by Zoe Parker
“Go away,” a rough female voice says from inside the darkened room. I’m many things, but a coward isn’t one of them, at least not most of the time. But something in that voice makes me hesitate for a split second.
“Hello to you too,” I say, turning to grab her tray out of the bottomless cart and step into the room. It smells, there’s no denying that. A quick look around in the dim light shows that there’s no bathroom either. There’s a bucket against the far wall, and there’s only one purpose for a bucket in a situation like this. I imagine that’s part of what I’m smelling. The rest, that’s all bad hygiene. I also think that it’s not the fault of the patient, either. The majority of the staff I’ve met here are toolbags, and I can absolutely see them ignoring the needs of the patients and quite possibly doing things to hurt them. Vale is an excellent example. I’ve never heard of a legit psychiatric hospital removing someone’s teeth for biting. Muzzling them maybe, but never removing them. Although, I’m pretty sure I’ve read about atrocities being committed in the older ones that were that bad, or worse. You know, like the lobotomies.
I really need to do some major web searching when I get home. This is unacceptable.
“You’re new.” The lump on the bed says and with a whisper of moving cloth turns to look towards me. The only thing that keeps me from turning and running out of the room is the fact that I can clearly see the delicate shackles tying her to the bed.
The woman and that term is a loose one, has teeth like a raptor, eyes that are bright yellow and reptilian in nature. Her hair, not that it’s real hair—is feathers. Long, beautiful, green feathers with flashes of orange in their depths.
“You’re one of the prettiest things I’ve ever seen,” I blurt out. Her eyes widen in shock, and that toothy mouth of hers opens and then closes.
“What slop have they given me today?” she asks instead of saying whatever is dancing in her eyes. The tension in the room disappears as if it never were. The pressure inside of me relaxes as well. I feel like I passed some sort of test.
Given how there is a light of curiosity in her eyes now, maybe I did.
“Honestly, it looks like a raw duck, but I’m not completely up to date on my naked poultry,” I answer, watching her face closely for any amusement. That’s what I was going for and when she smiles—well, her version of smiling, I think—I smile in return. I hand her the tray and step back to give her room to eat without me being all up in her business.
“You are awfully calm, all things considering,” she says, grabbing the leg of the duck and yanking it off with a cringe-worthy sound of flesh and bone tearing.
“Considering what?” I ask.
Watching her chew is morbidly fascinating, it genuinely looks like what I always imagined a T-Rex looked like taking a chunk out of a bronto.
Hey, I was a weird kid.
“I see the Blood Mark on your face,” she comments, grabbing another hunk of meat. “Vale?” she asks, taking a large bite.
“Yes, he spit on me.” Why am I being so honest? It’s easier this way I reckon, nothing to be done about it now. I’m not much on lying if I can help it, one lie always turns into two and soon you’re buried under the avalanche of them.
“I’m guessing you can see all manner of things now that you couldn’t before?”
“Yes, hallucinations.”
She chuckles, and I’m pretty sure pieces of chewed duck fall out of her mouth onto the filthy striped pajamas she’s wearing.
“You’re not hallucinating, something you’ll realize soon enough,” she says, pausing in her meal. “Are the guards being cordial to you?” Strange question to ask, but I shrug in response.
“I will be back through later and,” I search for the words to use, opting to be blunt instead of delicate, “if you’d like to bathe I’ll help you out with that.” The duck drops onto the tray with a wet thud.
“You’d bathe me?” Why is that so shocking? It’s a simple act, nothing dramatic.
Already committed, and not bothered by it, I say, “Yes, it’s not meant to be insulting, but it smells like an outhouse in here.”
The laughter this time is full on, she even slaps her thigh as she cackles—reminding me a bit of Athena in it. The smile that breaks free from me is unstoppable, and the last bit of tension in me relaxes. I know, like really know, this woman won’t hurt me.
“I’ll see you when you come back around then, be mindful of the guards and if any of them hurt you… don’t hesitate to let myself or Vale know.”
