Asylum Bound

by Analeigh Ford

  Aside from the lack of caffeine or other substances, the food itself isn’t terrible. Both Jane and Adelaide are served little yogurt cups, granola, and fresh fruit. I’ve never been much of a breakfast person myself—usually preferring to sleep in over eat—but I’m ravenous by the time I step up behind them and reach for a tray.

  Breakfast has been the only hot meal I’ve been allowed each day, the other two meals coming by way of paper bags delivered at noon and whenever Adelaide ends up coming up to the room after dark. I was never much of a breakfast person before, always choosing coffee over pastries, but without so much as a drop of caffeine in sight, that habit has quickly changed.

  Something isn’t right this morning, however.

  I know it the minute the lady behind the serving glass pauses and squints at me when it’s my turn. I push the plastic tray further away from myself across the counter towards her as if daring her to refuse me food. After the events of last night, I’m not sure I’ve ever been so hungry in my life. I don’t know what’ll happen if I’m not fed—and fast.

  A strange look comes over her face, and rather than reach for the food the other girls were offered, she rummages under the counter for something else. What she produces is a small, brown paper bag, which she pushes over the top of the counter to me as quickly as possible—like she can’t get it out of her hands fast enough.

  My stomach sinks like a rock.

  “What’s this?”

  She continues to glare at me, wordless…so I repeat myself, louder this time. I shove the paper bag back over the counter towards her. I did not come all the way down here this morning just to find out I’m getting another cold cheese sandwich.

  “Give me what you gave everyone else.”

  She just shakes her head. No emotions cross her face. One finger jabs at a list printed out and taped to the counter in front of her.

  “According to this list, this is what you get,” she says, pushing the bag back towards me on the counter.

  “What?” I shake my head. “No, this is a mistake.” I start to push the bag back towards her a second time, but she stops me with her own considerably strong, arms. “You’ve seen me down here before.”

  She doesn’t even pretend to double-check the list. She just stares at me blankly.

  “You’re on the list. This what I’m supposed to give you.”

  Adelaide nudges me and motions back towards the tables. The rest of the line is growing restless behind me, so I just snatch up the bag and stomp over to the nearest table beside Adelaide and Jane. I don’t sit down right away.

  That growing pit in my stomach tells me this isn’t just another layer of betrayal on my brother’s part, though I wouldn’t put it past him to still be trying to find more ways to make my life worse than he already has.

  This isn’t Kemper.

  And as much as I hate to agree with that voice in my head, I have a feeling it’s right. This has something to do with last night. Something to do with the way everyone is looking at me this morning.

  Whatever’s in this bag, it suddenly weighs a thousand tons. It drags down on my wrist, weighing me down towards the center of the earth as if the contents are made of stone.

  I stand there a moment at the end of the table, looking down at the brown wax paper bag in front of me. Eyes have started to turn in my direction. Those who were in line behind me lean forward and crane their necks to watch as I start peeling back the top of the bag. As soon as I start, the scent of rot immediately overwhelms me.

  We’re still close enough to the line that even the server takes several steps back, waving an arm in front of her face and shouting at me in Spanish until I quickly roll the top of the bag shut again. I snatch up the still-stinking bag and hurry to the nearest trash can, one hand pinched over my nose, and the other clutching the top shut. I’m fully prepared to throw the spoiled breakfast away when I’m interrupted yet again.

  “What’s the matter greenie, not satisfied with our little gift?”

  I spin around to find Price standing at the base of the stairs with Ives right behind him.

  Anyone who was looking on as I opened the rotten . . . whatever was in the bag . . . quickly looks away as soon as they arrive. I open my mouth to spew out a venomous mixture fueled by my hunger and lack of access to coffee, when I feel an arm slither over my shoulders.

  I freeze.

  “Now, now Price . . . be nice to the girl, she just got here.”

  The voice is Kingsley’s, but it’s different somehow.

  I shrug off his arm and step away as fast as I can. Even Price is looking at his friend with obvious annoyance.

  I hear a small whisper behind me and see Adelaide looking back with a mixture of surprise and dawning understanding.

  Price sighs, resignation heavy in his tone. His eyes grow hooded and lazy, and some of the venom in his voice turns frigid.

  “Thalia, meet Bentley . . . Bentley . . . it looks like you’ve already met Thalia.”

  Aside from his hair, which falls lazily in front of his eyes today instead of being slicked back, nothing has physically changed about the boy’s appearance . . . but everything else has.

  The slump of his shoulders, the messy wrinkle in his clothes, even the lopsided, half-shy smile he shoots my way; it’s completely different from the boy I slashed across the face last night.

  Completely different from the dancing, anxious, double-shadowed boy who gleefully looked on as I was thrown down a flight of stairs and locked in a dark, moldy basement. If it weren’t for the quickly fading red mark across his cheek, I might have thought the boy standing in front of me was a different person entirely.

  Ives slinks back further behind Price. I haven’t heard him say much, but I can tell from the way his eyes follow Bentley’s movements that he doesn’t like this other . . . personality . . . of his.

  Bentley steps forward, his head cocked down so his eyes bore into mine with surprising softness. None of the hard cruelness that was there last night remains.

