by Celia Crown
The strict curfew is to let the patients settle down in their rooms and get adequate sleep because some are known to be night owls or insomniacs.
The laundry room is always locked, and the only people who have keys are the maintenance team and some senior workers.
“I don’t know,” Lisa whispers as her lips peel back in a grimace.
I hold my breath as another cart comes by with bloodstains that are spotty and less concentrated on the sheets.
“Wet laundry,” I say to myself.
I take a bold step closer when some aides come through with a black body bag. My eyes follow them down the hall as they walk in silence, the heavy bag buckling under the weight of the dead patient.
I bite my lip and peek into the laundry room. The cleaning crew is wearing surgical masks and latex gloves while they clean the blood off the floor: scrubbing it with bleach and scraping the concrete with heavy-duty brooms.
One of them is halfway inside an industrial washing machine, cleaning and spraying bleach to disinfect everything.
The truth is right in front of me. The patient was in the washing machine.
“Please, I know this is a terrible incident, but we must return to work!” Doctor Hancock barks as he ushers everyone away from the laundry room.
He puts his hand on the small of my back and pushes me away, but the hand drops down to my waist.
It would have gone lower if I didn’t step out of his way. I glance behind me; he dares to look innocent after trying to cop a feel of my ass after a horrible incident just happened.
He’s disrespectful. If I thought he was bad before, his character is even worse now.
Hancock doesn’t even have an ounce of sympathy on his face. He’s just staring at my ass and peeking down Lisa’s shirt while she is looking away to avoid the scene.
A distasteful creep too.
“Come on, Lisa,” I mumble as I steer her away from the lecherous eyes.
Even when not aimed at me, it’s so uncomfortable.
Lisa sniffles and shudders. Her face is ashen, and the lack of blood scares me. So I give her cheeks a pinch to bring back some color.
“Thanks,” she says vaguely.
“No problem,” I mutter back.
“I was thinking of prayers for the deceased, and that damn pervert has the balls to look down my shirt,” she sneers with a scoff.
Oh, that’s it. I thought she was scared about what happened, but she was offering up prayers for the patient.
Sometimes I wonder why none of the workers have mentioned Doctor Hancock’s lack of professionalism to the ethics committee.
Judging by his infuriating superior attitude, I’d say he’s either got a lot of people in his pocket, or he has tenure.
“Do you know who the patient was?” I ask as we enter another hall.
I’ve never seen that much blood before; it was terrifying. Part of me is still in suspended shock, but it’s going to catch up to me soon. I just need to keep my mind off it and use these volunteer hours as a distraction.
When Lisa utters the patient’s name, I am stunned. It was the patient who had the outburst in the cafeteria a couple of days ago.
Lisa got here before I did today, so she has a bit more information than I do.
She mentions something about patients wandering off when it’s getting close to the curfew, and the aides are taking headcounts. It’s hard to tell who is missing when the aides haven’t gotten around to all the rooms yet.
“Poor thing,” Lisa says solemnly.
It is tragic, but something in me cannot find much sympathy for the deceased patient. It’s heartless of me, but I didn’t know the patient or have any connection to her despite working here.
That doesn't mean I don’t have any sympathy; I just don’t have the type Lisa is showing.
“How did she pass?” I ask.
Lisa cocks her head, pondering quietly. “I heard there was a pool of blood. The night shift supervisor found the patient in the washing machine, but I don’t know how it happened.”
“Scary,” I utter through a shiver.
“Could I have a word, ladies?” Doctor Hancock cuts in.
His voice makes me cringe. I can’t stand it; it is aggravating every time I hear him speak. There are always people who are disliked in the workplace, but he is absolutely despised by everyone.
He doesn’t seem to realize that no one wants to be near him.
I take a step closer to the window as he corners us. It could be my imagination, but I swear he is puffing up his chest like a peacock seeking to mate.
Gross, I think to myself.
He is anything but charming.
Lisa inquires, “What do you need, Doctor?”
It is probably a figment of my imagination again, but Lisa seems curt and standoffish with the man. More so than usual, that is.
“I need both of you to stay after your shift today,” he commands while sticking his nose in the air.
Why does he want us to stay late? The paid staff should be able to handle whatever he needs.
“I would like to discuss your transition to paid positions instead of being volunteers,” he remarks.
“Sorry, Doctor, but I will be continuing here as a volunteer only,” Lisa boldly states.
I haven’t given my answer to Doctor Carrey about the paid position. I have a lot to think about because I do like my marketing job, and it pays very well.
I admit I have grown attached to John, and I’m proud of the progress we have made so far. But that is not a good reason to change my whole career.
“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. It would be of great benefit to have you here as paid employees; you both work hard here.”
I don’t want to hear the next thing out of his mouth because it sounds like he is demanding “quid pro quo.”