“I can say the same. Do you mind telling me your name? All I have is your number, and that’s a mouthful to say.”
Another toothy smile, she says, “Gahna. And who might you be, almost human girl?”
I ignore the almost human bit, and reply, “Mel. I’ll see you soon, Gahna.” Turning, I go back to the door and with a heavy feeling of remorse relock it as I leave.
The dissection of the encounter starts immediately. Perhaps she killed someone and is only nice to them before she eats them? Na, I don’t think she’s the type to waste the energy on it. Not the eating people part, because if I were her, I’d probably eat people, but that she befriends them before she eats them. I don’t think it’s random either. I have a feeling that there’s always a reason. A good solid intuition. Although, I’m not sure if I can count on anything about this day being accurate at all.
I’ve completely flipped my damn lid. A fact that should make me run home like a little, scared girl, makes me smile instead. Today is the most interesting day I think I’ve ever had in my life, and I kind of like it. I do imagine that when I get home, and the adrenaline and reality smack me in the fucking head—I’ll think differently, but for now, I’ll ride the more peaceful train of acceptance. I’ll have to deal with the breakneck ride on the crazy train soon enough.
The next room’s occupant remains unmoving on the bed, a small person quite possibly a child. Still, I say hello and set the tray on the end of the bed. Feeling like an intruder, I vow that I’ll be a bit more assertive when I come back through. None of them have been bathed, or have had their rooms touched in God knows how long. I’m pretty sure that their shit buckets are mostly full and overflowing.
It’s 2018, who uses buckets to shit in anymore unless they’re camping? To me, that’s the only time that anyone should be using a bucket, and even camping you could use a hole then cover it up with dirt. To me, that seems preferable to a stinky pail. Why these folks don’t have standard bathrooms is another mystery. There must be all kinds of laws being broken withholding things like that.
Vale’s teeth, iron shackles, weird food and now, no bathrooms. How is this place still open?
Then, of course, my brain goes to the spooky shit. The walking skeletons, the nail painting dragons, and super cute fairies that wink at me. Why is it that part of me hopes that some of this is real? Walking, talking fantasies from childhood. Except these are all prisoners in some demented shit hole that pulls out their teeth.
Fuck me.
Swallowing the rant, I want to have, I continue. Each room I open, to whatever monster or creature my imagination concocts, I greet with a smile. I somehow manage to keep from feeling sorry for them and let them have their pride, but provide the same as I offered Gahna. Something I think is a simple kindness and a necessary one. There are ones in worse conditions than she was, some I’m not even sure can move. Most look hungry; some also look defeated. By the time I get to the last room, my heart is so heavy that I’m having trouble looking at the guards without hitting one of them with a tray.
There’s no doubt in my mind that I’m reporting this place, I’m not sure how I’ll do it, but it’s totally happening. No one should live this way when they’re ill. Vale was so right. This place is not safe or supportive.
Turning the key in the rusty lock, I fight to unlatch it and finally break down into bracing one foot against the door when I pull. Eventually, it gives and after I windmill a few times to keep from landing on my ass
I open the door. The fetid smell stops me dead in my tracks. There’s something different in this room.
“Why do you greet us?” The voice is faint, but I manage to hear it. My eyes seek out the speaker, lying on a bare mattress, no blankets, no comforts at all. This time there are 4 shackles, hands, and feet. Bent at an odd angle, he’s got his hands tucked between his knees, and those knees pulled up to his waist. On his bare back are large open welts that I bet are the thickness of my middle finger.
WTF?
“No answer?” He prompts.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Because you all deserve at least that much.”
“Even if we are the insane prisoners they portray us as?”
“Even more so then.”
The man chuckles and turns his head slightly to look at me over his shoulder. My mouth falls open in shock. It’s like looking at a younger Vale just like the one I saw when we had that moment. His hair moves when he turns back away from me, the absence of those white eyes making breathing a bit easier again. His hair is solid white and long, also matted and filthy. Have any of them been bathed at all in the last month? Year?
