Asylum

by Amy Cross

  "Maybe," she replies. "I definitely didn't see anyone, but..." She pauses. "Stand up," she says.

  I take a deep breath and, realizing there's no point arguing, I get to my feet. "These drugs they've got me on," I say as she starts washing my legs. "Are they known to cause hallucinations?"

  "No," she replies. She washes my knees in silence for a moment. "You're not the first person to have seen something in that room though," she says, moving behind me and starting to wash my buttocks.

  "Other people have seen the same thing?" I ask.

  "More or less," she says.

  "Let me guess," I reply. "Always on the third night?"

  "Sometimes," she says, sliding the sponge between my legs and washing my crotch. She pushes it up over my pubic hair for a moment, and she seems to take an extra moment to scrub me clean as her wrist touches the lips of my vagina. "It's probably just superstition," she says, continuing to clean me.

  I stand and wait for her to be finished. She's definitely taking longer with certain parts of my body than with others, but eventually she goes over to the sink and wrings the sponge out. "I'm done," she says, not looking at me.

  I stand there, naked and wet, not sure what I'm supposed to do next. "Do you think I hallucinated?" I ask. "Or do you think -"

  "Don't talk about it," she says suddenly, still not looking at me. "That's my advice. Just don't talk about it. It probably won't happen again. Just keep quiet." She looks over at me. "Just don't do anything to attract Nurse Winter's attention," she says. "That's the most important lesson you can learn while you're here."

  She comes over and grabs a shower nozzle from the wall, turning it on and spraying my head. She briefly rubs in some shampoo, before spraying me again and then ushering me out of the bath. She grabs a towel and puts it in my hands, and I dry myself while she cleans up the sink. It's not easy, with my hands still handcuffed, but I just about manage the job.

  "Who's Nurse Winter?" I ask.

  "Haven't you met her yet?" she replies.

  I shake my head. "I've heard her mentioned a lot. People seem scared of her."

  "That might very well be the case," Nurse Perry says. "Are you dry?"

  I nod, and she comes over to slip a fresh night-dress over my body.

  "Is Nurse Winter really so bad?" I ask. "I mean, she's not the boss -"

  "Please stop it!" Nurse Perry semi-shouts at me. She catches herself, seemingly a little shocked by her outburst. "I'm sorry," she says, "this is an inappropriate conversation. I should never have said anything, I just..." She pauses. "I just think it would be good for you to avoid antagonizing Nurse Winter as much as possible. That means not asking questions, and it means doing what you're told and moving through this place and out the other end as quickly as possible. Okay?"

  "I guess," I say as she leads me back through to the other room.

  "Get back on the trolley, please," she says.

  I look at the restraints. "Do I have to?" I ask.

  She nods. "I'm sure you'll be allowed up in a few hours, but for now, you have to be restrained, just in case there are any more incidents. I don't have the necessary authority to set you free just yet." She waits for me to comply. "Trust me," she adds. "I promise, you'll be free soon."

  Figuring that I don't have much choice, I climb onto the trolley and wait while she reattaches the restraints. When she's done, she pauses as if she wants to say something. I wait, and finally she looks at me. "Last night. When I..." She pauses again. "Did you like it? And... the bath?"

  I stare up at her. "Not really," I say.

  She nods. "Okay," she says, turning and hurrying away across the room. I watch as she goes back behind the glass window. She starts writing in some kind of book, and although I keep staring at her, she doesn't look up at me, not once. It's as if she's offended that I said I didn't like being kissed by her, or maybe just disappointed, or embarrassed. Either way, I'll be glad to get off this trolley as soon as possible. I want to get back to the ward and ask Kirsten a few questions.

  Chapter Six

  "So you killed your own brother?" Kirsten asks later that day, as we're standing in the recreation room waiting for our pills to be handed out.

  "It's not how it sounds," I reply. "Just leave it."