Don’t say it, don’t say it.
“I can work something out to increase the pay, but both of you must make it worthwhile for me.”
Oh goodness, the other shoe drops.
He really thinks that, out of all the men I could have sex with, I would choose him because he is offering money. The man is old enough to be my grandfather, and nothing he can offer will change the revulsion I feel.
“I have to decline your offer,” I say as politely as possible despite the bile in the back of my throat.
Lisa looks like she’s about to backhand the man for even suggesting it, her pride more apparent than mine.
“I like volunteering,” Lisa forcefully spits out at him.
When she talks about men on our lunch breaks, she only talks about the ones she is attracted to. Certainly not this “foreskin potato-head,” as she has nicknamed him.
“It would not hurt to expand your horizons,” he encourages.
Anyone overhearing this conversation would think nothing is wrong. But we know the insinuation being made while backing us into a corner.
When he reaches towards my face and touches my hair, I freeze like a deer in the headlights. His fingertips graze my temple, indicating he’s not going to back down.
Why is he touching me?
Doesn’t he know how inappropriate it is to touch people?
I’m starting to understand why John despises being touched. It feels like an absolutely vile violation of privacy.
“How is your bruise—”
His words get cut off, and I dodge my head just in time to avoid having his skull collide with mine. An inked arm with rippling muscles snaps by me; it can only belong to one person.
“John,” I breathe out his name softly. More from disbelief than anything else.
With a face devoid of emotion, he just bashed Hancock’s head into the wall. I can confidently say I know more about John than anyone else does. So the flicker of fury running through his obsidian eyes is not a surprise to me.
He holds the man’s head against the wall, flexing his arm and doing more damage to Hancock before letting go.
He’s
been knocked out cold.
“John,” I whisper again.
The aides rush to his side, making the mistake of putting their hands on him like the way they restrain other patients. John reacts the way I imagine, elbowing one man as his other arm reaches out to break the bones of a second aide.
“No!” I shout.
I also make an impulsive effort to restrain him.
“Stop!” I plead, holding one arm with both of mine.
I stand between John and the aide, ignoring both the unconscious doctor and Lisa’s gasp. They will both be fine, but John won’t be if he keeps hurting everyone near him.
I don’t know what prompted him to suddenly consider Doctor Hancock an archenemy. But something must have happened when he was being accompanied down the hall.
“Don’t do that,” I chide softly with a frown.
One wave of trouble hasn’t yet subsided, and another one just came on too quickly. Everyone is still trying to figure out what happened to the deceased patient. And now we have to worry about John’s attack on one of the doctors.
It was not a simple push or shove; John intended to disfigure the man.
“Get Doctor Hancock to the medical bay this instant!” Doctor Carrey's voice screeches the command at the aides.
She must have come running at the loud commotion. She seems to be wherever John is, almost stalking him to have appeared so suddenly.
“Return to your isolation unit, John!” she orders with a ferocious curl of her lips.
John, as expected, doesn’t acknowledge her. She’s nothing to him; he didn’t even blink as her heels clicked rapidly in our direction.
“I can take him back, Doctor,” I offer while tugging on the giant man.
The aides maneuver around us and take care to avoid the wrathful woman. As the doctor fires off criticisms about inappropriate behavior, she appears to have forgotten there are bystanders.
Lisa is one of them, struggling to figure out what is going on. I understand because I’m having a hard time wrapping my head around all this, feeling like I’m the catalyst for this mess.
“No, Lisa can take him,” the doctor interrupts.
My feet lock in place, and so do John’s. His casual stare switches to a glare that frightens Lisa.
“I think Jessie has a handle on this,” she tries to protest.
“She does not,” the doctor bluntly denies.
I’m not hurt by it because she has this air of entitlement in her tone. I chalk it up to the stress of the situation since she has been working with John for five years.
The doctor continues, “Jessie doesn’t have the proper training to be alone with John. She would be putting herself in danger.”
Doctor Carrey rationalizes, “I have the proper training, but I cannot leave Doctor Hancock at the moment.”
I think she fails to realize that Lisa is not a medical professional either.
Whatever floats her boat. Doctor Carrey needs to remember that if John doesn’t want to move, no one here is going to be able to do a thing about it.
They can’t unless they want to end up like Hancock; they fear John’s strength.
“Okay,” Lisa concedes, “Um, let’s go.”
I release John’s arm and warily watch their interaction. The tension is so thick that I can hardly breathe as she steps closer to John. His back ripples under the tight shirt stretching across his broad shoulders; it’s more intimidating than attractive.
“Please, this way,” Lisa tries again as she motions towards the empty hallway.
Again, he doesn’t move or look her way. To make matters worse, his hand is wrapped tightly around my wrist with a sense of possessiveness seeping through his fingertips.
