Asylum Box Set

by Sian B. Claven

  Bradley snorted and licked his lips. “Sure, you just wanted to protect an innocent raccoon, I get it.” He sat back and stared out the window.

  They arrived at the Asylum in no time, and two orderlies were waiting there as Jeremy had promised. Cole got Walker out of the car and handed him over, taking off his handcuffs.

  “Have a nice life, Walker,” he said, before getting back into the car and driving off.

  Bradley smirked. “So, boys want to show me to my room?”

  That was when they struck out, punching Bradley in the gut, so he doubled over before they dragged him into the Asylum and dropped him at the feet of a fat man dressed in a lab coat.

  “I am Dr Wellbottom,” he said, not bothering to glance up from the clipboard in his hands. “And you, Mr Walker, are our new admission due to insanity. We welcome you,” he added before walking away.

  The orderlies picked Bradley up by his arms and dragged him after Wellbottom, going upstairs a few flights and then hauling him down a rather secure looking hallway. They shoved him into a room and threw a blanket at him.

  “We’ll give you a proper introduction tomorrow. Unfortunately, the nurses are already off or we’d give you the proper wash down and checks as well, but since no one cares if you live or die, you can just go straight to sleep for now, and we’ll check on you in the morning.”

  An orderly shut the door, and the room went black.

  Bradley waited for his eyes to adjust, but the room was so dark he couldn’t make out anything, not even his hand in front of his face. He decided there was nothing for it but to try and get some rest. Maybe he could reach his lawyer in the morning and talk about mistreatment or whatever they called it.

  ——

  The morning dawned bright; the sun filtered into his room and onto his face, and it hurt his eyes. He groaned and shifted on his hard bed. He hadn’t even been given a proper blanket or loo paper or anything. He was definitely going to cause a stink about this. He sat up, his body stiff and sore, and stretched.

  Now that he could see, he examined the room carefully and found it contained the essentials barely. A hard metal bed with a flat dirty pillow to one side of the room. A small toilet in the corner with no toilet seat. That was it. That was what his room was made up of. He could get a lot of people in trouble; he knew his rights.

  A clang sounded as a key turned in the door and it swung open. The same fat man who had greeted him yesterday was there, standing with a clipboard and a pretty young nurse to his side. Two orderlies entered the room and took him by his arms.

  “Let’s get you cleaned up, Mr Walker,” Wellbottom said, leading the way down the corridor.

  They descended a set of stairs and entered an open shower area. The orderlies dragged him along, barely giving him a chance to find his feet as they moved. When they reached the centre of the shower room, they let him go, and he fell to his knees.

  “Get completely undressed,” Wellbottom instructed, without looking up from his clipboard. “Or do you need help doing that?” he added snidely.

  Bradley got up with a grimace and pulled his shirt off. He knew the routine from prison; it had to be done, so there was no point fighting it. He undid the belt of his pants and yanked them down along with his underwear.

  “Socks, too,” one of the orderlies said. and he reached down and pulled off both socks, leaving his clothes in a pile on the floor.

  “Step up to the wall,” the orderly instructed, and he did as he was told. They handcuffed each of his hands to a pillar and then proceeded to spread his legs and handcuff those as well.

  “You can’t do this,” Bradley said, but an orderly hit him upside the back of his head.

  “Shut it, convict,” he snapped.

  Bradley tugged at the handcuffs, but there was no give. The orderly moved away, and he could hear a hose pipe being started.

  “You can’t …” he began to say again, but then screamed from the pain of the high pressured water hitting his bare skin.

  They hosed him down from head to feet, and he felt like his skin was going to peel off. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the orderlies each picked up a rough bristled broomstick and started to scrub him with it.

  He begged them to stop, promised to have them fired, threatened to sue them, but nothing worked. They continued, regardless of what he said or how loudly he screamed.

  Once they deemed him ‘clean’, they undid the cuffs on his legs, and he slowly pulled them together, a spasm in his groin forming from being spread apart so long, making him groan in agony. They then undid the cuffs around his wrists, and he collapsed to the wet floor.

