Discovering Sanity

by Emma Janson

  After visiting the lending closet for shower supplies and cloaking himself in the same clothes he’d worn the day before, he made his way to the front reception desk with a new attitude. There was only one more day to go before he could open the foot locker at the end of his bed. Meanwhile, Lydia was busy speaking with an older woman who wore faux fur around her neck and a matching hat atop her styled hair, so he meandered over to the bay window where the Schmidt twins were giggling profusely.

  “Velcome to the vonderful Northern Lights bonker-haus again, young Mario Lopez vis da dimples!” Ute shouted as she stood from her window seat to rush him with a grand hug that came complete with bouncing boobs which slapped together with her every move. “Oh, the things my sister and I vould do if our physiques...BOOM! POW!” She thrust the pudgy lower half of her body into his thigh as Ignacio looked around in embarrassment.

  The fake fur lady looked utterly disgusted. Lydia smiled, but snapped back to professional mode in the same second the rich lady looked back at her.

  Hilda laughed as she walked with a slight waddle over to her equally fluffy sister and Ignacio. “My Got, Ute! You look like a humping hound; the Pug, you know, vis the eyeballs vich pop out! Young men don’t hump Pugs unless they smell like strawwwberrriesss!” Hilda giggled and covered her mouth to pretend like she was concerned about knowing his secret, but she was only interested in witnessing his reaction as she winked at her sister without discretion.

  Ute’s eyes opened wide as her mouth dropped into an elongated ‘o’ shape before she hunkered down and covered it in an attempt to hush a laugh that had been about to explode onto his Mexican shirt. The two elderly women giggled and scurried with heavy steps back to the bay window as if they were kindergarten girls who’d just exposed a secret on the playground. When Ignacio followed them to get clarification on what they’d just said in a quiet, private manner, the twins’ laughter amplified and bounced through the grand foyer, once again disrupting the ongoing conversation between Lydia and the fur coat woman.

  He tried to explain himself to them quietly, but the sisters cut him off before he began. The dominant one of the two, Ute spoke first with a really bad impression of the former president, Bill Clinton. “I did not have sexual relations vis das voman!” She threw her head back as her mouth seemed to unhinge so that her loud, heavy laughter could release itself from the center of her body. She tried to contain it, but it was always futile with this disorder that rendered her permanently euphoric.

  Ignacio smiled hard, pushing his dimples to the surface of his cheeks as he watched her stand and wobble back and forth, mocking the former President’s southern accent in a terrible rendition of his deep manly voice.

  As she paced, though, she continued babbling while she jiggled her large boobs to emphasize her point. “Und like I didn’t give Mr. Jenkins a blow job two years ago. Und Ute didn’t service Mr. Jack Reed in das vineyard and Kaput Koontz didn’t put something new in her mouth with Charlotte last veek. Nobody is looney here, just horny.” She shimmied while winking at her sister with an obnoxiously large smile.

  “Are you serious?” Ignacio looked around the lobby, guilty of smiling at such information, to see if anyone else had heard their epic voices spilling ambitious rumors.

  “Nein.” Ute shook her head no. “But it makes the Northern Lights bonker-haus more interesting, doesn’t it? Und so das thisss.” She pulled down her shirt then, exposing a long line of old wrinkled cleavage that was sprinkled with age spots, the effect being reminiscent of a matriarchal elephant about to stumble away to die in peace. As Ignacio was about to turn his head out of blended respect and disgust, he noticed a hidden pewter flask jutting angrily from the middle. Noticing his attention, Ute invited him to have some wine later before the lights dimmed to talk about some more things that didn’t happen on the vineyard. He graciously accepted with a wink before excusing himself to speak with the fresh-faced goddess at the intake desk, and on his way, he shivered off the image of those old tits cuddling a liquor flask.

  Lydia was wearing a white button-down blouse with a sassy red handkerchief around her neck to match her lipstick and earrings. She’d chosen a white lace bra to support her average breasts, but the darker complexion of her skin contrasted, possibly intentionally, to emphasize the appearance of a see-through top. The first thing he did was to open the conversation with a compliment on her attire, in response to which she lightheartedly poked fun of his two-day-old t-shirt and jeans. He reminded her that his foot locker should be open the next day and smiled hard to display his clean-shaven dimples.