  “I should apologize,” he says, pressing one hand over his heart. “From what I’m told, Kingsley can be something of an ass.”

  I snort. “That’s an understatement.”

  A genuine look of frustration plays across Bentley’s face, but before he can apologize further, Price cuts him off.

  “There’s nothing wrong with Kingsley,” he says, gruffly. “He may be an ass, but at least he isn’t a sniveling idiot.”

  “Hold on a second,” I say, looking from one boy to the other. It’s nice that, for once, they’re picking on each other, but it’s more than a little confusing. “What’s going on here?”

  Price waves a flippant hand, but his voice betrays that same anger that darkens the golden color of his eyes.

  “Bentley here has decided to be your knight in shining armor, Thalia.”

  When I don’t say anything, Price leans close enough that I feel spit on my face when he sneers out the next words. “He’s got a fucking crush on you, greenie.” He rolls his eyes and steps back. “Idiot.”

  Bentley blushes at his words, but he doesn’t deny it.

  “What can I say?” He pauses to press one hand to the back of his neck, “I have a thing for girls with dark hair and pretty faces.”

  I thought I knew how this worked. I expected Price and the others to give me a hard time since I’m new . . . but I didn’t expect one of them, least of all Kingsley, now Bentley, to suddenly fall in some sort of puppy-love with me over night.

  “Does that mean you won’t try to lock me in the basement any time soon?”

  Bentley’s eyebrows shoot up in concern, but Price and Ives only darken.

  Price positively grimaces at me. “Soon you won’t be acting so laissez-faire, I can promise you that.”

  The heavy threat in his voice drives me to do something I never once imagined I would do.

  “Laissez-faire?” I say, my hand trembling at the lip of the brown paper bag. “Maybe you’re the one who is
n’t taking this seriously enough. So, let me help you.”

  And with that, and against every former instinct in my body, I re-open the bag and turn the contents upside down over the top of Price’s head.

  I have never heard a room full of people fall so silent.

  Nor have I ever seen rage in a man’s eyes the way I do in Price’s. Spoiled gravy runs down the side of his face, drips onto the lapel of his jacket, and oozes over his left eye . . . and yet he doesn’t even flinch.

  He just stares. Stares with a venom and hate that I know I’m going to regret later.

  Before he or Ives, who has suddenly grown jittery, can murder me where I stand, an announcement rings out overhead. Director Hedgewood’s voice drones out through the crackling intercom, calling all guests and personnel out onto the front lawn.

  Before his voice has stopped rasping, Adelaide slips up behind me and steals me away. On my other side, Jane ducks down and uses the two of us to hide from the boys as we take the opportunity to slip away.

  Unless I’m mistaken, I think I see a look of annoyance on Price’s face before he falls out of sight. I guess he isn’t used to being so easily dismissed.

  I could watch that disappointed look on his face for hours, but I’m not about to lose this opportunity to avoid being banished straight to my bedroom for once. I keep my head ducked out of sight as we pass by orderlies and doctors, but everyone seems too preoccupied to pay me much attention.

  And then we’re passing through the front hall and out onto the porch, and beyond that—sunshine.

  It’s muted, diffused through low-hanging clouds that leave a chill hanging over the grounds, but it’s no less freeing. The fresh air, the sound of birds calling from the distant tress, the crunch of grass underfoot—it’s a near orgasmic experience. For just one second, I’m free of the asylum, free of the voices.

  And then Director Hedgewood steps up onto a recently constructed stage set up on the side lawn and taps one finger on a microphone hastily placed in front of him.

  “Good morning, everyone,” his voice echoes across the grounds, the magnified version following a half-second after his actual voice. I find myself fixating on the black wire winding its way down the microphone stand. It’s like a black snake slithering up from the grass to disappear between his wide, grubby fingers.

  Why are they so grubby?

  I don’t know if it’s the voice, or just me…and really, does it matter? I stare at those sausage-fingers for a second and then blink—and the grime is gone.

  “Good morning,” he repeats a second time as the quiet twitter of voices dies down around us. I’m suddenly aware of how close the bodies are. I think I recognize the boy behind me and try to shuffle a half step away—but there’s nowhere to go. I guess this is what I asked for when I wanted to be out of isolation. I force myself to still and focus back up on the director still struggling to clear his throat up on the stage.

  “As you all know, we’ve been rather short staffed these past weeks…”

  Between the upturned faces around me, I finally spot Craven. He’s moving through the crowd with a determined look.

  He’s probably looking for you.

  If this is what short staffed feels like, I’d hate to know what full-capacity is. After last night, and just these few brief moments here in the near-sunshine, I’ve almost started to reconsider my stance on therapy.

  That stance being an absolute no-go, and my punishment being locked away in my room twenty-three hours a day.

  “…but at long last, we’re ready to announce the reason for all the hullaballoo.”

  I scoff and lean in quickly to Adelaide while the orderly’s head swivels in the direction I used to be. “This guy is a cartoon. Who even talks like that?”

  Adelaide darts me a look and stifles a giggle with the ends of her fingers before quickly shushing me. “Quiet,” she whispers. “I still want to hear.”

