by C J M Naylor
Aldridge’s assistant moved past Bridget and into the room. She approached me and began to pull my arms behind my back to restrain me. I began to flail, attempting to get out of her grip. I knew it was no good, though. I only had moments left before they would put me out. Aldridge was already moving to a counter opposite me, pulling out a syringe and a bottle from a cabinet. I quickly looked to Bridget.
“You have to believe me,” I said to her.
Aldridge inserted the syringe into the bottle.
“Do not trust Ian. He’s been lying to us.”
The syringe began to pull the medicine into it.
“Get somewhere safe tonight.”
A hand went over my mouth and I bit down on it. Aldridge’s assistant screamed. Aldridge put the bottle down and began to move toward me.
“Go to the San Francisco Public Library and demand to see Thomas Jane,” I screamed at Bridget. “Tell him wh—”
The needle plunged into my neck and everything went dark again.
Whatever Aldridge had given me, it didn’t keep me out for long. I woke up in a car that was pulling into a hospital building. I looked at the sign by the road that read: St. Ignatius’s Hospital for the Unstable and Helpless.
I stared aghast at the name of the hospital. The “unstable and helpless.” I supposed that was me now. I needed help because I couldn’t help myself, at least in the eyes of these people. The building was tall and had a rather gothic feel to it. I looked up and saw several floors rising from the ground. A very tall, wire fence surrounded the exterior of the hospital. Since I had been out on the way there, I had no idea how far from the city it was, but it looked as if it lay just outside of San Francisco, perched on a hill—looking out over the city in the distance.
"Welcome to your new home," Dr. Aldridge said from the driver's seat, "temporarily, of course."
He drove the vehicle forward, slowly making the ascent up the hill toward the ostentatious building. As we got closer to the building, I began to feel unstable. I felt like darkness, worse than ever before, was penetrating me.
Dr. Aldridge and his assistant helped me out of the vehicle, and we made our way into the hospital. As soon as I walked through the door, I felt it. Evil. Hatred. Darkness. The voices of people in agony filled my head—people screaming in pain because of the terrible acts of another. Images flashed through my mind of all the terrible things people did in the world. I saw Hitler. I saw signs that read "concentration camps." I saw people being tortured—being gassed. I saw their bodies being incinerated all because they weren't like him. Piercing screams filled every part of my mind. I couldn't take it. I immediately turned and made a beeline for the door—the door that was now closing—shutting me off from the world.
I felt the thick arms of Aldridge's assistant trying to hold me in place as I screamed and screamed and screamed. I clawed at her hands. I needed to get away. In my peripheral vision, I saw Aldridge's hand go into his pocket and pull out a syringe and needle. Here we go again. I felt a stick in my side and then—nothing.
Just as I had succumbed to the darkness, I also awoke to it.
When my eyes finally opened, after what I only could imagine was several hours, I was in a pitch-black room, lying in a bed. My fingers brushed against the spot on my arm where Aldridge's assistant had administered a drug that had ended my attempted escape and put me into a sedated sleep. I had no idea what had happened. The only thing I knew was that as soon as I stepped into this building, I felt extreme, pure hatred. I still felt it. Strangely enough, it seemed like a buzz now. It was there, like a fly that keeps circling your head, refusing to leave you alone. But it wasn’t overbearing now. It was tolerable. The idea of pure hatred being tolerable was even more unfathomable.
Suddenly, I heard locks clicking, and light poured into the room. I shielded my eyes from the light, having grown used to the darkness. After a few moments, I finally mustered the courage to open them. Dr. Aldridge stood in the doorway, a look of utmost concern on his face.
“Abigail,” he said, “I’m sorry about having to sedate you earlier. I hope you understand, given the situation.”
I didn’t speak, only nodded.
“Very well,” Aldridge continued. “I would like to show you to your new room.”
I looked around in confusion, assuming this to be my new room, but Aldridge quickly shut that idea down.
"Oh, this isn't it," he said. "We simply put patients here when we believe them to be at risk to themselves or others. Before I take you to your new room though, our leading psychologist would like to have her first meeting with you."
“You won’t be my doctor?” I asked him.
“I will be,” Dr. Aldridge continued, “but Dr. Waters is responsible for the wellbeing of this hospital and its facilities. As part of her responsibilities, she meets with all new patients to discuss their plan of treatment and the options available for them. If you would follow me.”
Dr. Aldridge led me out of the room, which I now realized was padded. For my protection, I guessed. Aldridge led me down an ominous hallway. The ceilings were high with light fixtures hanging from them. The hallway had the smell of a sterile hospital. Doors were on each side, each one locked and secured as I passed it. I passed nurses in white uniforms going from room to room to attend to the various needs of other patients. At the end of the hallway was a small flight of stairs that led up into a room with a grand staircase that led up to the entrances of the various floors of the hospital. We climbed and climbed and climbed until we reached the very last floor. Upon Dr. Aldridge unlocking and opening the door, I was immediately frustrated as before me lay yet another flight of stairs that led up to a single doorway.
