by Anne Pleydon
Left In Good Spirits
Merivale Series Book One
by Anne Pleydon
Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2019 Anne Pleydon
E-Book ISBN: 978-1-9991737-0-8
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the author and publisher.
Photo Cover: Matt Jacques
Acknowledgements
Thank you to my partner in crime, Matt, who was there from the beginning.
Thank you to Diane Sénécal, Patricia Fox, and Matt Jacques for your invaluable feedback during the writing process.
For everyone with promises to keep
and places to leave
Chapter 1
“YOUR HUSBAND IS READY to leave hospital tomorrow. You must be excited,” the nurse says to the dark-haired woman sitting in the chair next to the sleeping patient.
The woman looks up from her laptop. “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
The nurse picks up the tray of untouched food. “That must be very important.”
The dark-haired woman nods. “Yes, it’s work. Thank you, Melissa.”
“What sort of work do you do?”
“I’m a prison psychologist.”
“You’d think those folks would wait for you. They have all the time in the world, don’t they?”
“There are things happening there. I just received an email. They’re dumping a student on me. It’s like they’re punishing me for something.”
Melissa furrows her brow and glances at the patient’s face. He is awake. “You approve of this?” she asks.
He smiles. “She’s always worked.”
The psychologist jumps up from her chair and sits on the edge of the hospital bed. She whispers, “Tomorrow morning.” The nurse watches as they clasp hands.
“Yes,” he says.
Melissa says, “It’s been a pleasure, Daniel. Hopefully, you never have to visit us again.”
“No,” he says, looking at his wife’s face. “We’ve agreed.”
Melissa moves closer to take her patient’s vitals. As she places the cuff around his arm, she hears the psychologist say, “I don’t know what to do about taking time off. I have all of these reports due for Court.”
Daniel sighs. “I know you need to do what you need to do. But, let’s leave. We can go on a little trip somewhere.”
The psychologist shakes her head. “You’re right. I just have a few things. I’ll go in this weekend and wrap things up and be done with them.”
Melissa removes the blood pressure cuff as the dark haired woman says to both of them, “I need coffee. I’ll go get some and be back.”
The nurse follows the psychologist out of the room and calls after her, “I hope you know how much we all love your husband. He will be missed.”
The psychologist turns on her heel and returns to Melissa. “Everyone loves him. He has a good heart. He is a good man.”
“You know, we could not figure out what you do. You’re always so busy with work. I never would have guessed.”
“I’m a workaholic. Admitting your problems is the first step, right?” she jokes, but her smile does not reach her eyes.
The nurse pauses and then says, “Life is short. Work is work. Family is everything.”
“I know. I’ve always said I’m my best self at work. I like the person I am there. I don’t fall short there, you know?”
“I see.”
“I know, I know. I hear myself. It’s crazy. But, I don’t think about anything when I’m there. Nothing. It’s been an escape. I’m not good at the people stuff outside of there. I don’t know what he gets out of being with me …” and her voice breaks.
Melissa touches her arm. “You’ll figure it out. But you need to be at home right now.”
“I will. I will be. Thank you. I’m just tired. I can’t believe I went on and on. Thank you,” the psychologist says, her dark eyes moist. “Tell all the staff. We will never forget what you’ve done for us.”
Melissa bows her head and says, “You’re welcome.” But something in her mouth tightens as she watches the psychologist rush off toward the cafeteria.
Chapter 2
OUTSIDE THE JAIL stands an obvious victim of incorrect pruning at some point early in life. The tall coniferous tree is a slender figure with an extra long right arm that is waving a welcome or a good-bye depending on which way a visitor drives along the campus road.
The psychology graduate student sits in her red Toyota in the parking lot. She has been still with her hands on the wheel for approximately 10 minutes. She breathes slow, big breaths. She watches the tree wave at her. She wants to wait until 8:57am so she can arrive inside the building promptly at 9am. A sheriff’s van pulls slowly behind her. The deputy gives her a look that makes her glance quickly at her face in the review mirror. Then she looks ahead and sees for the first time the sign ahead of her that says Reserved. The student takes no time to pull her car out of the spot and find a space at the back of the lots. She steps out of her car and gathers her black attaché case with shoulder strap. She adjusts her black cardigan and light blue blouse over her ill-fitting bra and soft middle. She has the black chunk cheap shoe, the polyester black dress pant, and the button down shirt left out so tails show underneath the cardigan. It is the classic psychology grad student uniform. Her hair is blonde, limp, and lifeless. She pushes her black framed glasses atop her nose.
She walks across the parking lot toward the front doors of the main rectangular shaped building. It has cement walls and red aluminum roof. She can see there are adjoining buildings beside and beyond the main building. These additional buildings look octagonal shaped with similar walls and roof. She notices how quiet it is with only the occasional car passing along the highway down the road. There seems to be nothing but unkempt fields for miles around. She turns her head and sees that the Sheriff’s van does not take her spot after all. Rather, it noses up to the doors at the right end of main building. The deputy hops out of the van and pauses to watch her as she looks away and approaches the front, central doors. Although the deputy looks at her for only for a moment, she feels she is still being watched by him and maybe by other eyes from behind those tinted van windows and from the buildings, too. She is conscious that she is a plain girl. Her gait is heavy and she is broad shouldered. She straightens and makes an effort to walk with confidence.