  “I can’t talk too long, Ignacio. I must attend to the desk and the open admittance people; high maintenance bamboozlers if you ask me. They are worse than the Schmidt twins sometimes!” She crossed her arms over her supposedly unintentionally see-through shirt and looked around to see if anyone had heard her before she leaned over the upper portion of her intake desk to whisper. “Rich folk check in every week, stay for three days or so to talk about how stressful it is to be rich. They eat grapes, pick apart the renovations of the mansion, and check themselves out when it’s time to go back to work on Mondays. Bullshit if you ask me.” She pulled back into an upright standing position behind the desk with her arms still crossed over her chest. “I heard they somehow write it off on their taxes, too, essentially making this a paid vacation!” Her eyebrows shifted into a high arch as she froze in this sassy position for a moment. Ignacio figured it was to emphasize her distaste for dishonest rich people, but all it did was highlight her beautiful light brown eyes.

  “They do that?” he asked as he tried to look like he was sickened by the thought of people taking advantage of the system. His hope was that she didn’t see his true intentions via the contorted look on his face and his unintentionally dodgy eyes.

  Lydia channeled her black southern stereotype as she popped her tongue and lightly tapped at her mixed hair instead of itching it. “Well, that’s what I heard.”

  He flashed his dimples to charm the pants off Lydia next, but also inadvertently shifted his penis into a more comfortable position...which she ignored. The rich, fur-toting woman did not, however, think it was remotely in good posture, and gasped as she waited for an orderly to walk her to a room. Ignacio ignored her, looking around instead.

  Jarring Ignacio from his prior gaze, which had been trailing the twins, Maggie Koontz suddenly appeared next to him at the desk to ask Lydia a question. She was embarrassed and had a difficult time saying hello without lifting her eyes too much from the floor. Still, she addressed Lydia without issue to ask where her brother could be and if Mr. Jenkins had been looking for her for their apparently impromptu Bible study. Then, oddly enough in unison, both she and Ignacio asked Lydia what room the rich woman was staying in – with intense interest. Taken aback by the abrupt transition, Lydia’s chin jerked into her neck. “Four. Room four. Why?” Her eyes ping-ponged back and forth from Ignacio to Maggie as her lip curled at the edge like she was impersonating Elvis.

  Maggie said with deep concern, “You can’t put her in four. That’s Mrs. Cleary’s room. She’ll get really upset if you touch her rock collection. That woman can’t touch her rocks.”

  Lydia was surprised that Maggie was privy to that personal detail at all. “How do you know she has a collection? Anyway, she was released yesterday afternoon. Cleared. Not that I had to tell you that. You should go, Maggie.” She was trying to be polite and more professional.

  Maggie grabbed her pendant and rubbed the red jewels on the arms of the gold cross. “I’m a vessel doing the Lord’s work. I do talk to other patients. Has my husband called?” Maggie changed the subject nervously and retreated into a more submissive posture as if she had done something wrong.

  “No, ma’am. No messages today, I’m sorry,” Lydia replied factually.

  Ignacio asked a mirror of the same question to reroute the tension between the women. “Did my grandmother call?”

  Lydia tilted her he
ad and scrunched her eyebrows together in confusion. She looked back and forth between Maggie and Ignacio as if they should know what she was about to say. “Personal calls are a distraction from your healing goals. It’s in the brochure, Ignacio, and, Mrs. Koontz, you know this.”

  Clearly upset at this unintentional mistake, Ignacio inquired further in order to hide his mistake as he crossed his arms defensively. “You don’t allow personal calls here?”

  It was obvious to her that Ignacio hadn’t read the material that had been provided, but although she was used to patients dismissing their reading material, she was a little surprised at his forward tone now. “Whoa, slow your roll,” she told him. She uncrossed her arms to put a hand up at chest level to warn him. “I see where you were about to go with that and I don’t like it. We don’t prevent personal calls here; we just don’t encourage them. Northern Lights nurtures personal healing. You need to read your information sheets. It’s all in there.”

