking; a drug induced patient is useless to me. Especially when it’s medication for an unknown cause, like Mr. Wilde, who I’m not even sure needs the medication; medication can’t change your true personality permanently. But, if Mr. Wilde doesn’t take his, than maybe that is exactly why, and I could prove it. I put the key into Mr. Wilde’s door and stepped in, leaning against the door to close it behind me.
“You don’t take medication, Mr. Wilde?” I asked, leaning against the door, shaking the pills in the cup just in front of me.

Gregory Wilde sits alone in his cell, singing softly. He doesn't know how long it's been since the girls visit- he has no windows and no clock, no real way of telling time and counting seconds gets boring after an hour or so- but he estimates- judging by meal times and his body clock- that a day has passed. She came just after lunch yesterday, and he's just finished his, the tray having been taken out not ten minutes ago. He wonders briefly if she's done her homework, but swiftly decides that she has; no one would be stupid enough to walk in here with him without preparation twice in two days. Not if they want to have even the slightest hope of winning.

He hears the door click, and the girl walks in. She says something, but he doesn't listen- something about his medication- as he's partway through the verse of his song. Although he's singing, he misses nothing. Two containers in her hands, probably containing pills- she's probably been told to try to give them to him; good luck to her!- but he's more interested in her head. A thin line of hair has been shredded on the side of her head, and he can see the remains of a lumpy scar. An injury she didn't have yesterday; did one of the patients do that to her? Probably one of the violent ones. In a way, violent patients are easier to deal with than cunning ones. Easier to predict, easier to trip up...crafty ones could easily turn the tables on you...as he well knows.

"...If you go into the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise..." he sings under his breath, curled up slightly in the corner of his room. An innocent enough song, but his tone of singing adds serious sinister undertones to the song; his voice is a low, slow, almost monotonous sound, and it does add an air of malevolence to the childrens song. "...If you go into the woods today, you won't believe your eyes..." he continues, watching the girl out of the corner of his eye as he apparently looks at the opposite wall.

He’s mumbling away to himself, possibly singing, but I can hardly make out the words. A bit creepy, but it’s a means of entertainment for a man in such isolation I suppose. No social contact, to be alone for countless hours is the cruelest thing you can make a person endure. You could sentence me to life in prison before I’d ever agree to be held in this place, at these lengths. People in these places sometimes create actual imaginary friends, they start having conversations with the wall or bed, that’s when you know they’ve lost what’s left of them.

But back to Mr. Wilde, he appeared very content on his own at the moment. Perhaps he won’t even want to talk about anything today given his mood? Just refuse the meds, and send me on my way out the door, it’s possible. Like singing, he’ll get bored of me eventually, and there was no way to tell when that would be exactly, but there were ways to postpone his interests, so he keeps it up.

“I’m not asking you to take them, I want to know why you don’t.” The game. Even I would get bored with back and forth questioning after a while, so the small window of opportunity was more valuable then I’d originally realized. The game was the only displayed way into his head. When it fails, I’d have to come up with a different means of getting him to talk about himself; I had a couple ideas in mind, but I’ll keep those quiet until I absolutely need them.

Wilde cuts off his song abruptly, looking a little annoyed, and to tell the truth he is, somewhat; he was enjoying his song, and hadn't gotten to his favourite part yet; oh well. Maybe messing with the girl will be repayment enough for the interruption. First things first, though, he needs to quash any thought of hers that she can get him to take the medication.
"Girl, I do not take my medication because I do not need it. Sedation is for violent patients, and I am hardly violent. Cruel? Sadistic? Intelligent? Yes. Violent? Hardly." He laughs his cruel laugh. "But that is beside the point. You have done your homework, I trust? I would so hate to go up against an ignorant opponent again." He laughs again.

“Medication isn’t only for the violent, yes, it’s used more with the violent, but there are other uses. It can’t cure people, but it keeps certain mental illnesses in check until they can be cured, if they can be cured. I know you’re not violent, you’re worse than violent.” That, being my implied answer to his rather insulting question to me. So, not only am I fool, but I’m ignorant too? He really did take pleasure mocking me, no surprise, but it was still irritating.

I smiled, like a smirk almost, walked further into the room, and leaned against the table, still a good distance from where he was seated in the corner. I emptied the pills from the cup into my pocket, crunched up the cup and tossed it on the floor. “Personally, I don’t like medication either. But you, you don’t think there’s ANY reason that you’d need it?”

Gregory snickers contemptuously. A veiled attempt to goad him into admitting that he's perfectly sane...he isn't saying he is- he certainly is psychotic, but to be honest he doesn't care whether or not he really is insane or not...possibly a sociopath, but whether or not he's mentally ill is something he neither knows nor cares about- but the attempt was there, and although it might work on someone less intelligent than him, he sees straight through it. Instead of calling her up on it directly, though, he decides to have fun with her.