  “Is he clean?” Wellbottom asked.

  “Yes, sir,” one of the orderlies responded.

  “Get him dressed and take him to the doctor for a session. I’m sure he’ll love to meet our new guest.”

  Not bothering to dry him off, the orderlies shoved him into some clothes and got him on his feet, dragging him along the corridor once more and down more stairs. They led him to a secure room, where they sat him down at a table and handcuffed his arms to a small metal handle in the centre.

  “Have fun, convict,” the older orderly said as they left the room.

  Bradley lifted his head and examined the space. It was like the interrogation rooms at the precinct, and for a moment he wished he was back there, playing good cop and bad cop with the old boys in blue. He sighed and tried to get comfortable as he waited for whatever doctor came to see him.

  ——

  A few minutes later, the door opened, and a rather severe-looking man entered. He seemed flustered and busy as if this was the last task he wanted to do but had to do it anyway.

  “Dr Brock,” he said gruffly, and Bradley instantly picked up on the foreign accent.

  “You’re German. I want an American doctor,” he said quickly. “I don’t want no Nazi German touching me.”

  “I am no Nazi,” Dr Brock said, sitting across from Bradley. “I am here to evaluate whether or not you are insane and therefore belong here.”

  “I still want an American doctor.”

  “Unfortunately, cop killers do not get to decide who treats them,” Brock said, opening a notebook and making notes. “Now tell me about your childhood. Was it particularly traumatic?”

  “I’m not telling you anything,” Bradley said. “Bring in that other doctor - the fat one.”

  “Dr Wellbottom is far too busy to see to any patients,” Brock scoffed and sat back. “You can either speak to me honestly, or you can spend the rest of the day in your room while I notify the courts you are mentally sound and able to go to prison.”

  Bradley glared at him. “Fine! Whatever!” he blurted, like an errant child. “So, Doctor B, what do you want to know?”

  “Well, I need to know about your past and present, so I can justify your presence here to the court.”

  “I killed a cop, I am insane.”

  “Being a murderer does not make you insane. It makes you a murderer. Now, tell me about your childhood.”

  Bradley sized him up, but before he could say anything further, the doctor stood.

  “You’re wasting my time; time is precious. I’ll have you sent to prison.”

  “Wait!” Bradley exclaimed. “I’ll answer your stupid questions.”

  The doctor scowled at him before he sat down again. “Tell me, what was your relationship with your mother like?”

  “I don’t know, I guess you’d call it normal,” Bradley said. “She would take me out for ice cream and stuff whenever my father was drunk and disorderly.”

  “Was your father abusive?”

  “Yeah, he was. More to my mother than to me, but the bitch had it coming, always back-chatting him and trying to tell him what to do and how to do it.”

  “And you think it is normal behaviour to hit a woman who has an opinion?”

  “Women are the lower sex.” Bradley leaned back. “Their purpose is to breed and feed and open their le
gs, and to shut their mouths except when servicing their men.”

  “I see.” The doctor scribbled notes, and Bradley shifted in his chair, feeling uncomfortable. “Now tell me, when you first felt the thirst to murder?” the doctor asked, looking at him curiously.

  Before Bradley could answer, there was a knock at the door.

  “Come in,” the doctor called, and in walked a quiet-looking man, dressed in the same clothes Bradley wore.

  Bradley could only assume he was a patient here.

  He walked over to Doctor Brock and whispered, “She has a fever and infection. Come see.”

  “I’m afraid my work calls me, Mr Walker,” Doctor Brock said, standing up and closing the file. “We will continue this conversation another time. Cecil here will have the orderlies take you to the day room. Do behave.”

  It was a warning more than a request, and the doctor swept out of the room, his lab coat billowing behind him as he rushed out.

  Bradley watched as Cecil went in the opposite direction, no doubt to tell the orderlies the fine doctor’s instructions. Bradley would be grateful to be out of the cuffs, at the very least.

