Committed

by Velvet Vaughn

  She sure as hell didn’t act like an engaged woman. One minute she ogled him like he was a piece of filet mignon after a forty-day fast, and the next she all but climbed his body like a human spider. She was just another rich bitch like Amanda, getting her kicks playing with the lowly security guard, all the while planning to marry a peer of her realm, an equally wealthy prince charming.

  He grunted. Not that he would ever apply for the job. He didn’t plan to marry again, ever. And sure, he initiated the kiss, but he couldn’t help himself. As soon as they started skimming through the files, she gathered her long mane of dark curls into a haphazard bun and secured it with a pencil of all things. Stray locks brushed against her long, slender neck and his heart twisted at the one honey blond tendril that obviously escaped the dye. Then she got all flustered when he accused her of being a snob.

  If he were to be totally honest with himself, he didn’t really think she was stuck-up. A haughty woman wouldn’t be standing here next to him, searching for information on her missing friend. Amanda sure as hell never would have allowed herself to be committed. She wouldn’t have stepped foot inside an insane asylum for any reason.

  Pushing all thoughts of Rachel from his mind, he got back to the job at hand. They worked side by side, scanning through the files that had been painstakingly alphabetized.

  "Nothing," she grumped an hour later, shoving the last drawer closed. "There isn’t one piece of information on Molly."

  Or on Donelle or Kimmie or any of the other girls who disappeared recently, but he didn’t mention those to her.

  He scratched his chin. "And that’s the problem."

  "What do you mean?"

  He waved a hand in the air, indicating the files. "Every patient who has been admitted and discharged is here. Look." He whipped open a drawer and pulled out a manila folder. "Burton Ange," he read, "admitted on July 27, diagnosed as paranoid schizophrenic, died on October 2 of suicide." He jammed the file back in place and pulled open a different drawer. "Bernice Feldman, admitted August 16, diagnosed as depressed, cured and released on December 15." He withdrew yet another file. "Sherri Roll, admitted in 1999, diagnosed with bipolar disorder, left the facility in 2000."

  Rachel’s eyes widened in horror as realization dawned. "The only reason a file wouldn’t be here was if they had something to hide."

  "Exactly," he acknowledged grimly.

  #

  "She’s gone."

  "What?"

  "Kellie Mead is gone," the man repeated.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Unless she has the power to appear and disappear at will, then yes, I’m sure."

  "I know for a fact she was there this afternoon. Where could she possibly be?"

  "Dunno," the man said, dropping into a chair and crossing a foot over the opposite knee. "But I can tell you where she ain’t, and that’s room 220."

  "Impossible."

  The man shot to his feet. "Are you calling me a liar? I just came from her room."

  "No, no, sit down. Dammit, I knew we should have taken her last night."

  "It was too soon," a third person said. "We didn’t have everything in place. We will just have to postpone until tomorrow night."

  "I detest waiting. Find out what happened to her tomorrow."

  And whoever was responsible for her disappearance would pay dearly.

  Chapter Fourteen

  "I can get up by myself," Rachel insisted to the nurse she didn’t recognize. The woman gave no indication that she heard. She manhandled her to her feet and clasped her arm. "I don’t need help…what are you doing?"

  April sprung from her bed. "Where are you taking her?"

  "You go on down and check the schedule and then eat your breakfast, April," the nurse instructed. "Miss Mead has been scheduled for a meeting this morning with Dr. Bexley."

  Rachel glanced from April’s worried gaze to the nurse. "Meeting? No one told me about an appointment yesterday. What is it about?"

  "That’s between you and the doctor," the nurse responded. "Go on now, April, get dressed."

  She gave April an encouraging smile over her shoulder when she felt anything but calm. What kind of tests could they possibly want to run now? They poked and prodded her enough last time for three people.

  The nurse led her to the cafeteria and walked her through the line. She gathered tasteless food on her tray and dug through the fruit bowl until she found a decent apple. Sitting alone at a table, she barely managed a few bites, her stomach in turmoil.