"Oh, I'm only saying that my brand of...instability, as you'd call it, is not something that would be treated with medication," he smirks again. True enough; he took the medication at first, when he was settling in, and it made him more dopey than he cares to admit. It didn't make a difference beside that, so he sees no point in taking it, and neither do the wardens see the point in pressing the issue. As long as he doesn't have access to the other inmates, they don't perceive him as a massive threat. A threat, but not a stability-threatening one. Well. Not on a massive scale.

"Tell me," he says, smiling...although the smile looks warm initially, it is tinged with a cold edge, a certain set of the jaw that makes it look oddly cruel and mocking, "why are you carrying medication in if you don't believe in it? Or is it that you do believe in it, you just don't like to admit it?" He leans forwards, suddenly intent.

So, he knows he’s insane? Or he doesn’t know that he is? Or he thinks he is, but knows medication won’t help? Honestly that was a pointless answer. There were still countless possibilities as to his condition. Although, if he wasn’t insane, just an ass, he’s one hell of an actor with that laugh and attitude of his, unless, a frightening thought, that’s the personality of a sane, healthy man. It sort of widens the rage on who in this world can be considered insane and/or mentally ill, doesn’t it?

But, for once I could answer one of his questions without saying anything that he could pick at. Now, now that I know what he’s capable of, I can phrase my answers, anything I say in fact, in ways that makes it harder for him to make anything out it. No doubts he’ll still get something out of anything, but if you can slow down your opponent, what’s the harm in trying to make the race for him a bit longer? You never know, you may get ahead.

“Dr. Karl asked I bring them into you, told me, actually. He asked I try and make you take them, I tried, you said no, so I won’t push. Why would I want to talk to someone who’s too doped up to see properly?” A medical reason, that would work. I didn’t say anything about my personal self. “As in denial as it may sound, I’ve nothing to admit about medication.”

Gregory raises an eyebrow, leaning back and crossing his arms. So, she's gotten smarter...or, at least, less foolish. She's wording her answers carefully, he can see that, but that's no different to the other nurses. They came in wording things carefully, and they were still driven off. However, he can see that she is more intelligent than the others...not much, but perhaps enough to provide a refreshing level of fun...after all, take things too easily and it takes the fun out of it. You want to work for it, then you really relish what you've achieved.

"So," he says, "You don't believe in medication at all?" he asks, feigning incredulity...although, his incredulity is almost indiscernible from the real thing, so it should fool her, to an extent, "You don't find it helps in any situation?" It really doesn't matter how she answers...he'll come up with a response. He always does. He laughs internally at the thought, but no hint of it shows on his ponderously interested face.

It, worked? He’s asking me something similar to the question he just asked, but, more specific. Trying to get more of a personal explanation out of why I dislike medication. I don’t know if I necessarily want to lie, but I can’t, as usual, just blurt out why; it’s be suicidal, given who he is. “Sometimes, I suppose it helps, for the moment only though. I find medication does more bad than good. Sure, they’re in check with their problems, but at the cost of their emotions.” Saying it made me smile, it reminded me of yesterday, both myself and of the patient who hit me. “You can’t get much without emotions. Sure, if the man who gave me this,” I pointed to the stitches, “was on medication to calm him, I wouldn’t have it, but I also wouldn’t have been able to get what I did.”

And there we had it, how I couldn’t get anything out him, and he did of me; emotions. Randy made me anxious, the thought of him upset me in ways I can’t describe with words. Mr. Wilde had no emotions, other than his constant disturbing laughter of pleasure and joy. Until I found sometime to tap into his, I couldn’t win, but if I could keep mine down, neither could he. “It’s a small price to pay for a clear mind.” Practically relating it all to a patient kept it off the personal subject, but the table was far from turning, yet.

Gregory muses for a few moments...this is new, and oddly refreshing. She doesn't believe in medication, even if it would mean she was safe? Either very brave....or very foolish. He can't decide which, but he won't let her know that, behind his perpetual smile, he is slightly confused. Not by her actions, but by her motivation...it has something to do with her brother, of that he's certain.
"It would not be a small price if it were your life...are you not the least bit concerned that, one of these days, a prisoner might do worse to you than give you stitches? It is foolish to tempt fate, girl..."