The student yanks hard on the front door and enters the reception area. The walls are painted beige. There are a couple chairs and pamphlets next to the door. There is a large fake plant in the corner. The reception area is poorly lit and it looks as though no one has ever sat there. Immediately in front of her is a large, dimly lit control area with paned glass from counter to ceiling with a small circled window cut out and a thin open slot below. The computer monitors and blinking lights are sharp and bright in this dark display. To the left of the control room is a glass door leading into the facility.
From the shadows, behind the glass, the student sees a rusty haired man with horse-shoe patterned baldness and a taut stomach. He stands in front of the monitors with his hand resting on his colleague’s chair. The man sitting in front of monitors is a younger dark haired, thin younger man with a stern face, hard eyes, and a goatee. The light from the screens casts shadows across their faces. The grad student hears what to her sounds a heated discus
sion about something or someone that has irritated them. She stands in the front of the window. She senses the rusty haired man notices her immediately but he is slow to straighten and acknowledge her. He sighs audibly at his colleague and says, “Maybe they should put it in an email? I don’t think I receive enough emails.” He gestures at the graduate student.“Oh should I get this, too? Is there anything else you’d like me to take care of in this goddamn place? How ‘bout I take out the garbage? Oh wait. I do that, too. Christ.” He walks over to the glass, but then turns his head again and says to his colleague, “209 days.” The goateed staff smirks.
Finally, the rusty haired man turns to face the grad student. His face is stone as she feels his gaze envelop her and dismiss her all at once. He says, “Yes, miss?”
“Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Halpin?”
“Who?”
The grad student pauses and feels immediately as though she has made some sort of mistake. She says, “Dr. Kenny Halpin?”
“Oh. Alright. Let’s see here.” He runs his finger along some paper taped on the counter. “The extension for the Mental Health Unit is ... goddamn it. This is why I’m never up here. Christ. It’s still got Dr. Landry on here. When’s that from?”
The goateed staff does not look away from the monitor and fumbles with a knob. “Ten years ago, probably.”
The rusty haired man cradles the phone to his ear and punches at the buttons on the phone. “Doctor,” he says in a voice that is deep and stern. “McDonough, Front Control, Merivale Youth Custody Facility. Someone’s here to see you.” He looks up expectedly at the student.
The grad student rises up on her toes to place her mouth closer to the hole in the glass window, “Laura Hooper.” McDonough repeats the name. Then he listens and a small smiles plays on the corners of his mouth. His voice becomes even more baritone and rigid as though satirizing a bureaucratic tone. “Well, this is a professional outfit here, Doctor. I attended the Professional Boundaries and Working Relationships Workshop. It was mandatory. And I was taught to interact with all my colleagues with the utmost professionalism and decorum.” There is a pause. He listens and laughs, “Language, Dr. Halpin! Now, now, I don’t think you learned those words from the workshop.” He puts down the receiver and his face is stone again.
“No cell phone or anything?”
Laura starts and then shakes her head.
He orders her, “Do not give the kids anything. Anything. And don’t leave anything behind. If you do, you tell us. Immediately. Okay, you can go ahead, but sign in and put this on.” Through the open slot, he shoves her a clipboard with pen attached by string. After she returns it, he gives her a visitor’s pass. “Go stand by those first doors there.” As she clips the pass to her lapel, she hears a buzzing sound and click and he motions for her to open the door.
Laura walks into a windowed holding area with Front Control along her right side and a white cement block wall on her left. From in here she can appreciate the length of the control room where the staff work. She can see another room beyond them where the Sheriff has just arrived, and suddenly, she feels self-conscious under the bright, florescent lights. Both Mr. McDonough and his goateed colleague watch her as the first door closes behind her. Then, she steps forward 10 feet to the next glass door that leads into the facility. She can see a larger reception-like area on the side. She stares straight ahead. At this end of the corridor, the goateed colleague is directly on the other side of the glass from her. She puts her hand on the handle to pull and the door does not open. She looks at the goateed colleague. When he shakes his head at her, she draws back her hand as though she has touched the hot element of a stove. The two staff are now looking at the monitor together but she has a feeling they are reading an email related to the discussion she interrupted earlier. She adjusts the strap of her work bag over her shoulder. McDonough notices her movement and leans toward a microphone, “Please tell me I don’t need to search that bag.” But before she can respond, he turns to his colleague. The microphone is off but she can hear his muted voice through the glass. “You know I’m never up here. Are we searching bags up here or not? Why didn’t you say anything?” And the goateed colleague says, “Because I don’t care. I really don’t.” They laugh at each other and then McDonough presses on the microphone again. “Just go through.” She hears a buzz and click and she looks at the goateed staff and he just stares blankly at her. She pulls again and the door finally opens.