I make the same offer to him that I made to the others.
“Yes,” he says, and I sense our brief, confusing conversation is over. I set his tray down behind him; this one is a covered dish, its contents a mystery. I have this awful feeling that whatever is under that dish’s cover will freak me the fuck out.
Backing out of the room I relock the door and head back towards the elevator. It’s time for me to have a brief break and I’m finding that it’s one I need to take. This emotional wringer has me flat out exhausted. I have no idea how people willingly put themselves in situations to face things like this. I’m torn between sneaking in the bathroom to have a good cry or releasing all the patients and burning this place down.
I opt for the bathroom—this time.
Chapter Eight
In order to see birds it is necessary to become part of the silence.
Robert Lynd
Giving out the trays took almost two hours, it’s incredible how fast that time went. My break is a half-hour, and for fifteen minutes I hide in the sickly orange bathroom. By the time I crawl out of the horror bathroom from the sixties, my stomach decides to wake up. On wooden feet, I clomp back to the employee lounge in search of my leftovers. Stopping short outside of the door, I look up into the gentle face of Connie. Without a word, she hands me a paper bag and gives me a quick pat on my arm. On the other side of the door behind her, I can hear the voices of some of the guards, not people I want to talk to right now.
“You could go eat in the main room, no one is ever there,” Connie says walking off towards the kitchen. My esteem for her grows. She knew I didn’t want to go in there with the rest of them to be belittled or harassed. They are the ones who hurt the people here.
They are the ones who need to pay for it.
Somehow, I must find a way to help, although I’m not entirely sure if anything I do will. How it’s continued for this long I don’t understand. I can’t be the only one to have felt this way. People came before me, and I don’t believe Vale’s boast of killing them. A murderer wouldn’t be on the first floor or have the freedoms they do compared to what I saw on the third. That means that there had to be others who saw this and tried to do something. Right? Anyone with a drop of humanity left in them wouldn’t leave these poor people like this. I pull my phone out of my pocket to discover I still have no service. There goes googling on my break.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I give a distracted smile of greeting to the small green blob that stops and waves at me from the floor. I wave back and walk around him. Unless something has done awful things, they all deserve respect and compassion, even blobs.
Finding the main room as empty as it was before, completely unchanged too, I settle myself at the table farthest away from the nurse’s mausoleum. Opening up the bag I find a thick bacon sandwich, a small baggy of sliced apples, and a cold diet soda. It’s like Connie speaks directly to my stomach’s soul. Something heavy enough to be filling but light enough to not weigh me down for the rest of my shift. Biting into one triangle shaped half, I chew with relish and find myself feeling lighter of spirit.
I will find a way to help these people.
My eyes immediately land on the girl walking towards me. For the most part, she looks normal compared to what I’ve been seeing, but not entirely. Her eyes are a bright, solid white. Incredibly vivid in her dirty face. The floor-length nightgown she’s wearing is even nastier, hiding all but her filthy blood encrusted bare toes peeking out at the dirty hem. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I attempt to smile.
“Would you like half a sandwich? It’s bacon,” I ask, pushing the other half of the sandwich across the table. “There are some apples too.”
Watching me with caution, she slowly works her way to the table and pulls the chair out. Her head bobs as her pupilless eyes flick between me and the sandwich that I can hear her stomach growling for. She sits and with a final, longer look at me grabs the offered food and crams the entire half in her mouth. While she chews, her cheeks puff out like this adorable little chipmunk. A malnourished, chipmunk who has white eyes and from what I saw, a mouthful of sharp teeth.
“I’m not blind,” she says through the gob of chewed bread and meat.
“I didn’t think you were.” Which is nothing but the truth, strangely enough.
“Most do,” she says swallowing. I imagine the bread has made her thirsty, so in response to that I open the can of soda and slide it over to her. With both hands, she grabs it and gulps it greedily. When she sits the mostly empty can back down her eyes are watering as that gaze fixes on me once again.