  The nurse reappeared fifteen minutes later to escort her to the doctor’s office. She still wasn’t sure which Bexley she would be seeing, but soon discovered it would be Oscar, the psychiatrist. The nurse escorted her to one of the two wingback chairs in front of the fireplace and then departed.

  Glancing around the space, she tried to calm her nerves. Her heart pounded and she couldn’t seem to sit still. Why was she here? Had Oscar Bexley discovered her true identity?

  She scanned the wall of bookcases overflowing with technical-looking manuals, the expensive furnishings in leather and wood, the leafy green plants. The office exuded wealth. She turned at the sound of heels clicking across the floor. Dr. Kathleen Butler entered instead of Dr. Bexley.

  The woman took the seat across from her and placed her hands on a file in her lap.

  "May I call you Kellie?"

  She wasted no time with meaningless banter. Rachel appreciated that. She nodded.

  "Kellie, the reason you are here is that complaints have been lodged against you."

  "Complaints," she repeated. "Who…"

  "I won’t divulge the names, they aren’t important. What is imperative is that we address these issues and resolve them so that you are allowed to utilize the expert services of the Bexley Institute on your way to recovery."

  Dr. Butler flipped the folder open. "The nature of this complaint is for aggressive behavior. One patient felt physically threatened by you, that you meant to do them harm. Do you recall the incident I am talking about?"

  Dumbfounded, she slowly shook her head. She had absolutely no clue what Dr. Butler was talking about.

  Dr. Butler pinned her with a narrowed gaze. "Do you recall calling someone, and I quote, a ‘bitch’?"

  Ah, Harley. She called her that name after Harley sent Lizzy crying from the lounge. "I only said that because—"

  "So you do recall the incident." Dr. Butler scribbled on her notepad.

  "No, that’s not what happened."

  Dr. Butler eyed her. "I have two complaints and two separate eye witness accounts that say you caused one person to flee in hysterics and confronted another in an openly aggressive and hostile manner. Are you denying this incident happened?"

  "I’m denying that it happened the way you said. I did not cause anyone to flee but I did call the person responsible a bitch. However, I did not do so hostilely or aggressively."

  "So you are saying the people who filed the complaint and the eye witnesses are liars." Dr. Butler scribbled more notes in the chart.

  Suddenly the door slammed against the wall with a bang. Jen stalked into the room, her eyes blazing with fury. She barked, "What the hell is going on here? Why wasn’t I informed of this meeting?"

  Dr. Butler calmly stood and faced Jen. "This is none of your concern, Ms. Palmer. You have no reason to be here today."

  Jen draped a hand on Rachel’s shoulder and squeezed. "Are you okay?" she asked with genuine concern.

  Rachel gave a relieved nod. She was better now with her case worker by her side.

  Jen pinned Dr. Butler with a glare. "Any time one of my patients is examined, I sit in on the session. Dr. Bexley has agreed to that."

  "This is not an examination," Dr. Butler corrected. She crossed her arms, the file still in her grip. "We have two complaints lodged against Ms. Mead. I am here to listen to her side of the story and make sure she does not disrupt the other patients."

  Rachel found that statement funny since Dr. Butler didn
’t seem to have any interest in her side of the story at all.

  Dr. Butler resettled in her chair and ignored Jen. "We foster an environment of acceptance and tolerance at the Bexley Institute. We must juggle fragile egos with the utmost care. If someone comes in and upsets that delicate balance, we take the necessary steps to eliminate the problem."

  A shiver ran down Rachel’s spine. She did not like how the woman used the word "eliminate."

  "I’m sure there has been some kind of misunderstanding," Jen insisted.

  "I am the licensed doctor," Dr. Butler reminded her with thinly veiled hostility. "I will make that determination. Please wait outside."

  Jen looked at Rachel. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

  At her grateful nod, Jen pulled up a chair and parked next to her, providing a unified front.

  Dr. Butler smiled tightly, inclined her head and gritted out, "Very well." She spread the file in her lap. "You were briefed when you arrived, so you have been advised of the rules of the Bexley Institute, correct, Kellie?"