  “Which is why I’m so excited to announce Ashford Asylum’s first annual friends and family day!”

  Hedgewood throws up his arms, grinning wide as he waits for the applause that doesn’t come. He’s met, instead, with a crowd of blank faces.

  After a moment of awkward silence muted only by the rustling of the inmates and staff in front of him, he clears his throat and continues—though with decidedly less confidence than before. He leans in close to the microphone and speaks slowly, as if we didn’t hear him the first time around.

  “As—as I said before, in two weeks-time we will be hosting a visitor’s day, an open-house, if you will. Something to demonstrate a show of good faith in the treatment of all residents here at the asylum.”

  “Who’d want to come here to see us?”

  It’s one of the younger boys speaking up from the front of the crowd. I think I’ve seen him before, at breakfast. Unless I’m mistaken, he’s the one who likes to go to town on his big toe when he thinks no one’s watching.

  “What’s the use of a friend’s and family day, then?” He tilts his head to the side and squints up at Hedgewood. “I mean, most of us aren’t even allowed visitors.”

  I have to agree with him.

  I remember what Dr. Silver told me. Kemper was sure to make sure that only he was allowed to contact me here. The only thing that could possibly make being here worse is if Kemper was suddenly here too.

  The director’s face twists into a smirk, as if he’s caught the boy in some sort of fallacy. “Ah, yes, that’s the best part,” he says, licking his lips and leaning in even closer to the microphone. “For the first time, Ashford Asylum will be open to all. For one day only, you may invite whoever you wish to come visit you.”

  The older residents—those who’ve long since lost track of anyone who might care to visit—let out a cynical chuckle. But some of the others like myself, Adelaide, and Jane, exchange glances.

  Whoever you wish.

  I feel a slight tingle at the back of my neck.

  This is it. Your chance. You have friends…and they probably don’t even know that you’re here.

  For once, I appreciate the voice nagging at the back of my mind.

  The boy up front must be determined to ruin this for everyone before it’s even a thing, because he pipes up yet again just as the chatter begins to die down.

  “And you really think that’s a good idea?” He cackles loudly, his head swiveling from side to side. “Have you seen your patients? Have you seen the asylum?”

  He jabs a finger towards the building, and eyes follow in that direction. While most of the crowd looks on at the cracked façade over the front entrance, I catch movement overhead. Someone is stepping away from the edge of a small vine-covered balcony I hadn’t paid much attention to before—perhaps because the vines are long dead, clawing any life out of something that had maybe once been beautiful, much like the rest of the asylum.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Craven finally spot me in the crowd. I know it because he’s suddenly not aimlessly pushing people aside, but rather is moving with purpose—his eyes fixed on me.

  I grab Adelaide by the edge of her uniform and pull her close.

  “I have to go,” I whisper, my eyes cutting over to the orderly. I’d rather not be dragged out of here right now. Not before I have the chance to try and find Dr. Silver. Hedgewood’s announcement has gotten the gears turning in my head. “Cover for me?”

  Before she can reply, I’ve ducked my head and slipped into the crowd. A couple pairs of faces turn wide-eyed to look at me, as if unsure if I’m actually here or not. I keep moving, staying ahead of the annoyed glances as they slowly realize I am, in fact, a real person and not a figure of their imaginations.

  Up on stage, Hedgewood is trying to steer the conversation back towards the details of this upcoming open house day. Whoever was up on the balcony looking down is long gone, but the orderly keeps trailing behind me with a determined look on his face. He never really has forgiven me for stabbing him in the foot that first day.

 
; And I’ve yet to forgive him for that hungry look that comes over him whenever we’re alone.

  I try to spot Silver among the crowd, but he’s impossible to see between the shifting figures. I don’t even know if he’s here today. The doctors have to spend some time away from the Academy, right? Otherwise there’s very little separating us from them. We’re all locked inside these walls, after all.

  It’s a complicated dance, looking for the doctor while trying to stay out of reach of the orderly sure to drag me back up to the suffocating confines of my room. Just thinking about having to go back, it suddenly makes the crowd around me feel like it’s pressing closer. The orderly is getting nearer. The sky itself is pressing down, squeezing me towards an inevitable oblivion inside cracked brick walls.

  And then I see my chance. The orderly is a little too rough with one of the older guests as he tries to move them to the side, but she isn’t having any of it. She throws back her gray-topped head and lets out a howl like a banshee.

  Immediately, all eyes are on her.

  Another orderly starts pushing through the crowd as a second guest beside the gray-haired lady seemingly faints. Now’s my chance.

  I dash away from the crowd and up the front stairs towards the main entrance. I make the mistake of pausing just outside the door to turn back and see if I’m still being followed. I need to find Dr. Silver, but that isn’t going to happen if I’m thrown in my room—or more likely, solitary—at this point.

  As soon as I turn my back to the asylum, however, a hand clamps down on my shoulder and jerks me back into the darkness inside.

  16

  Thalia

  It isn’t another orderly or some ghoulish specter as I wondered for a moment, since quite frankly I don’t know what to expect any more.

  It isn’t even one of the bullies that think they run this asylum, mysteriously absent from the meeting outside.