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over to…”
    “HEY!! Hands Up! Where I can see them! Hands up! Turn around.”
    The next thing I knew there was this fat Mexican kid about twenty in a security uniform wielding a gun at me while he’s shaking like a leaf, yelling, “Put that down! Put it down! Put it down!”
    “Okay. It’s just a camera,” I told him.
    “Put it down. Step away. Slow. I’ll shoot! I will,” he yelled, pulsating with nervous energy.
    “Okay. Okay. It’s down,” I said placing the camera on the ground.  
    He rushed closer to me with his gun pulled out, stuttering, “Hands up. Up! They go up. Who are you? Why you here? You don’t got permission.”
    “I’m Eddie Hansen. I’m visiting. I’m a guest of Dr. Haworth,” I told him.  
    He looked confused, trying to maintain control. “Nobody told me nothing at the gate.”
    “I got ID.” 
    When I reached for my wallet, he almost pulled the trigger, shaking as he yelled, “Step back!”
    “In the guest house. Up there. I got my ID. It’s right there!”
    “No you don’t!” he stuttered. 
    I don’t know what I said but it turned him ghost white. He shook his head telling me, “Nobody goes there. It’s been five years. Nobody goes in there.”
    “Just follow me,” I said cautiously, trying to reassure him. “I’ll get it…”
    Then he snapped. “Don’t touch the camera! Put your hands up. You’re not allowed to tape nothing.”
    “Doctor Haworth agreed,” I said with a soothing tone.
    “Nobody told me nothing.  I have to shut it off, man. I have to. I have to take it. I do. I have to. You follow orders. Nobody does nothing without permission. Nobody!” 

JOURNAL ENTRY:
    THURSDAY DECEMBER 9, 2010 – 4:30AM
     
    Lesson #1 
     
    If you ever want to be seen again, never walk around a mental institution without credentials.  I learned this from Santiago, the night security guard who I had the pleasure of meeting during my adventure tonight.  
    While I was writing my last journal entry, I saw something outside run past my window. It freaked me out, so I went to take a look. 
    Turns out it was Santiago. Nice guy, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. Maybe he’s smarter than me, because I’m not still sure if he was messing with my head, or being serious.  He’s got this nervous tick in his eye and he shudders every few minutes like a Chihuahua in the snow.  His whole vibe is off.  Our whole walk back he had this friendly, but agitated demeanor. About every fifty feet he would stop and take a deep breath, like an asthmatic, but when I confronted him on it, he said everything was “great.” He was fine. 
    We get to the door and he freezes. It took a minute for me to catch on because I was looking for my badge and ID. I figured he was inside and when I found my badge I called over to him, but he’s staring at the floor with this intense glare. Frozen, standing still at the door, shivering. 
    I tell him “come in” and it felt like a minute before he finally blurted out, “The last guy that was here killed himself. Right there.”  He said this pointing at the very bed I’m typing in now. 
    Apparently suicide boy ripped the cross off the bedpost and slit his throat with the pointed end. Then he bled himself out on the bed. These stains soaked into the wood floor are supposed to be his blood.  I couldn’t tell if it was an act or not. 
    Before scurrying away, Santiago nervously mentioned that this room will make me “loco.” 
    That’s “crazy” for us gringos. It has the power of the demon Ose, or Ozzy for all I care, who is assigned to rule here. But he’s not supposed to tell me this and begged me not to mention anything to Dr. Haworth. 
    So is this a coincidence, or is this the same little devil Aida Mae, my psychic waitress, was rambling about in Dell City?  It doesn’t matter because I don’t believe in that shit. What I need is to figure out how to get to Annette Dobson.  
    When I mentioned her name to Santiago, all I got