Author's Note This and another chapter will probably be the last ones for the next two weeks. I am feeling better now, but still have a light cough. Just after math. Sorry to keep you waiting for the next part, but I'm trying my hardest. Anyways, I've just watched American Psycho for the millionth time, and is it just me or does Christian Bale gets freaking gorgeous every time? Aha. On other news, read chapter one again, since it's updated and everything. Much more detail and thought had been put into it. So yeah, read it. And Please review this, a lot of thought has been put into this as well.

Disclaimer I do not own Patrick Bateman. he belongs to Bret Easton Ellis, however much I wish he belonged to me. Any other characters you may recognize are probably not mine.


101 Ways to Get Away With Murder

" Memory Lane "

Original Plotting and Original characters by the Embedded Shame


Sean's Point of View

89th and Hemingway, I repeated in my mind more than I could count. So close.

I kept my eyes on the cars and road ahead, ignoring the pressure of the wind on my arm which lingered out the open window. In a way, it was sort of soothing. I couldn't remember the last time I left the asylum.

I had vivid, clear, memories of Anna the very day she arrived, and the day she went mad.

She held onto a black carry on bag, tightly with both hands, as if her life depended on it. Her black hair, and pale skin could be seen perfectly under the hot summer sun, dancing with the warm winds. She wore a black, tattered, tube top escorted by a pair of light blue damaged jeans. As she walked through the doors of the asylum, which at that time were painted and not rusty, I was the first to greet her. Although, back then, I didn't work there, but I was there with my father because it was "take your kids to work because they aren't learning anything in school anyways" day.

"Hi!" I remembered yelling, literally, in her face. She didn't say a thing, but I kept on talking anyways. It wasn't until the staff asked her questions, that I figured out she was a mute. Father asked me to take her to the room she'd be staying in until they can figure out where exactly she was from. So I did just that, gladly. Love at first sight.

As we walked the whiteness, and passed the shrieks of patients, which I had blocked out from my mind completely, I took her bag from her, figuring she'd been holding on to that for a long time, and started conversing as always. "Nod if you can hear"

She nodded.

Good, some progress.

"What's your name?" I had noticed that she looked scared, and didn't want to be there, as if she'd been forced here or something.

"Is it...Michelle?" By now, I was just taking chances.

"Jennifer?"

"Jessica?"

She tilted her head from right to left, indicating that neither of those name were hers.

"You have to speak, you know."

She took a sudden turn, and walked up to a nurse, leaving me baffled. The nurse bent down, hand on her knees, and asked the kid who she was. Of course, no answer. Who would have thought? Then, the pale child reached up and pointed at the nurse's tag.
I had to squint to read what it was. Being ten meters didn't really help.

"Your name's ... Anna?" She nodded.

And our friendship grew from there, although never once did she say anything. I'd learned to guess when she wanted something, or what she was saying, although I didn't have to, since she was capable of doing most things. She wasn't that hard to read, and still comforting to be around. Father and all of his staff weren't able to get anything out of her, where she was from, why she was here, and neither was I able to do anything to contribute. She simply refused to say anything. I didn't even know her last name, until one day when she pulled an old notebook (probably a diary) from her bag, and started to write in it, that I accidentally caught a glimpse.

But by then, everyone just went on minding their own business, and no one cared what Anna was doing, or how she was doing. They figured she wasn't talking because it was some illness, so they kept jamming her throat with different drugs, and medicines, and although Anna protested, no one cared. I was there to comfort her by the end of the day, but by then she'd be tired, or was passed out. Damned drugs. One day, I think she got tired of living here, being treated like shit, so she ran away in the dark of the night. The very next morning, a number of murders were reported in our area, so they automatically figured it was Anna. I didn't believe it, she couldn't do something like that. I still don't believe it, but when they brought her back, covered in blood, and screaming gibberish, I saw a side of her that terrified me.

I asked the nurse who clutched her arms around Anna's waist to leave the girl alone, and told her I'd handle it. Anna made no protest, and neither did the nurse. I ran towards Anna, and hugged her as tight as I could, as she did the same.
I remembered whispering something to her.

"Don't you dare leave here again"

It must of sounded like a death threat, because I remember her eyes tearing up after I pulled away.

