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Elle Van Doren's

POINT ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ OF ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ VIEW ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐈 𝐑𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐒 𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐅𝐅 𝐂𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀, 𝐌𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐍𝐎 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐈𝐌 𝐓𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐘. Or at all. I am not sure what I was anticipating in my thoughts when we both work at the same place - of course, I will see him every day and be pushed into a business relationship with him as if nothing is going on privately.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Hey girl," Cassie hugged me on the stroll; she always seemed to be in excellent spirits and was the sun in my dismal sky. "Hi," I say briefly, smiling slightly.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Is Mr. Camerons here?" When I see some employees waiting in the corridor near his office, I asked. She simply shakes her head and asks why I am intrigued.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I should go to him, will you be able to cover me until I finish the conversation?" Even though I know the answer is always yes, I ask just in case. We soon parted ways, and I took one of the free chairs in the corridor to wait my turn. It took a while, but twenty minutes and two people later, I was in his office, ready to discuss.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Elle, I have not seen you here in a while - did something happen?" If I had not known Chad Camerons so well, I would have assumed he was quite concerned.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Actually, it is, and it would mean a lot to me if I could change my shift," I say. "I know I am on second shift this week due to a staff shortage, but I would like to stay on second shift permanently," if this does not work out - another excuse is the classes and exams I have left from the spring.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He pauses for a moment, looks through some documents, and then clears his throat. "It is doable, although I think you are a lot more established than Lauren," I said, and a stone fell from my heart.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Lauren came a few months after me, but she is had an internship at a hospital since she was in high school - just in case something unexpected happens, Cassie Adams is always around."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Do you want to tell me the real reason why you asked for a shift change after such a long time?" he asked again, and he has every right to be curious.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I have the remaining exams from the spring, and the deadlines are approaching; I need to prepare for them before noon in order to attend extra classes. I know I have a good grades, but I can not let these few exams ruin my reputation," I pretended, and he immediately went for it. Chad Camerons values students that are persistent and hardworking.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "All right, Miss Elle, I will see you next week for the second shift," he says as he extends his hand for a handshake and we both get up from our comfortable leather chairs and walk to the door. I should start my shift, and he should see if anyone else is waiting for an interview.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Just remember to tell Lauren on Friday to make sure to leave the patient report when you come in for your shift," he reminded me. I nod and take a step into the vacant corridor.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I pass Elliot again as I rush towards the entrance that leads to the main hallway in this building. This time, though, he jerks my wrist to stop me.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I am late, the shift has started," I joke, gently yanking my hand from his grasp. "Let go of my hand," he says, continuing to walk towards me with a disgusted grimace on his face.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I just want to talk, baby."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I do not want to; I made that clear when I kicked you out of the room that night." Let go of my hand; I need to go. If you refuse to let me go, I will scream!"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ In my brain, I am trying to emerge out of this situation as a winner, so I say annoyed. As I sense complete freedom, his grip on my right wrist loosens, and I utilize all of my might to speed my pace and approach the video surveillance area.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ My tears, however, are stronger than me, warm salty tears that make lines down my face as I wipe them away the moment they leave my eyes. I do not want my mascara to smear, and every tear from crying before hurts. My vision will be more worse than it is now. Elliot, you are a hypocrite.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I said hello to my colleagues and looked at the wall clock to see that lunch was approaching - I went to the cafeteria and noticed that the secretaries were setting up and that a few patients had already arrived. I summoned one of the guards to accompany me so that we could take all five of my patients at once. In fact, it was impossible because such a manner of functioning was prohibited - so we led two by two. Spencer's room was the last to be finished. I wanted to bring him myself in order to learn the truth about him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "It is time for lunch," I muttered monotonously as I stood outside his door. He was laying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, as usual - I frequently wondered where his thoughts were going.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ He looked up from the ceiling, his hazel eyes locked on me. When he bent down to put his shoes back on, he broke that contact, then straightened up and made a few steps towards me, hands behind his back.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You cried," he states solemnly. "That is nonsense, I did not get enough sleep," I laugh in response, this is my attempt to conceal the reality.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You are lying; I may be locked in here, but I am still an expert in people profiling."