“Are you always going to call me that?” Even if it was annoying, at least I knew as long as he called me girl, he still thought very little of me. “Sure, it’s possible one of theses days my decisions will get me killed, but that doesn’t stop me from making them. When the Lord wants me, He’ll take me, regardless of what I do. Now, that being said, I don’t want to die, only idiots want to die, but I’m not completely scared of death. In my life, I don’t like medication; I don’t like what it does to people, so that’s how I live.” I stopped. I, for one reason or another, didn’t feel like we were even trying to get anything out of one another. It felt like, we were just having a discussion? It was frightening. This man doesn’t waste his words, and certainly not his time. If I was talking, saying anything, there was a reason for it.

It reminded me of when I tried to get him to brag about his crimes; gloat in a frenzy of self pride trying to distract his mind away from keeping whatever he has stored away locked up. Whether that was his intentions or not, I’d just begun the path to do the same thing. I was rambling about why I disliked medication, and in the process almost flowed into depth that could give everything away. “Don’t you worry Mr. Wilde, if I die they’ll just give you a new nurse to torment; you won’t be without entertainment.”

Wilde ignores her question, instead paying more attention to the torrent of words escaping her mouth. He doesn't care about the reasoning she gives him, or even her explanations of what medication does to people that she dislikes...he even ignores the religious connotations to her words- although that is something he might be able to exploit later- in favour of the message behind it. People who dislike certain things usually have bad experiences with them; people who are scared of spiders might have unpleasant memories that involve spiders, some people might have been dropped from a height as a child, others still might have nearly drowned...it can all be traced back to something. However, the fact that she dislikes it and is not scared of it suggests that she saw something to do with it, not experienced it, and the manner in which she is justifying herself suggests it was someone she knew that she saw. Wilde can certainly relate; watching someone close to you all drugged up, dopey and not-quite there, as if a shell of a person, is a frightening experience.

Then, she shuts off like a tap. She must have realised what she was doing, and although Wilde wants to allow himself a tiny smile, he restrains himself. He has what he needs. So, there's something to do with her brother, and she dislikes medication...combine that with the fact that she seems determined to help mental patients, not medical patients, it all points to one thing. Her brother is in a mental institute, and is being pumped so full of drugs he could be used to smuggle medical supplies to Cuba. She saw him in this state, and was terrified that her brother could be reduced to a vegetable so easily...her sister is probably quite close to the brother, but this girl is presumably quite far away from them. He could reveal his knowledge now, but that would be tipping his hand; wait for the most devastating moment to reveal it. Besides, it's all supposition; best to await confirmation.

He tilts his head to the side, seemingly confused by her sudden stop, but shrugs and chuckles lightly. "You are far funner than the other nurses, Girl, and I would so hate anything to happen to you...well..." he grins, but it is more predator-like than friendly, "...anything that I didn't cause, anyway..." He laughs.

“Most nurses also see this job as just a paycheck. They sometimes forget the patients are human as well as them, most anyways.” That last expression he gave me before his laugh, was not a face I’d ever want to see outside this room. You know the saying, ‘A face only a mother could love’? Well, we’ll put it this way, if I had a son, and he looked at me the way Mr. Wilde did, it wouldn’t take me long to pack and book it out of the house. I thought perhaps he was trying to scare me, with what he said and the facial acts to match; anyone would think he’s plotting the order in as to what limbs to rip off me first and last. But as he even said himself, he isn’t violent, physical harm isn’t how he tortures and kills his victims. Whether or not he would one day act on violent measures was although extremely unlikely, very possible, and impossible to predict when or why. But the reasons he never has, could be because no one, as far as I know, has touched the sensitive spot on Mr. Wilde. “Just make sure you don’t go getting all attached; you may actually feel bad after driving me insane.” Just finishing, I looked over for a moment and gave half a smirk, one that would normally be accompanied by a wink, but that type of gesture was far too, at ease, for Mr. Wilde and I.

“So, out of curiosity, what DID happen to the last lot you scared off? Are they dead, or in a room similar to yours?”

Gregory snorts; as if he would feel guilty about driving anyone insane...he might feel bad that he cut his entertainment short, but that would be about it. After all, he hasn't formed any emotional attachments to anyone at all for...well, it must be years, now,over a decade at least. Of course, that didn't end well, and that was BW. She doesn't need to know that, however. But that comment about patients being human as well...was there a hint of anger in there? It would certainly reinforce the idea that she has a brother that is being mistreated in a home...but, again, supposition. The link is tenuous, even by his standards, but it's a good angle and he isn't about to give up on it. Tenuous links tend to be correct with him.
But she asks after his previous nurses, probably in an effort to know what to expect. Honestly, he has no idea; he doesn't get news from the outside world anymore, save little tidbits from guards. All he knows is that the first doctor to come see him became a drug lord and was taken down by his son, but he won't tell her that.
So, he shrugs. "I have no idea. I don't get current updates...I sometimes have the desire for a newspaper, or a radio or something, but no...I never get one." He sighs in a way that he knows will sound forlorn.