  ——

  He waited for over two hours before they came to fetch him.

  “Jesus, where were you guys? I’ve been here forever.”

  “Shut it, convict,” the older orderly said.

  He had his name tag on now, and Bradley read that his name was Cooper. The other orderly also had a tag; his read Kevin. They undid the cuffs, and he got up, stretching slowly. Bradley was mid-stretch when Cooper shoved him forward.

  “Come on, we don’t have all day.” Bradley glared at him, and Cooper stepped right up to him. “You want to do something about it, convict, ‘cause I don’t have to take you to the day room, I can leave you in your cell with no meals and no one to talk to except the roaches.”

  Bradley held back his retort and shook his head.

  “Good,” Cooper said, shoving him to turn him around. “Now get going.”

  Kevin walked ahead of them, leading the way down the white-washed corridor and up the sterile stairs. Bradley counted three flights before they turned right and went down another white-washed corridor. Left alone, Bradley was sure he would get lost in this place. Everything looked the same.

  They entered via a door that had to be opened by a security guard buzzing them through, and then they had to be searched, even the orderlies; after that, they went down a short corridor and turned to the right.

  “This is your day room,” Kevin said, opening the door to reveal a small room with a few chairs in it. Boring old-time music played, and a few patients were inside already.

  “Well, get on in there,” Cooper said, shoving Bradley forward. “Enjoy your stay, convict.” He slammed the door shut.

  Bradley flipped him the bird before turning to look around.

  To his left was a small cage where two nurses sat behind a counter. It was completely inaccessible, save for a padlocked door and a small window in front of the counter, no doubt to give patients their medicine.

  Seven other people were in the room, aside from Bradley. Two sat in wheelchairs by the window, staring at the sky as though they had no clue what was going on, and Bradley suspected that was indeed the case.

  Three of the patients were playing a board game, sitting around a small square table near the back of the room. They bickered quietly amongst themselves and paid him no mind.

  The other two was a good-looking young blond man and a midget. Blondie was reading a book, sitting near a shelf that had tattered copies of the classics, no doubt donated by local charities. The midget fascinated Bradley. It was a woman, and she came up to his waist. She was humping a chair, rocking her hips back and forth, her mouth slightly open and her eyes squinted as she clearly enjoyed herself. Bradley smiled as he watched her, entertained by the insanity he found himself surrounded by.

  Blondie looked up from his book and stared at Bradley. “You going to stand there all day watching Mary Sue-Ellen hump the shit out of the chair,” he asked, “or are you going to sit down and entertain yourself?”

  “What, by jacking off?” Bradley asked, moving over to where Blondie sat. He pulled up a chair and glanced at the cover of the book Blondie held. “You a romantic? Reading Shakespeare?”

  “Nothing else to do in here,” he responded, setting the book down on his lap and holding out his hand. “I’m Tate. Tate Wilson.”

  “Bradley Walker,” Bradley said, shaking Tate’s hand firmly. He seemed completely sane, but Bradley didn’t trust him; there was a glint in his eyes that just seemed off.

  “What are you in for?” Tate asked, crossing his legs.

  “Killed a cop, pleaded guilty but insane, and here I am,” Bradley said, holding his arms out as though this was his reward, his get out of jail free card.

  “Nice,” Tate said, with a slightly psychotic smile. “I would have loved to peg a cop myself.”

  “What are you in for?”

  “Being homo,” Tate said, smiling at Bradley. “They don’t like that I like boys,” he explained, “so they think they can take it out of me, like a cancerous tumour. But they’re wrong.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  “I’m not sure,” Tate said honestly, rubbing his head. “I had electroshock therapy, and it messes with my brain.”

  Bradley was surprised that asylums still took people in for something like homosexuality. He was sure that it was against common human rights. He’d have enough ammo to shut this place down and be transferred to a nicer, cleaner, more welcoming institution.