Nonetheless, no one pressed any charges because, well, no one outside the asylum knew it was Anna who went on that rampage. Not the police, not the families of the victims, no one. We decided we'd needed to increase her doses of the drugs, and morphine, and that would help her. Hell, was I wrong. That stuff was screwing her up more than ever. She stopped nodding, stopped interacting, and stopped living. All she'd do the whole day is listen to her music, more like noise, and lay in the bed. She'd only leave the asylum on Sundays and Thursdays for church, and even then, I was to accompany her, and make sure she didn't go on another rampage again.

So what could I have done? It was either my job, or Anna. Who was Anna to me anyways? Why was she so damn important? My job on the other hand, I'd strive for that for years, and after father passed away, there was no one else to take over but me. So I chose my job. Wouldn't you? But I regret my decision everyday. I had something that people were jealous of, something everyone searched for all their life, and died without ever catching a glimpse of it. I had Anna. She loved me, and I let her down.

I never met someone quite like her, someone so mysterious, so secretive, and so alluring all at once, and neither did I intend on forgetting her. Though, she'd probably had forgotten me by now. She was probably living life with Bateman.
Just the mention of his name made me cringe.
Although, I don't know why it did. If he really was her uncle, he wouldn't try anything. Then again, there were some pretty sick people out there. Just how sick was Bateman?

I got out of my car, shutting the door of the silver Porsche behind me, fixing my hair and clothes. I walked up to the huge gates of the mansion in front of me. it looked like no one lived there for ages, since the gates alone were covered with cob webs, meaning they had not been opened in a long while. I looked around as to how I could get in. Shit, I'd have to climb it. Just then, a heavy pour started, and it came down hard. Not a good sign, and not good weather to jump a gate, either. Although, what other choice did I have. The place didn't look friendly, and what if I did press that intercom button ... Intercom button? Duh.

I pressed on the button lightly, awaiting for someone's voice. It shocked me as to how fast the person replied, as if they had been watching and waiting for a long time.

"Who's this?" The person asked. the voice was definitely female, however husky it was.

"Police, ma'am." There was a moment of silence, then indistinct voices from behind the woman.

"I'll open the gate." She finally said, followed by a beep.
The gate parted, and I ran through it as fast I could, since the pour was coming down hard.
As I reached the door steps of the house, I knocked two times on it. By the third, someone opened the door. I stood at the door, being greeted by a man who looked to be in his late twenties, tall and mean. He stood at around almost 6'2 feet, with almost the same haircut as me. Mine's was slightly better.

"Good afternoon." I finally spoke.

He just nodded.

"Why're you here?" he asked.

"I need to ask a few questions about a Anna Moretti who used to live here."

Well, he snarled. Was that good or bad? He opened the door, moving out of the way, allowing me to come in. As I entered, there wasn't much to look at but a stone staircase that led to the second and third stories of the house, and the furniture which was covered in white sheets. It was very spacious, and the lack of objects in the house didn't exactly help fill the space. I was still amazed at the beauty of the house, and wished that my apartment would look like that.

"Mind everything. We were just moving."
The man spoke.

"Oh, yeah? Where to?"
"Not sure. A smaller place maybe, on the west coast. Don't get a lot of sun in this part of town."

"Yeah. I noticed."
We both sat on the sofas which were also covered in white satin sheets. Just then, a brunette walked in the room. She looked very petite, and kind of tired. She walked over to the man's side, and sat down next to him, as he gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"So, officer. What brings you here?" She asked me, challenging me with her eyes. She knew I wasn't an officer, but I'd continue to act it.

"I'm here to get more information on Anna Moretti."
"Right. Well, you wont get that here. We don't know any Moretti's.
"Really? So the mailbox out there, that's stolen? You know, that's a federal offense."
The man shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortably at the woman. The woman looked straight at me.

"I'm Collin Moretti. Anna's ... brother." The man spoke again, this time in a quite tone.

"Perfect!" I had hit the jackpot, "Oh, and there is no mailbox outside."

The woman scoffed, disgusted, and walked away.

"Sorry about Madeline. She's just ... you know, female things."

"Oh, that's fine. So what can you tell me about Anna?" I pulled out a notepad from my back pocket in my jeans, and pulled out a pencil from my coat's pocket.
"She was a real psycho, you know. Always threw tantrums, got pissed for no reason. Came home one day, with blood all over her. Said it was paint, but hell, she smelled like blood. Real weirdo."

"Uh-huh."

I listened carefully, to everything he said, hanging onto every word.

I didn't get much on Bateman, but sure as hell got a lot on Anna.