  Several hours ago, I was let out of the restraints after Dr. Campbell returned from speaking to Nurse Winter. He said that I'd have to be tied up again if there was any hint of another 'incident', but he said that both he and Nurse Winter had come to the conclusion that there was nothing to worry about. I wasn't sorry to get out of there, and to see the back - for now, at least - of Nurse Perry, but it took me a few more hours to find Kirsten. It turns out she'd been at some kind of day session where she was supposed to be talking about her feelings.

  "Everything here is bullshit," she says as she takes her pills from the orderly.

  "That's the impression I've got," I say, taking my own pills and staring at them in the palm of my hand. There are three: two purple capsules, and a round white tablet.

  "Swallow," says the orderly.

  I swallow the pills, washing them down with a cup of water. As I do so, another patient walks past and spits straight in my face.

  "Nice," says Kirsten, watching as the guy shuffles away.

  "Do you think that was on purpose?" I ask, wondering whether I was targeted because of who I am and what I did, or whether some people in this place just like spitting on others.

  "You're gonna have to talk about it sooner or later," says Kirsten. "It might help to practice on me before you go to your first group therapy session." Although she seems to be about the same age as me, perhaps a year or two older at most, there's a kind of calm, natural authority about Kirsten, and - rightly or wrongly - I'm starting to trust her.

  "Maybe," I say, "but I just..." I pause. "I don't want to," I say finally. It's really as simple as that. I'm starting to feel calm again after such a long period of chaos, and the last thing I want to do is destabilize myself again by talking about things that should stay in the past. I want a little holiday from myself. I'm sure it won't last forever, but even just a day or two like this would be good.

  "Okay," says Kirsten, stopping me and giving me a stern look. "There's something you have to know about this place." She takes a deep breath. "What you do or don't want to do... doesn't really matter very much around here. All that matters is what the rules say, and the rules say you have to attend a group therapy session in the next couple of days, where you'll be forced to spill the beans about where you come from." She stares at me, as if she's determined to make sure that I understand the weight of her words. "You have no choice. No fucking choice whatsoever. So you need to get your story straight. You need to work out how you're going to put the best spin on your deepest, darkest secrets." She pauses. "Tell me, then. Tell me your absolutely worst secret."

  I stare at her, feeling a little as if I'm a deer caught in the headlights. "I killed my brother," I say. There. That's it. Simple, huh?

  "Why?" she asks.

  "Because he deserves to die," I say. "Because he needed to die."

  "How old was he?"

  I pause. "Seven."

  "Seven?" she repeats, shocked.

  "Seven," I say.

  "Seven years old?"

  I nod.

  "Well... fuck me," she says. "How old are you?"

  "Twenty-one."

  "How'd you do it?"

  "I shot him."

  "In the head?"

  I nod again.

  She stares at me for a moment. "You shot your seven-year-old brother in the head?" She stares a little longer. "There has got to be a good story about that. Why'd you shoot your own fucking brother?"

  "I had a good reason," I say.

  "Go on."

  "Just a reason," I continue. "I had a reason. A good reason. It's... complicated. It's very complicated."

  "No kidding," she says. It's almost as if she's excited about the fact that I killed my brother. "Come on!"
she says. "You have to tell me all the details!"

  "I don't," I say. "I really don't."

  "But you must have had a reason."

  "I must have," I say, "but I don't want to talk about it."

  "Why not?"

  "Because you'll think I'm insane!" I say firmly, raising my voice a little too much. I look around and see that several other patients have started listening to our conversation. Grabbing Kirsten by the shoulder, I pull her into the corner of the room, away from all the prying ears. "I don't want to talk about it," I say, "because I haven't got it all worked out in my head yet."

  She stares at me. I can tell that she's recalibrating her impression of me. She's trying to decide whether I'm (a) a misunderstood girl who had a good reason to do something horrific, or (b) a psycho bitch who gunned down her seven-year-old brother. I wouldn't blame her if she assumed the latter. In fact, I'd find it pretty weird if she just accepted my claim that there was a reason I had to do what I did. But eventually, she smiles and seems to come around to my way of thinking. "Cool," she says. "Whatever you say. I like you. I believe you. So it's cool."