“I thought you needed to be looked after. I don’t remember you from meal time.” Now that I think about it, I can’t recall seeing her at all.
“I’m normally on the third floor. I decided to take a walk today.”
The urge to ask her how she got through the doors and past the guard opens my mouth, but I immediately change my mind and say instead, “That’s lovely. Would you like a bath today too?” Her head tilts to the side and she smiles. Yep, lots of sharp teeth. In and out of technicolor land.
“That would be something I have not had the pleasure of in a long time.” She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “As scary as this all is, accept it, and don’t call the authorities. They have no power here, and it will only put you in danger.”
The shock of her statement makes me drop the bag of apples out of my hand. I decide to leave them for the moment and ask, neutrally, “Which room is yours?”
“I’m not sure, but you’ll find me when you need to,” she says rising to her feet. “Thank you for the sandwich. Where I come from, sharing food is a sign of high respect,” she pauses then continues, “Especially when it’s all they have.” Turning she walks away, and I swear to god she disappears before she turns the corner.
As I eat the apples, I contemplate the place where she disappeared. Why did she tell me not to call the authorities? Hell, how did she know I was thinking about it? No, not thinking, planning on it. Now, what the hell do I do? Any instinct I have that’s worth a shit is saying to listen to her, but how these people are being treated needs to stop.
I’m incredibly confused, and my inner compass is having spasms.
Finishing up my lunch, I toss my garbage in the trash and head back to the employee lounge. I need caffeine, and since I gave her my soda, I need something else. I need it so much that I’m willing to brave the soup they call coffee in the lounge. As I walk past the kitchen, the silver tray cart is pushed out and on top of it, almost shining like a beacon, is another cold soda. Connie is my hero today, hell, maybe even the month. Or year. Probably the year.
Laughing, I yell a thank you and start pushing the monstrosity of a cart towards the laundry room. Grabbing the smaller laundry cart, I decide how to go about this. If I go through first to get the trays, the
n I’ll have to take even more time to come here and get this cart to do everything else. Or, I can merely take both carts and do everything I need at once. Thankfully, since the laundry cart is smaller, I can tug it behind me with one hand and push the meal cart with the other. The progress is slow, and I bump into things now and then, but this is part of my tasks for the night, in addition to meals—clean rooms, clean patients. I still have to give out more trays, and the clock is ticking, I’m determined to be finished before I leave at 4 a.m.
Well, I won’t know until I give it a try.
Checking the new list on the side of the cart, I see that Vale is now first. Not that I genuinely mind, no matter how much I protest. He’s been on my mind since I met him hours ago, way more than I want him to be. And the other guy, the one with the scars. I have no name for him, but there’s something that feels somewhat the same about him and Vale.
I volunteered to bathe him too. What the hell is wrong with me?
Oh, I know, I’ve lost my fucking mind.
Vale greets me pleasantly with a “Good day, Mel.” From the doorway, he’s casually leaning against. I do my best to ignore the jump in my pulse and the fact that he looks… brighter. I swear to it’s like someone turned up his wattage.
“Hello there! I’m going to give your room a quick clean while you eat—drink, your… drink.” Wow, I’m lame as shit.
Almost like he can hear my inner monologue, he watches me with amusement. A smile tilts the edges of his lips as his eyes lighten like tiny light bulbs. They’ve got such a look of knowing in them that I feel that he can see into every shadow of my soul, like he knows me at the deepest level. Distractedly, I reach inside the cart and yank my hand back when something stings my finger. Looking at it, I watch as a single ruby red drop pearls on the tip of my finger.
An idea pops into my mind, a crazy idea and I choose to act on it before I can think about it. The tray holding his shake is right in front of me and for some fucked up reason I hold my finger over it letting the blood drop into it. I even take it further by squeezing another few drops into it. I mean, he did say he needs human blood, and it’s already pig’s blood, so I’m not exactly grossing it up. I don’t have any weird diseases, I—fuck it.