His snap reaction the attachment comment made me chuckle quietly, shaking my head at his disapproval to the suggestion of it. “That’s fine, it won’t be as easy this time around anyways.” So, caring wasn’t in his vocabulary? Or just the people who actually wanted to help him? Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but even the sickest of people care for one thing besides blood and fear.

His isolation extents was sort of reassuring, because it added on to the idea I’d thought earlier of what to do after the back and forth questions run out. If he got bored with me before he accomplished his intensions, bribery, would be an angle to get at. Most, if not all patients I’ve met in isolation rooms like this one were at least given small things daily or weekly to keep their minds in check of drifting off into some fantasy. Even given he is in the criminally insane unit, and his abnormal abilities with the mind, what harm would a newspaper do to anyone? Nothing, so it would be useful later on, if he accepted that angle at all. It could also be extremely beneficial for him to get something outside the building; society made him, maybe it could cure him. “You probably don’t because you’re uncooperative with them. It’s a give and take world Mr. Wilde, and giving them nightmares doesn’t count.”

Wilde laughs at that, and it isn't forced or cruel; he really is amused. This girl is amusing, and not just when he's messing with her. He can really have some fun with this one!
"Well, what do you suggest I give you?" He laughs, cruelly this time, as a thought occurs to him, "I know...shall I give you despair?" He laughs again, louder this time. It doesn't take an idiot to work out what she's suggesting, and although interesting, he'll play it cautiously. A trap could very well be waiting for him, and if he blunders in...carelessness is what got him in here, after all. He won't be overconfident and rash again.

“As grand as an offer that is, I’ll have to pass.” It may be that he’s agreeing to the suggestion of trade, or he’s just laughing at my attempt. With any luck it was the first, not just because it would be a quick access to information if he was willing to give it, but more importantly it changed his focus. Now, it wouldn’t be questions back and forth, and my personal wouldn’t be in jeopardy as long as there was something outside he wanted. The focus was off me, and that’s all I really wanted. “I want to do my job, Mr. Wilde, and I need your cooperation to do that. The more truth I know, the more I can help, the more leniencies you get. Fair, yes?”

He lets out a single syllable snicker. She actually believes he can be that easily bribed? Although a paper would be welcome, it certainly wouldn't be enough to goad him into revealing his secrets. Who does she think she is? She wants to help him...but does he actually want to be helped? That is another matter entirely. He is fine with how he is now; he has no one who can hurt him, no one who can really stop him from doing what he wants to do. If he really wanted to get out of this place, he could, and he's starting to feel the temptation to break out...of course, he could just as easily take this place over. Just because he hasn't killed anyone personally doesn't mean he can't; it would be a new experience for him.
But no need to let her know that. "Get me a paper and I'll think about it," he says with a small sneer; let her think she's making headway. She'll lower her guard then.

I shrugged carelessly; made it seem like I wasn’t bothered by his non enthusiasm towards the subject. Yes, he may have half-agreed by asking for the paper, but that wasn’t to say he’d really accept the bargaining deal. “I’ll ask Kar.. Dr. Seger about it when I leave, but it won’t be an issue.” Lie. Karl would go ape shit if he knew I was being even the slightest lenient towards Mr. Wilde. The rule was no medication, no nothing, and no exceptions even if I was getting information for medical purposes. But, there was always the alternative; what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, as long as Mr. Wilde hides it when others come in to try for him to take meds. “Which may be soon, I’ll have to get to my patients if I still want to leave early. Is Anything else you’d like to discuss before I go, Mr. Wilde?”

He snickers again as she feigns indifference; she was the one who suggested it...is he supposed to believe she doesn't care much for it? She's obviously decided that she can't win at the question game, so is trying a new tact...it will be interesting to see where she takes this.
"No, no, don't let me keep you...I'm sure you want some success today, after all!" He laughs cruelly, waving her away. "Will I see you tomorrow, girl?" He laughs again.

Sadly, it was the success I had with patients throughout the day that cheered me up with the lack of progress with Mr. Wilde. It’s why I request to see him first in the mornings, so that I don’t go home stomping and huffing after the brutal beatings of his company. “You’re my patient, Mr. Wilde, of course you will.” I answered him with huge smile, and a powerful tone of enthusiasm. The smile bent more into a smirk, and I turned to head to the door. “And, now that I think about it, I already know what we’re going to discuss.” I left the room with that, and the specifics of the topic started swarming my head. It’s not something I tend to ask the patients until I’m more familiar to them, but Mr. Wilde could unquestionably handle it.