Once past Front Control, Laura inhales deeply and takes in her surroundings. She sees a large waiting area with low, white tables and blue chairs with rounded backs and arms. There are small interview rooms along one wall. There are two broad hallways at right angles to each other; one seems to lead to the back of Front Control and the other to a set of black, double doors. There is a small kiosk type area next to the interview rooms. Behind the counter is a woman in her 60s with a hair net that binds up her greying blonde hair. She places a coffee canister down on the counter. There is a slender male youth with her. He is wearing navy blue sweatshirt and sweat pants and a white apron. He moves quickly around the tiny kitchen and seems restless. Laura notices the youth has a scar on his forehead at the hairline. The woman looks at Laura, “Can I help you?”
“Rita,” the youth says. “What do I do with this?” He has a wet cloth in his hand.
“Just a minute,” she answers, without even looking at him, and says again to the student, “Can I help you?”
“I’m waiting for Dr. Halpin?”
“Just sit there,” Rita says, and motions toward a chair at the nearest table. Her steel grey eyes narrow on the student for a second and then she turns her attention back to the youth.
Laura tries to move the chair before she sits in it and finds that it is too heavy to move with one hand. She feels her face redden and hopes that Rita and the youth did not see her struggle with the chair. She sits down and places her bag at her feet. She debates whether she should take out a fresh pad of paper and her favourite pen because maybe it would feel better to hold something in her hand. She decides against it and fiddles with her visitor’s pass. She notices that she clipped it on backwards. She glances back at Front Control as she takes it off. Her face warms again. She breathes deeply again and clips the pass on the correct way. The edges are worn. She tries not to think about how many people have handled it. She straightens her shoulders and pulls her stomach in. This position causes the buttons on her blouse to pull a bit. She shifts in her chair and she is not sure where to rest her eyes. The walls are cement blocks covered in thick, beige paint and the floor is a dark maroon tile. The wall adjacent to her has a large floor to ceiling mural painted on it. It is First Nations themed. Beside it are photo collages of staff picnics and Christmas parties. These photos look more than twenty years old to her. As she sits, her eyes track the staff that walk by. These staff are primarily men. They are wearing dark blue denim uniforms and black running shoes. They have radios and ear pieces. They notice her but do not acknowledge her.
A man in his late fifties or so with brown clothing, a protruding, round stomach, and somewhat disheveled hair appears from the double black doors and walks through the main corridor toward her. He walks as though his knees hurt. Laura meets his eyes with face turned upward. He is the only person she has encountered so far who appears eager to see a face. He walks up to her but then seems to be looking at the kiosk behind her. “I don’t have my mug,” he says. Laura glances over her shoulder but Rita and the youth are not even looking at him. She looks up at the older gentleman again as he stands in front of her. His glasses are smudged and he finally looks at Laura and extends a hand, “Miss Hooper?”
“Yes,” she exhales and feels her body relax as she rises from her chair. They shake hands. This man’s hand is clammy. But so are hers. She thinks he smells like wood chips and this confuses her for a moment.
“Dr. Halpin?” she returns.
The older man bristles. “Good lord, no. I’m Dr
. Mull. Well, come with me.” He has a faint accent from the British Isles. Laura furrows her brows and tells herself to Just stop talking. Dr. Mull heads back the way he came and Laura follows close behind him.
Dr. Mull walks with a stiff gait down the middle of the corridor. There is a slight aroma emanating off him, besides the wood chips, that Laura quickly catalogues as cigarettes and something else unidentifiable. As she walks beside him, she is cognizant that she feels enormous next to him. She is certainly a couple inches taller, but it is her shoulders that feel so broad right now. She sees solid, double black doors at the end of the corridor. There is a small black pad next to the door.
Dr. Mull pulls at the lanyard around his next with his name tag and fob. He waves the round fob in front of her. “Do you have this?”
“No,” she says.
“Hmm. You’ll get one. You need one to get through all the doors.” Laura tries to take a mental note of how Dr. Mull passes the fob over the black patch in the wall. The small red light switches to green light and he opens the right side door for her. Once inside they again pass a couple small offices. Then, the space stretches wide open in front of her. She thinks, Here is where they have been keeping all the sunlight.
Dr. Mull says, “This is the Rotunda.” Laura slows as they walk into the incredibly bright and large foyer. This space has 50 foot ceilings. Her gaze is drawn immediately upward to the windows carved into a skylight in the arched rooftop. Straight ahead of her across another reception-like area, there is a glass wall showcasing the green field and high wire fences. She notices a second control area along the right side of the Rotunda. It is much larger and open and without the plexiglass she saw upon her arrival. It is a counter with storage cabinets behind it. Nearby is another corner office.
“Fuck you! Fuck you! This is bullshit!” It is a young male voice. There is movement of staff and a youth and then indiscriminate yelling as this small group disappears down the corridor next to the corner office. There is silence again as they pass through another set of black double doors.