  I take a deep breath, glad that the situation seems to be defused. For now, at least. I know that sooner or later (probably sooner), I'll have to open up about what happened. After all, when you tell people that you shot your little brother, it's not surprising that they have a few questions. It's just that I know I can't explain everything easily, not in a few soundbites. To understand what I did, and why I did it, and why it was necessary, you'd need to have walked a while in my shoes, to have seen the things I've seen. I don't know how to put it into words. Not yet, anyway. I need to talk to someone, but it has to be the right person.

  "You're pretty cool, Annie," Kirsten says eventually, a small smile on her lips. "Annie what, anyway? What's your surname?"

  "Radford," I say.

  "Annie Radford," she says, nodding. "Yeah. I like that. I'll take that. Annie Radford's a cool name."

  "Thanks. What's -" I start to say, but I shut up as I see the guard from earlier walking past us. I don't want to draw attention to us; I don't want him to even notice me. For a moment, I'm reminded of the nausea I felt when he was manhandling me earlier. The thought of being in that position again fills me with dread. I just want to keep to the sides of all the rooms, to pass unnoticed by the assholes who work here; I just want to get out as fast as possible, even if that takes years and years and years.

  "I wish I could help," Kirsten says.

  "It's fine," I reply.

  "It's not fine," she says. "This place does things to you. It messes with your head." She pauses, as if she's trying to work out how to phrase something important. "How was your third night?"

  "Interesting," I say cautiously, not sure about where she's planning to take this conversation.

  "Interesting?" she says, seeming amused by my answer. "Is that all? Jesus fucking Christ, I wish my third night here was just 'interesting' instead of..." She pauses. "Look around this room."

  I do what she says. There are a dozen people scattered about, each of them seemingly engaged in their own private little world. They're all wearing white robes, and it's pretty obvious that they all have serious mental problems.

  "Every single one of these fuckers is certifiably insane," Kirsten says. "They're all on drugs that are supposed to keep them subdued. And every single one of them, on their third night here, saw something that none of us are supposed to see."

  "What?" I ask.

  "You tell me," she says. "What did you see?"

  I turn to her. "Nothing," I say, "but apparently I started shouting in the night."

  "Go on," Kirsten says, apparently fascinated by my story.

  "Apparently I woke up and thought there was a man standing over my bed. Some kind of bloodied man. I don't know, it sounds crazy. I don't remember it, but Nurse Perry swears it happened."

  Kirsten nods slowly. "Typical," she says. "That's a typical third night encounter. There are things that live here, in the shadows. I don't know what they are. Ghosts or whatever. But they seem to live by certain rules. They leave new patients alone until the third night, and then the burned guy shows up and just kind of lightly freaks everyone out. That's the first manifestation. The second usually comes a night or two later, that's the sleep paralysis. And then there are the other incidents. That's when it gets serious. That's when people start really flipping out." She leans in close and whispers into my ear. "That's when the meds get hitched up a little, to compensate for the madness."

  "I'm sure I'll be fine," I say. "I really don't believe in ghosts."

  Kirsten laughs. "Then I guess they'll leave you alone," she says. She pats me on the shoulder. "I have to go take a dump. I'll see you in a bit. We can go look at the gardens if you like." She turns to walk away, and then she pauses and looks back to me. "Remember to keep quiet. Nurse Winter isn't very friendly. Don't attract her attention."

  "I still haven't seen her," I say.

  "Good," Kirsten says, looking worried for a moment. "Just stay off her radar and you'll be considerably better off than the rest of us."

  "You make her sound like a monster," I say.

  "I know," she replies. "That's on purpose." She turns and walks away across the recreation room, leaving me standing by the window. It's strange, but during the day things seems a lot less scary. I dread nightfall, when even the strongest mind can start to worry that there are unknown spirits stalking the rooms. Somehow, I have to survive this place and get out the other side. I still have so much to do when I'm free again, so many apologies to make, as well as a few scores to settle. I don't want any drama while I'm here; I just want to get through the days, weeks, months, and years until I'm allowed back out into the civilized world.

  I have to make people understand why I killed my brother.