“She’s up there,” he suddenly told me. “I will be down here waiting for you. Simply knock when you reach the top.”
I nodded and began the climb. Behind me, I heard the door click shut and lock. I looked back at it and then forward again, unsure if I wanted to carry on. But there was no other way, so I did. When I finally reached the top, I extended my arm and knocked.
“Come in.” It was a woman’s voice; I assumed it could only be Dr. Waters.
I reached forward and opened the door. The room it led into was breathtaking. Before me was a room filled to the brim with books and strange looking instruments, as well as models of the human brain. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls. They stacked all the way to the ceiling. Various statues were around the room as well as pictures of the brain, together, taken apart, and studied. Straight ahead was a large oval window and through the window, I could see parts of the city. I still wasn’t quite sure which part of the city we were in as I hadn't paid much attention to the drive, given the circumstances.
Before the window was a large oak desk and sitting at the desk was a woman with blonde, almost white, hair. Her hair fell just to the start of her neck, and she wore a pair of black spectacles. She was dressed in a professional manner—a black dress, and a white doctor’s coat. There was something familiar about her; something about her features that tugged at my memory. But I couldn’t quite figure it out. She smiled and stood up, walking toward me, her hand extended.
“You must be Abigail Jordan,” she said. “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you. My name is Dr. Karen Waters. Please, have a seat.”
She beckoned toward the leather chair in front of her desk, and I took it. As Dr. Waters took her seat again, I admired her features. She was beautiful. It looked like the stressful career she had taken on had not affected her aging in the slightest. She looked to be in her mid-thirties. And there was something else. She carried a sort of resemblance to someone, but I couldn’t put my finger on as to what.
“I trust you understand why it was best for you to come here,” Dr. Waters began. She had her hands folded on her desk, enunciated every word clearly, and looked me directly in the eye when she spoke.
I really didn’t understand why I was here except for Ian to achieve whatever he was planning. And as I thought about it now, I realized thi
s woman could be behind it too. Treading carefully was important. I nodded.
"You've undergone a great deal of emotional distress over the past year, I understand," she continued, now looking down at what I assumed to be my file. "It says here you relocated from London after losing your parents and your fiancé in the air raids." She looked back up at me, waiting for my response. I simply nodded again, and she continued. "Loss such as this can have devastating, even debilitating, effects on the human brain."
She closed the file and took off her glasses, again looking me directly in the eye.
"I want to help you, Abigail," Dr. Waters said, "but as I ask from all of my patients, I'm going to need you to put your trust in both my staff, as well as myself.”
Trust. It brought back memories quickly—Bessie seeking my trust, me, unwilling to give it, until finally I did, and it backfired in my face. And again, with Ian, only to have it thrown back at me.
“I can’t trust you,” I responded.
To my surprise, Dr. Waters didn’t appear to be taken aback by this. But after thinking about it for a moment, why would she? I’m sure most of her patients would find it difficult to come into this place, a place labeled for the unstable, and then be asked to trust the leading authority. She simply smiled.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” she said. “After all, we’ve only just met. But over time, maybe. I’m excited to begin your treatment tomorrow, Abigail. For now, I think we will continue your treatment using amobarbital. However, we will definitely increase the dosage.”
“I don’t know if that is something I would be interested in,” I said. I had no idea if this was what Ian had been using to drug me, but if it was, I knew that it would only make things worse. I continued, “I wasn’t a fan of being put on medication in the first place. Is an increase in dosage really necessary? I thought that was something used for more extreme cases.”
“Would you not call yourself an extreme case?” Dr. Waters asked me.
“I mean it’s not like I’m always lashing out and being aggressive,” I responded. “I know that I’ve had a few incidences where I have, but I don’t know if an increase in medication is something that needs to happen.”
I thought about mentioning the fact that Ian had been drugging me, but decided against it. It would only put another nail in my coffin.
“I completely understand where you are coming from, Abigail,” Dr. Waters continued, “but, unfortunately, it really isn’t up to you. I’m afraid you will have to let us decide what is best for you. We won’t make any decisions lightly.
“Now, we need to discuss your living arrangements. I like to run things in a different manner, compared to my other colleagues in this profession. You have full access to every room in this building, at all times. We will never keep you locked in your room, unless you give us a reason to. Every exit in the building will be monitored, twenty-four hours a day. If, for some reason, a person is able to get out, they will still have to get through our strict security measures that surround the grounds of the building, and, of course, they will have to get over the wall that surrounds the entire campus. We do have a few rules we expect you to follow: the first rule is that you are to report to all meals on time. Breakfast is at eight o’clock in the morning, with lunch at noon, and dinner at seven o’clock. All times are strictly enforced. Furthermore, there is a mandatory therapy session every day from one o’clock in the afternoon to two o’clock in the afternoon. Do you have any questions?”