  She had been briefed, but instead of listening to the do’s and don’ts, she strategized ways to gather information on Molly. She didn’t plan on ruffling any feathers so she assumed she would not need to learn the rules. Still, she nodded.

  "Thank you for your honesty. You will be allowed to lodge a rebuttal claim, if you wish. It would simply be your side of the story. We would include it in your permanent file."

  Dr. Butler snapped the folder closed. "Your recreational privileges are hereby suspended for a period of one week. You will not be allowed to leave your room. Meals will be brought to you and you will not interact with other patients during that time period. Do you understand?"

  "But I didn’t do anything," Rachel pleaded. If they locked her away, not allowing her to talk to anyone else, she would never find out about Molly. She turned to Jen for help.

  Jen patted her hand reassuringly. "I’m sorry, Kellie, those are the rules." She glared at Dr. Butler. "But I will speak with Dr. Bexley and see if I can at least get your sentence reduced."

  Dr. Butler’s condescending smile did not reach her eyes. "Dr. Bexley has given me the authority to outline treatment as I see fit. He will stand by my decision."

  Dismissing Jen, she addressed Rachel. "Ms. Mead, we do not run a prison here. Your acceptance to the facility is not a sentence, but a privilege. Dr. Bexley and his brother are exceptionally generous with their time and services.

  "Because of your limited resources, you are not being asked to pay for your room, board or medical care," she continued. "We turn no one away because they can’t afford treatment. In fact, we have several patients who have found that this is not the place for them and they leave. We don’t demand that you stay until you are better but we do ask that while you are here, you are respectful of the rules and your fellow patients. If you feel that this punishment is unfair, you are free to walk out the door at any time."

  So it was either be locked away or kicked out. Neither scenario was ideal, but if she had to choose, she would pick being locked away. She could always sneak out or use April and Ben to help. She looked at Jen. Could she trust her with her secret, too?

  Dr. Butler motioned someone in the doorway. "Nurse Lois will escort you to your room." With a brisk nod, she left.

  "Please come with me, Ms. Mead."

  "Can I have one minute with my patient, Lois?" Jen asked.

  The woman nodded and backed away.

  "It won’t be bad, I promise," Jen soothed. "You won’t be completely alone. Though she’s not much company, April will be with you."

  "I didn’t do what I’ve been accused of," she insisted. It was important that Jen understood that about her. She was not a troublemaker.

  "Do you want to file a counter-complaint?"

  "What would happen?"

  "You would meet with a panel of doctors and board members. They would hear your side of the story and I’m assuming Harley’s?" At Rachel’s confirmation, she continued. "A recommendation would be reached from there. You could have your record wiped clean and punishment lifted." She paused for effect. "Or you could face an even greater sentence, possibly expulsion from the facility."

  Rachel considered the situation. She did not want to draw attention to herself. She needed to find out about Molly and then get out. She already had April and Ben’s assistance, but Jen might have files or access to information they didn’t.

  "I guess I won’t file a rebuttal," she decided.

  "That’s probably wise," Jen agreed.

  "Do you have some time? I really need to talk to you."

  Jen eyed her watch. "I’m sorry, I have to go. I just stopped by to check on you when I heard about this meeting. I will be back in two days and we can talk then, okay?"

  "Is there any way you can come tomorrow?"

  "Honey, I would if I could, but I voluntarily counsel all day at two different women’s shelters. But, I’ll tell you what, if I can slip away, I will."

  She felt guilty for asking Jen to take time from her altruistic efforts to listen to her problems. "No please don’t. I can wait until the day after tomorrow."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Well then, I will see you in two days. And listen, Kellie, I don’t think you will have to worry about spending the week isolated in your room." Jen slid her coat over her arms and buttoned it. "I can already see a marked improvement in your behavior and demeanor since the first time we talked." She flipped her hair out from the collar and adjusted the sleeves. "You will be out of here in no time."

  With a warm hug, she left. The nurse guided Rachel down a different wing than the one she shared with April. Alarmed, she indicated the other direction and said, "My room is that way."