  Tate leaned forward. “Are you horny?” The way Tate licked his lips made Bradley feel uncomfortable and very aware of how close they actually were. “You don’t have to be gay to be horny,” Tate said, “and I jerk off a dick real swell.”

  Bradley shifted in his seat, wanting to make a getaway from Tate, but at the same time a little worried he might become violent. “Nah, I’m not horny,” he said, trying to play it cool, “but I’ll give you a shout if I ever need help rubbing one off.”

  Tate sat back, disappointment etched on his face.

  “Tate Wilson.” Bradley looked up as the nurse called his name. “Tate Wilson, it’s time for your treatment with Dr Brock,” she sang out.

  Tate leapt up with a bright smile and made his way to the door where the orderlies were waiting for him.

  “Now, no touching, Tate, or I’ll break it off,” Cooper said, leading Tate out of the room.

  “I can fuck you in the ass.”

  Bradley jumped at the voice that suddenly spoke next to him. Mary Sue-Ellen had finished humping the chair and had come over to him.

  “Uh, no thanks,” Bradley said, rubbing the back of his neck and wondering if everyone in this side of the institution was sex-crazed and if they were, why he was lumped with them.

  Mary Sue-Ellen licked her lips and leaned in closer to Bradley. “I’ll fuck you in the ass anyway.”

  Bradley stood up suddenly and backed away from her. “Easy there, tiger,” he said. “Why don’t you go back to your friend Woody the chair over there and finish what you started.”

  Mary Sue-Ellen licked her lips again, but she turned away, going back to the wet-stained chair and straddling it once more.

  Bradley shivered with disgust and went to the nurses’ station. “Excuse me, miss?” he said, trying to catch the attention of the pretty nurses talking together. They flat out ignored him, and he sighed. “Please, I don’t mean to be any trouble,” he said, “but could I get some food. I haven’t eaten anything all day.”

  They continued to ignore him.

  He slammed his fist against the cage. “Answer me!” He spat the words at them.

  Both stopped talking and gave him a deadpanned stare.

  “Mr Walker, it is not lunch time. You will be fed then.”

  “And what about breakfast?” he asked. “Come on, I’m starving.”

  “Mr Walker, it is not lunch time
. You will be fed then,” she repeated before she turned back to her colleague, and they resumed their conversation.

  Bradley banged his fist against the cage for good measure, but they ignored him, so he slunk off to go sit near the bookshelf. He had never been a big reader in school but needed to find something to pass the time, so he perused the shelves in search of something that might hold his attention.

  Finding a copy of a classic book he had once started in school, he vaguely recalled the plot being about fighting racism and remembered enjoying most of the book. It might prove worthwhile to reread it.

  He settled back in his chair, rocking it on its back legs, and opened the book to the first page. He did his best to concentrate on the words in front of him, but between the squabbling over the board game in the back and Mary Sue-Ellen’s frantic humping, he couldn’t seem to digest any of the sentences he read and found himself rereading them several times before his brain understood what he was reading.

  He tossed it aside and looked around, wondering what else he could do to pass the time. In the back corner near the three squabbling patients were rather worn-out shelves that contained what looked like puzzles and board games.

  Bradley crossed over to inspect them and, after a bit of deliberation, decided he would do a puzzle to pass the time. Perhaps if Tate came back, he could strike up a conversation with the guy, hopefully, one that didn’t revolve around jerking off.

  ——

  The day sped by, and still, there was no lunch. Bradley’s stomach howled in agony as he waited for a sign of any form of food. Nothing came.

  Tate returned eventually and came to sit with Bradley, offering to help him complete the puzzle. “I’ve done them all myself,” he explained as he examined the pieces.

  It was as though Tate was a different person, a fulfilled person, and he was completely calm.

  Bradley noticed Dr Brock had brought Tate back and now the doctor stood in the doorway, watching Tate interact with Bradley. He then called for Mary Sue-Ellen to come with him and, once she was out the door, he followed her.