I didn’t respond; I simply stared at her. How had I allowed myself to get into this position? I hoped to God Bridget had at least tried to contact Thomas. Or maybe Elijah was aware of my situation and was putting together a rescue plan at this very moment. Even though I knew the hallucinations had been induced by drugs, I had still had my own personal issues, and I knew this place would do more harm than good.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The hallways at St. Ignatius’s were cold and dreary. I wore a sweater around the building because I constantly felt chilly. While the hospital was run by Dr. Waters, it was also a convent that housed several Catholic nuns. A Catholic priest also came by, on a weekly basis, for Sunday mass and confession. Because I had not been to church or confession recently, and because I felt it would add something to my life I had been missing, I decided to take the opportunity.
As soon as I sat down in the confessional, memories of St. Patrick’s in Soho came soaring back to me. For a moment, I felt overwhelmed and unable to continue, but I closed my eyes, took several deep breaths, and then I was fine.
The window of the confessional opened and I knew it was my time to speak.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I began, the words flowing back to me as if I had been here only yesterday, “it has been several months since my last confession.”
I began to list my sins and I was surprised to find there weren’t many. My main sin was not attending church every Sunday, or on the holy days of obligation. The priest heard my confession and then gave me my penance, but I didn’t let him go just yet.
“Father?”
“Yes, child?”
“I know you don’t know me, but I was wondering if you could offer some advice?”
Before I knew it, I had spilled everything to him, with the exception of being a Timekeeper. I knew a priest couldn’t reveal my confession to anyone, but I really didn’t want him to go off thinking I was truly crazy. Then again, I was in a mental institution. I told him about Phillip’s death, as well as my parents and Mrs. Baxter. I told him about moving to San Francisco and feeling depressed and unable to move on. Again though, I left out the hallucinations. That had not been me. That had been Ian and part of his plan.
“I realize this is a lot of information,” I said. “I guess I just don’t know where to go from here.”
“I think what you are doing right now is the answer,” he responded. “Coming back to God and Jesus Christ, and letting them take on your pain and sorrow is what you are supposed to do. Continue coming to church and saying your prayers and know God gives us personal trials in life and you will be rewarded for it in heaven.”
He almost took my breath away. It was the same advice my mother had always given me. It was advice that had always been tucked away in the back of my head, but advice I had not looked back on in such a long time.
“Thank you, Father,” I said. After that, I stood up to leave. I prayed my penitence in the chapel and after that, I sat there for a long time.
Later that day, I ended up back in the room I had been assigned. It wasn’t much. There was a bed, a nightstand with a lamp, and a small desk and chair. There wasn’t anywhere for clothes as a clean pair of the hospital clothes I was given to wear were brought to me each morning; the old ones collected to be washed.
I spent most of the day lying in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I hadn’t had much of an episode since they had brought me here, so I assumed the medication they had been giving me was not the same as what Ian had been drugging me with. What was the point of actually giving me hallucinations anymore anyway? I was already here. Plan accomplished.
Come to me.
I sat up in my bed and looked around the room. It was her. Melanie.
I’m here. In this building. I’ve always been here.
Melanie was here. Was she part of the plan? She had to have been. Ian had known about her. He implied that he even had a thing for her when he had attacked me. Was he keeping her here against her will? Was he keeping her hostage? Or was she here on her own accord?
Come to the lowest level.
I could either sit in my bed and be compliant, or I could find answers.
I chose to find answers.
The halls were almost completely dark except for the moonlight that seeped in through the windows. I was surprised to find it was night and everyone had gone to bed. I found it strange I was allowed to roam the building as I pleased, but remembered what Dr. Waters had said. There were always people watching, a
nd even if I managed to somehow get out of the building, I still had to get over the wall surrounding the grounds.
Turn left.
This was entirely too creepy. I knew it was her, but it still made me cringe. It still sent shivers down my spine. I turned left and found myself descending a flight of stairs. As I went further and further down, the temperature got colder and colder. I hugged my arms to myself as I continued to make my descent, until, finally, I was before a single, plain, wooden door.
In the middle of the door was a small window that could be unlatched and opened. I reached up, undid the hook, and pulled open the little window. I could now see into the room beyond.
The room was a decent size but it wasn’t well lit. I could see a bed on the other side of the room as well as a bookshelf along one wall. There were loads and loads of books that would easily entertain whoever lived in this room for quite a while.
“Hello?” I called into the room.
There was no response, but I could swear I heard someone breathing. I looked down at the handle and tried to pull open the door, but there was no such luck. The door was locked. It was either meant to keep someone out or someone in, maybe both. I scanned the room again through the little window, paying close attention to everything I saw. It was then that I saw it. Because of the darkness in the room, I could barely make it out. But it was there—the shadow of a person—in the farthest corner of the room.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Did you call me to this room? Is it you? Are you Melanie?”
“Yes.”
The voice sounded hoarse, but it also sounded familiar. It sounded like I had heard it before. It sounded like my own voice.
“Will you please come out of the shadows?” I asked.
The person hesitated, but then finally, they did. And even though I knew it would be someone who looked exactly like me, even though I knew it was my twin, everything I knew about the world seemed to flip upside down. When the person finally stepped out of the shadows, it was like looking into a mirror. My sister didn’t look starved. She didn’t look like she was being held against her will. She looked entirely comfortable in here.