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‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Afternoons were only for reading with John and playing cards with Spencer. My other three patients were always involved in some activity with the others, however John and Spencer stood out. I removed a new pack of uno cards from my backpack and put them into a small pocket stitched into my skirt when I finished my lunch break. I entered the main room, where Spencer was reading a book to old John as he just looked at one point. Actually, it was a good indication because it suggested he was still paying attention to what was being read to him, but his condition did not improve significantly.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ They informed me over the weekend that his condition had worsened and that there was no need to continue with any therapy because it was just a matter of time before he died. It was only a matter of time before it happened. I approached them quietly and cautiously so as not to disturb the man in the wheelchair who was carefully listening to the new, male narrator who was reading him his favorite literature. Spencer recognized me the moment I walked into the room, but he continued to concentrate on the weaved words on the already yellowed paper.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I walked to the other patients before taking a table and waiting for him, just to make sure everything was fine. When he finished reading, he placed the book on his lap - as I always did - and told him that it was still someplace in the room.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "When will you get tired of losing?" he questioned, a seductive grin on his face. This is a significant change; he laughs more frequently and speaks more frequently. Going to treatment with Danielle must assist him, at least that is what I assumed.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Actually, I went out and bought a new game!" I exclaim as I take the uno cards from my pocket. His expression is priceless and hilarious.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Those victories do not count then! Uno is a game of randomness," I explained as I showed him my pinky finger. Every game is a chance game. He does not reject the new game, but instead watches me mix the cards like they do in casinos.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I know you look different... Miss Van Doren, you appear intrigued," he replies thoughtfully, his eyes making me apprehensive. When he looks at me like that, I get the impression he is only a few inches away from me, rather than on the other side of the table.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I am curious - I am a little interested in your arrival and the reason for your arrival," I confess to him since I can not think of anything else to say.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Curiosity killed the rabbit," I sigh. There was stillness at our table when I dealt him seven cards. I examined the cards I was holding between my fingers with trepidation. "We can do the truth for the truth, so we are both exposed," I say to him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎He bit into it.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ A red 7 replaced my blue 7. It was my turn next, and I had a +4 card with a color shift back to blue. You could see how apprehensive he is about this game by his demeanor, which gives me the idea that he has not mastered it yet.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Draw four cards," I tell him. "Would you mind sharing your story? What exactly happened?" I ask, as he gradually draws cards and plays the game.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I am accused of quadruple murder, many events are still blurry to me - remembering it comes at various times and I still do not have the full story", I feel the weight of the words he utters, which explains why he is frequently imagined and out of reality.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When I try to communicate with him, he always responds with the same card, +4. I toss another one, but he fights back.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Those are not the rules of this game," he explains, holding out two white cards with the rules written on them. "Relax, Spencer; no one cares."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Pull eight," I instruct him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "During that, please tell me what made you cry," I should have known he would not let it go so simply. "I had a fight with...situationship," I explain to him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ When he saw me shaking my head, he lifted one eyebrow and asked, "So he is not your boyfriend?"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "But he is not a stranger to me, either," I explained. Now that I realize, I appear to be a very stupid and inexperienced girl when it comes to serious relationships and male-female relationships.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Is there a specific reason why you are not in prison but instead here?" I asked, shifting the focus from me to him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "My former team fought for me to be imprisoned elsewhere as my memory began to return - I have great reason to believe that someone framed me for murder again," I shiver at the phrase.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ For a brief period, we paused with the truth for the sake of the truth; he began talking about what had occurred, but he was also concealing many things that could be seen on him. He had already been in prison for three months for a framed murder, and being a federal agent in prison is worse than the death penalty. Especially when you are in a cage with lions as prey. And barely three years later, he believes the same event happened to him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Do you have someone in mind who did that to you?" I questioned, and he simply nodded. "I need proof, but I am locked up here"

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ We played this social game and occasionally talked till the stipulated time for socializing expired. When things became too hectic, my gaze met Elliot's, who hurriedly approached John and led him out of the room. Spencer observed that I was paralyzed and felt worthless at the time.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Elle!" he said to me as I stared in terror at the now-closed door. I could not help but cry again; I could not stop myself. "I swear to you that I will kill him if you cry because him one more time!"
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