  Mrs. Koontz walked away with that, hunched over like a guilty dog to avoid the situation and to prevent further questioning of why she’d wanted to know where the rich woman was staying.

  After a moment, Lydia smiled at Ignacio to change the vibe between them. He smiled back, and they shared a flirtatious moment now that they were finally alone, unwatched and yet standing in the center of the main area. She leaned over the desk again after re-crossing her arms. “You know, I always wanted to learn Spanish. Maybe you could teach me a few things after my shift ends. Would you teach me? Six o’clock right here?” She bit at her red-stained lip that matched her scarf and dangling earrings.

  His grandmother had always told Ignacio that devils and harlots adorned themselves with this sinful color of red. Her elder voice echoed through his ears, but he shook it off to accept Lydia’s invitation because she was clearly no harlot. “This is a distraction from my personal healing, but I’m willing to make an exception.” He winked.

  By the time the clocks in the main hall and Mrs. Reed’s antique-filled office had chimed seven, Lydia and Ignacio were fully engaged in passion, hidden in the corner of the twins’ smoking room. They were pretty sure no one had noticed how they’d slipped into the room, but there’d been excitement in the idea of getting caught as they’d rushed to strip.

  Ignacio was extremely careful not to make noise or lose his balance as he held her body around his. The moment was brief, but for Ignacio, it held more passion then he had ever experienced before, and he was glad that he had not engaged Belinda in such an intimate way. Ignacio didn’t notice how Lydia rushed through redressing as they reset themselves back to a neutral state as if nothing had happened. He giggled as he kissed her red lips one last time but she quickly backed away then escaped the camera’s timed view. Although this experience had touched him on a deep emotional level, his egotistical, masculine nature was amused at the fact that he was getting paid for busting a nut in the ‘nut’ house once again. He relished the afterglow with a mumbled song while turning the corner of the hall to his room. In the cameras transmitting back to the security room, it was apparent that he seemed a little too bouncy and light for a mental patient.

  I get dinero from the state of New York.

  Harlots hug my dicko. Something, something dork.

  I am Nacio. Everyone should know.

  On a paid vacation, sexing chocolate holes.

  QUID PRO QUO

  Maggie waited until the old lady had been there for three days before inspecting her foot locker. She had been watching the rich woman settle into a few routines before attempting to race between the timed cameras’ views in order to gain access to her quarters – an act she was very familiar with playing out. As she waited for the woman to exit room four and head to the craft room, Maggie peered upward to the small black bubble jutting down from the ceiling. When the cameras automatically changed position, a sparkle of plastic shimmered from the metallic parts within their core; this was her cue.

  Maggie took a deep breath and scurried to the keyless entry keypad, immediately punching in the access code she’d memorized from a safety inspection that had happened months prior. Thanks to the previous tenant’s clever rewiring of the recessed lights, Maggie had been able to catch a glimpse of the opening digits as she’d happened to pass by. Buck had to open room number four with another orderly and two electricians in order to correct the rewiring and clear it for safety, and in the commotion, the last thing on Buck’s mind had been protecting the code he typed as Maggie walked by, clutching the crucifix around her neck. She valued and praised the impeccable timing that God had presented her with. The numbers were bits of gold-leafed information wrapped in a neat, miniature bow.

  She thanked the Lord in prayer as her underdeveloped fingers keyed in each number. When the access code was verified by the system, a green light appeared, and a metallic click was faintly heard. She opened the door just enough to slip her tiny body through the crack and then disappeared inside as smoothly as a vampire would have floated in rather than walking.

  With no time to waste, Maggie knelt before the foot locker at the end of the bed and pulled a kinked paperclip from her pocket. After gingerly working it around in the hole of the lock, she heard a beautiful click ring through the silence of the room. Maggie’s nipples hardened with excitement as she pulled the lock down and opened the lid. There wasn’t much to rummage through since the woman had only planned to stay for four or five days, but in the locker, was the fur coat, a huge black bag that seemed to be made of some kind of reptilian skin, and a book entitled How the Rich Stay Rich. Maggie grabbed the black bag, unzipped the inside privacy pocket that most purses have, and searched it; she found one pack of estrogen pills and a vibrating bullet.