  Chapter Seven

  "It was the wallpaper," he says, staring straight ahead with sweat dripping down his forehead. He's huge; he must weigh at least four hundred pounds, but he's young, perhaps even younger than me. If I had to bet, I'd say he's still a teenager. But he has glazed eyes, and an almost blank tone of voice, and he sits hunched over on his chair. I don't think he's made eye contact with anyone else in the group, not even Dr. Campbell. "At first," he continues, "I thought it was... behind the wallpaper. And then I thought it was in front of the wallpaper. And then I realized it... was the wallpaper."

  There's a pause as we all wait to see if he's finished. There are six of us in the group, plus Dr. Campbell. A guard is standing over by the door, ready to jump in if one of us becomes aggressive. So far, though, aggression seems to be the last thing on anyone's mind. Frankly, I'm probably the most awake person here; the others all seem borderline catatonic.

  "And then the scorpions came..." says Dr. Campbell, gently nudging Mark to continue.

  Mark nods, still not looking at any of us. He wipes his brow against the back of his hand. "They came out of the wallpaper," he says. "They stung me."

  Dr. Campbell clears his throat. "Mark, how would you react if I told you that there were no scorpions? Because... that is, in fact, the truth."

  Mark shakes his head.

  "But if you were to accept that they're not real," Dr. Campbell continues, "then do you think there could be an alternative explanation?"

  "If they're not real," Mark says, "then where did they come from?"

  "Okay," says Dr. Campbell, writing something on a chart that's attached to his clipboard.

  "The burned man saw them too," Mark says.

  "That's fine for today, Mark," Dr. Campbell says firmly, clearly wanting to end Mark's contribution to the group session.

  "But he saw them!" Mark continues, turning to look straight at Dr. Campbell. "He told me he saw them!"

  "You saw the burned man?" I say. It's the first time I've said anything during the session so far; in fact, it's the first time anyone has said anything other than Mark and Dr. Campbell.

  "Annie," Dr. Campbell says, turni
ng to me. "Why don't you tell the group about your own story? What road brought you to us?"

  "I want to talk about the -"

  "We're talking about you now," Dr. Campbell says. "That's because it's your turn."

  "Mark -"

  "I saw him in the mirror -" Mark says, a desperate look in his eyes.

  "It's not Mark's turn anymore," Dr. Campbell says firmly, and I can tell there's no point arguing with him. I don't want him to start thinking I'm difficult or aggressive. Damn it, though; I wish Kirsten was here. She'd back me up.

  "It's okay," Mark says.

  "It's not okay," Dr. Campbell says. He sounds a little angry now. "Are we going to get this session back on track?"

  Mark takes a series of deep breaths. "Can I just say one thing?" he asks.

  Dr. Campbell sighs. "Go ahead."

  "I saw him in the mirror," Mark says. "All his skin was burned off, and his -"

  "That's enough," Dr. Campbell says, interrupting. "One more word about this and I'll get Nurse Winter to come and take over the session. Is that what you all want? Frankly, I think she might decide to take some of you away for special treatment. Do you really want to take that risk?"

  It's weird, but I can immediately see the fear in the faces of all the other patients. It's as if the mere mention of Nurse Winter's name is enough to crush them all, and to make them all retreat into their shells. Whoever this Nurse Winter is, she's obviously made sure that everyone in this hospital is terrified of her.

  "Good," says Dr. Campbell. "Now. Annie?"

  "I killed my little brother," I say. I look around at the other members of the group. They're all carefully avoiding looking at me, but I know they're listening. The only one who's staring straight at me is Dr. Campbell, even though I guess he's read my files and knows exactly what happened. "I know what you're thinking," I continue, "but I had a really good reason. And I know what you're thinking now, which is that you think I'm nuts, but I'm not. And I definitely know what you're thinking now, and it's what I'd be thinking too if I was in your position. But I really did have to kill him, for the sake of the world. If I hadn't..." I pause, letting my words sink in. "If I hadn't," I continue, taking a deep breath, "he would have become too dangerous."