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Birthmarks: A small brown birthmark on the underside of her right thigh.
I pause, eyes narrowing. Who needs to know where my birthmark is? Oddly creepy.
Illness: Psychogenic amnesia.
Cause: The patient suffers psychogenic amnesia due to…
A knock on the door makes me freeze, stuffing the papers back in the folder, I stuff it under my pillow. Plastering on a fake smile, I call, “Come in!”
Francis opens the door slowly, peeking his head in. “Miss, it’s time for breakfast.”
“Thank you, Francis. Let me get freshened up.”
He nods, closing the door.
My smile falls and my fingers graze over the folder. It felt as if I was reading a medical file. One I don’t remember getting or ever seeing before. I rub my temple, why can’t I remember anything? It couldn’t have been that bad.
Begrudgingly, I lift the covers off, going to the closet and grabbing a long flowy skirt, tucking an off-shoulder shirt into it. I brush my teeth, running my fingers through my hair in hopes it’ll chill out a little bit.
When I sit down at my usual spot, Francis brings me my medicine. I smile and thank him. Something slams on the table causing me to look up and see roses stuffed in a human skull. I narrow my eyes at it. That can’t be real, can it?
My eyes meet Attius, his face and shirt have blood on them. He pulls his black gloves off with his teeth, throwing them down. His eyes are like live wires, so hungry and animalistic. He turns, stalking out of the room.
“Francis…”
He sighs, reading my thoughts. “I’m afraid so, Miss. From his latest…hunt. He did that this morning. Not like him to miss the fifteenth but something important must have come up yesterday.”
I blush, looking away. Surely Francis doesn’t know what happened. I’m not sure I would ever be able to look him in the eyes again if he does.
Francis sets down my fruit and yogurt, a side of toast and an iced espresso on the table. “What are your plans for today, miss?”
Reading that damn file for one. “Just going to my library. Read a book. Maybe play the piano.” I shrug. Lying to Francis didn’t feel great, but he would surely turn me in. “May I ask you something, Francis?”
“Sure, miss.” He folds his hands behind his back.
“The flowers….” I point to the still bloody skull. “How should I… take that?”
Francis twists his lips. “Honestly, miss. I’m not sure. Atticus has always been a little…”
“Dreadful, grumpy, animalistic?” I supply..
“Yes.”
“How long have you known him?” I ask.
“Don’t chit chat with the prisoner, Francis. It’s beneath you.”
I turn my glare to the man in question, narrowing my eyes. “I’m beneath no one.”
Atticus sits, eyes dancing. “I must have dreamed yesterday, then.”
I blush fiercely, throwing my satin napkin down and pushing my chair back. “I’m full.” I announce. I stand, walking out the door.
Making my way to my room, shutting the door behind me. I walk to the bed, hands patting for the file and coming up empty.
“Looking for this, Little Bird?”
I turn, my eyes narrowing on the folder clasped between Atticus' strong fingers. “How did you know I had that?”