  "Your punishment requires that you be placed in isolation," the nurse explained.

  "Isolated? Dr. Butler didn’t say anything about a new room."

  "I am just following instructions."

  Her eyes darted around the floor, desperately searching for Ben or April but she saw neither. She needed to get a message to them, explain what happened and where she would be staying.

  Peter glanced up from emptying a trash bin as they passed. She didn’t even notice the scars anymore. She flashed him a smile. He returned it warmly.

  Then she spotted Harley.

  She couldn’t believe she ever felt sorry for the woman. Maybe Harley didn’t mask her insecurities by using anger…maybe she was just an evil bitch.

  Harley bared her teeth, her laugh victorious. She whispered to Lizzy and pointed. Lizzy’s vacant gaze passed right through Rachel.

  Harley probably bullied Lizzy and the supposed witnesses to cooperate with her scheme, but she would not give her the satisfaction of thinking she had won. Smiling, she gave a jaunty wave. "Hi Harley, Lizzy. I like the color, Harley," she said, indicating her own head. Today, Harley’s trademark mohawk sported a lime green tint.

  "Hi," Lizzy squeaked as she brushed Virginia’s hair. Pure hatred filled Harley’s scowl.

  The nurse stopped in front of a door and guided her inside. Sparsely furnished with only a bed and small nightstand, the room was half the size of the one she shared with April. They expected her to spend a week in here? She would go crazy, no pun intended.

  "Lois?"

  An orderly handed Lois a tray and they conversed quietly.

  "Go ahead and get comfortable on the bed," Lois instructed.

  Rachel sat down and swung her legs onto the mattress. The nurse walked over and arranged the tray on the nightstand. She picked up a syringe.

  Panic swelled. "I already took my medication this morning."

  "This is a new prescription for aggressive behavior."

  "No," she protested.

  "You will take the medication the doctors have approved, Ms. Mead." The nurse made a grab for her arm but she scooted back against the headboard, tucking her arms firmly around her waist.

  "I don’t want a shot. I have Belonephobia,"
she contended, using the excuse that worked with Tia.

  Lois reached for her again but she fought her off.

  The nurse withdrew what looked like a beeper from her pocket and pressed a button. Within seconds, a male attendant rushed into the room and grabbed her arm. Lois shot her with the needle and her muscles instantly relaxed.

  "Make a note that this patient is belligerent."

  She wanted to scream, protest, tell them she was not belligerent, she wasn’t even crazy. She didn’t belong here. But the darkness closed in and everything went black.

  #

  By late afternoon Ben’s frustrations reached the boiling point. He hadn’t been able to locate Rachel all day.

  He fingered the package in his pocket, purchased from an early morning trip to the drug store. A home pregnancy test. He meant to go last night after meeting Jake, but the unexpected news about her engagement threw him for a loop.

  He tossed and turned in bed for hours after their late night explorations, debating whether or not to buy the test. Did he really want to know if Rachel carried J. Edwin Farnsworth’s baby? She said she hadn’t had sex in years, but after seeing that engagement picture, he doubted her claim.

  In the end, her peace of mind mattered most, so he jogged to a store and purchased the kit. He discarded the box in the receptacle outside the store, keeping the little blue stick. He read the instructions and knew what they were looking for: blue positive, pink negative.

  But first he had to find her.

  Under the guise of making rounds, he strolled past her room hoping to catch her, only to do a double take. Dr. Harmon Sloane stood inside, legs spread, arms crossed over his chest. His demeanor appeared both threatening and overbearing. Noting April’s pained expression, he stepped in to diffuse the situation. The tension could be cut with a knife.

  He was surprised to discover Dr. Sloane was April’s stepfather. Both looked relieved to see him.

  Using his appearance to depart, Sloane offered a curt good-bye to April and ushered Ben away chatting about security concerns. He wanted to ditch the man but played the political game, nodding when appropriate. He only half-listened. He wanted to go back and question April but judging by the distress on her face, he didn’t want to upset her further.