The lunch went through without any aggressive outbursts, thankfully.

The patients were now medicated for the second round of the day and as the routine after lunch, they were now allowed to gather around in the free area.

There the patients could play games, read books, or do other creative stuff to stimulate their brains and help them socialize with others. For many of them, the gathering room was a sanctuary where they could expose their creativity, while for others, it was a tough social challenge, a terrifying place filled with other human beings.

It was always fascinating to watch the individuals and their behaviors.

An old man was playing memory with a much younger girl, while another boy sat sartorially by the window and stared out at the big lawn with an empty look.

An elder woman was sitting in one of the armchairs talking to someone who was not there, and another girl in I would say was my age was sitting on the floor singing for herself with a ragged teddy bear in her arms.

I sat by one of the tables and painted on a paper with Grace Jackson by my side. I introduced myself to her and tried to connect with her to get an impression of her state of mind. She was painting her paper with colorful pencils and she was doing patterns in what appeared as flowers and birds.

It was always a good thing when things turned out colorful or positive in their images, because they often used painting or colors as a way to express themselves and what they thought or what they felt.

When I looked around the room to keep myself keen, the door suddenly opened up and a tall man stepped inside with a guard right behind him.

The young boy had a dark expression and his brown eyes were strained. His lips wore a dark pink color and were perfectly plump in shape. He had messy, dark blond hair and a sharp, masculine jawline. He was skinny and tall and his arms were filled with scars. His skin was pale and rosy.

I couldn't keep my eyes off him while he walked through the room with the broad man tightly behind him. While he inspected the room with his gaze, his eyes, just like the moment earlier, met with my own.

He kept his gaze stuck into mine while he continued to walk over the room. I got shivers all over my body, he was frightening me.

I could see that he was dangerous.

He sat down in one of the armchairs in the corner of the room, by himself. He opened up a book, a very familiar one for my notice.

Lolita, a very intriguing, touching, and unpalatable book with its abnormal and graphic plot about widower Humbert Humbert, who after a committed murder, writes down his disgusting confessions about his desire and love for nymphs, also known as underaged girls.

While following through the book's perspective, you slowly but clearly get manipulated to forget that it's a true pedophile telling the story about his sexual admission with an underaged girl - Lolita.

The book was one of my favorites of great literature.

I shrugged at the graphic choice of a book the young man just had made.

Why did he choose Lolita?

Once again the curiosity about Brandon Barlowe's past and committed homicides took over my body and I looked at the man who had just begun to read peacefully in the surrounding chaos.

I inspected his movements.

He was smooth and secretive and I got fascinated by the way he managed to keep his focus on the book.

I wondered what this gorgeously mysterious man possibly could have done?

I got interrupted by the young girl sitting next to me and I finally moved my eyes from the man to look at Grace instead.

"This is how I feel today," She said while she was pointing at one of the colorful flowers on the paper. My heart got warm and I gave her a friendly smile.

"That is good to hear, Grace!" I said with my professional, caring voice.

"How often would you say you feel like that flower?" I asked as a further question. The tiny girl shrugged and she got quiet for a couple of seconds.

I knew it could be a delicate thing to ask in her free, creative time. But it was in moments like this you could get a reflection from someone, that they didn't even know themselves, that they had.

"Last week was two rainbows, one blue, and four black flowers," She said while she grabbed her pencil again to fill in the flowers.

I realized that she spoke in those patterns and that the rainbow was probably the good days and the black ones were the bad days, which left blue somewhere in between.

That was enough response for me, so I smiled at her again and let her continue with her creativity.

"That's good, with two rainbows!" I said. She didn't look up at me this time, she just kept her focus on her paper.

"Yes," She mumbled.

I left her alone with her creation and I walked over to where Mildred sat on one of the couches in the middle of the room instead.

All I wanted to do was to ask about the new guy, but I didn't want to be nosy about a patient. I just wanted to know why there was a guard with him and why everyone got so tense when he walked by in the hallway earlier this day.

"Did you see who came in?" I asked with a silent voice. Mildred froze for a second before she sighed.

"Couldn't miss it" She said, still with her eyes placed on the magazine she was holding in her hands.

"Who is he? What has he done?" My curiosity took over once again.

I couldn't let go of the thought that he was a well-known psychopath who committed some of England's most famous murderers. There must be a lot a person has to do to get a title like that.

"There's a long list of things, Beverly. He's a dangerous man, a killer, a manipulative one," She said, almost whispering.

My heart stopped for a second. I knew there were people here who were criminally insane. But cold-hearted murderers belonged in prison?

I carefully turned my head around to the corner of the room to once again look at the attractive, mysterious creature sitting by himself, with the guard still standing right behind him.

When he noticed my obvious stare, he moved his eyes up from the pages and looked right at me.

His dark eyes were as terrifying as before. His serious face immediately turned into a big, bad grin when he noticed that I couldn't stop staring. I got frightened by the grin and the goosebumps on my skin made me come back to reality.

In a fast move, I turned my head around again, away from him. My heart was racing and my eyes were wide.

He was sitting there, a long distance from me, peacefully reading the book, with a guard watching him and still I got so frightened by him.

My only hope right now, was that I never would have to get any closer to him than this. Because if he was able to turn my presence upside down from this distance, what could he possibly be capable of doing in his closest proximity?