  Out loud, she accidently said, “Lord, is that all people think of around here – pleasures of the flesh?” Disgusted, she tossed the items back into the pocket and zipped it closed to continue searching the main body of the bag after wiping her hand onto the comforter. From a found wallet, she pulled out six-hundred-and-eighty-two dollars and twenty-four cents. Maggie stuffed the twenty-four cents into the bottom of her shoe before continuing on to pocket a dolphin-shaped money clip, a tiny safety pin that had used to hold the price tag inside of the purse, a random key, and a large gold ring with two tiny emeralds. Six-hundred-and-eighty-two dollars in paper money went back into the wallet. She held the reptilian bag by her ear then and shook it once or twice before placing it back into the footlocker. At the last second, rather than securing everything and leaving the room as usual, she decided to check the pockets of the fur coat. In it were items that were just as useless to her as the paper money; lint in the left pocket and thin leather gloves in the right. She began folding the coat exactly how she’d found it...when in the middle of a fold, a hard object slid across her hand from a hidden pocket that was deep within the breast. After pulling it free from the satin lining, she found that a tiny, curvaceous ladies’ pistol had appeared, complete with ornate embossed etching on the grip that shimmered back at her.

  In amazement, Maggie shifted it in her hand for a second before removing the bullets and stuffing them into her bra. With quick thinking, she pulled open the front of her pants and panties to nestle the gun as best she could next to her body. After placing it there, she secured the locker shut. As she stood to leave, the cold trigger of the gun nudged itself against her clitoris and she jerked forward in guilty pleasure.

  Ignacio stood at the closed door with a face of hidden accusation.

  Maggie jumped out of her skin and choked on her screams to prevent anyone from hearing. The gun in her underwear pushed forward between her legs as she instinctively clutched at her cross and slumped into a blameworthy stance displaying saddened Snow White features.

  “What are you doing?” Ignacio inquired. His voice had cut through the stillness of the room like a knife, making Maggie’s blood feel as if it was infused with micro-daggers ripping through the inside of her veins. The instant image of his fa
ntasized metallic face flashed before her eyes and faded into the realization that he was in fact covered in skin made of human flesh. He looked less seductive than the metal man from her secret fantasy.

  Stumped at first, the only thing she could manage to do was confess to taking the change so that she could eat it later. She unsuccessfully tried to hide behind the simple announcement, as she made no mention of stuffing an object into her crotch – that, she hoped he hadn’t seen. Her dark chocolate brown hair and blue eyes created a very innocent yet haunting beauty, and she begged him not to say anything about her stealing the change...but he walked to her and stopped when his face could look down at hers. Her tiny frame and organic red lips would have been lovely, he thought, had she taken the time to maintain them.

  “What did you put down your pants?” he asked as quietly as he could while hovering uncomfortably close to intimidate her.

  “Nothing. Listen, there is money in there. I’ll open it for you, so you can have it if you promise not to tell.” She looked up into his big brown eyes in desperation. “We only have a few minutes left before the cameras turn this way again.” Her voice was small and panicked.

  Ignacio grabbed her crotch to feel the barrel of the gun. She jumped and squealed in shock, then tried to hush herself from the paralyzing fear of being caught and the simultaneously stimulating sensation of the gun’s rigid edges against her soft tissues.

  “Get the money.” Ignacio was bewildered about the fact that the Bible-thumping Christian would resolve to do such a thing as steal and act as she did, but if he could get a little something out of her need to eat metal, he would gladly do so.

  Maggie rushed to the box, picked the lock again, and returned to Ignacio seconds later with eighty-two dollars that she crumpled into his hand, hoping he hadn’t seen the money she had left behind. “We can’t be in here.” She forcefully spun him around and pushed him to the door, where they both slipped out and walked to the dining hall as if that’s where they’d been headed all along – with the exception to their act being Maggie, who was walking a little slower than usual. She looked up and over her shoulder to the black bulb in the ceiling that clicked in their direction. The camera picked up a smile in the corner of her mouth that was only there for a split second.