This problem isn’t going to solve itself, so I’ll do it.
“I can take care of this, Doctor Carrey,” I offer.
I tug on my wrist to emphasize my power over John.
He follows my lead and takes one step towards me. I’m not gloating about my closeness with John. I’m only trying to show her that John listens to me.
Our goal is to get him to the isolation unit. This isn’t the time for a turf war. John is not anyone’s possession, despite what the doctor thinks after spending five years caring for him.
“You must return to my office after that,” she commands, clearly uptight.
“That is not a suggestion,” she adds promptly.
I signed up to be a volunteer to help patients, not to deal with doctors who have a superiority complex. Maybe the paid position she offered is a bad idea if we’re already getting off on the wrong foot.
“Yes, Doctor.”
I pull John along with me; his steps matching mine as I quicken the pace to put as much distance between the doctor and us as possible.
I don’t say anything to him as we walk, and that’s when I realize I don’t have the keys to open the door to his room.
Thank goodness, an aide assigned to John is following us. He’s apprehensive when he inches closer to unlock the door, but he does it quickly and then jumps back a few steps.
“Thanks,” I say, “Can I have a moment with him?”
The man nods and stands just out of earshot, so we have some privacy.
“John, why did you do that?” I can’t help but question him.
It’s been bugging me that his unprovoked brutality did so much damage.
I fold my hand over his and stroke the scarred knuckles, the skin rough and calloused.
He sneers gruffly with a spiteful glare, “Mine.”
Chapter Six
John
I’m going to be transferred to a different asylum.
Hancock demanded that I be removed from this place. He concluded that I’m a hostile animal who needs to be restrained with more aggressive methods, and this place is unable to do it.
Hancock’s request was approved mere hours after he regained consciousness, despite that woman fighting him on it.
I have no regrets about bashing his face in. He touched what is mine, and I simply put him in his place. My little girl is too precious to let his filthy hands tarnish her innocence.
I estimate it will take them a day or two to finish the paperwork. I have that brief window of opportunity to take Jessie into my possession.
Wherever I go, she is coming with me. I’m not a big fan of consent, a needless concept to someone who doesn’t give a shit about social norms.
I will drag her with me, crying and against her will.
Maybe I’ll give her a choice, but that wouldn’t be any fun for me. I want to see the desperation in her eyes when she begs me to let her go.
I’ll pretend to entertain the idea and watch the hope in her eyes, but I won’t give in. I want that bright hope to come crashing down with a simple “no” from me and crush her heart.
Blinking at the disruption of my thoughts, I narrow my eyes at the padded cushion in front of me. A fluctuation in the airflow makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Turning my head to the door, I see that woman peeking through the small opening. She attempts to hold my attention, but nothing she does is of interest to me.
She can fight for me all she wants to protect her five years of work. But she’ll need to fight her way into the new asylum if she tries to follow me. She’s too damn stubborn to know she’s beating a dead horse.
She will get nothing from me.
A woman’s voice echoes through the door, “Doctor Carrey, we’ve secured the laundry room. Jessie’s getting cleaned up before she goes. Do you still need her?”
My interest is piqued at hearing my little girl’s name. My head whips to the small window and watches the woman’s profile as she says something inaudible to the other woman.
I notice the voice belongs to Jessie’s friend Lisa. I don’t consider her a threat, but my unreasonable side still wants her gone from Jessie’s life.
She only needs me.
When I turn back to the bland walls, the woman assures me tha
t my home here won’t change just because the other doctor was hurt. She will do whatever it takes to keep me here.
Fury grumbles in my chest. My nails dig into the palms as I make a fist, but the pain is too dull for me to care. I’m more angered by the woman’s audacity in calling this place “my home” when it’s not, and she has no right to declare anything about me.
Only I have the right to decide what I consider mine. My home is certainly not here. I don’t have a home, but that’s going to change after I get my hands on Jessie.
After the woman leaves, I wait until total silence settles in the hallway. It was easy to train myself to focus on hearing things that are inherently different after long periods of silence.
I stand and roll my shoulders to loosen the stiffness. It’s been years since I had this enthusiasm for bringing fear to someone’s eyes.
Jessie happens to be my favorite victim.
Her fear is gratifying, to say the least. I have been addicted to it from the beginning, and I hate not being able to feel it again until I see her. She pretends my presence doesn’t set her nerves on fire, but her body tenses whenever I’m near.
Like a vulnerable animal being cornered by a hungry predator.
The familiar squeak of the iron bar seems loud when I remove it from the interior door. The steps required to get out of this room are a piece of cake. I don’t understand why these people aren’t checking the rooms after the death of that patient in the laundry room.
After the mess that Jessie and others had to clean, disinfect, and then put everything back in place after confirming there wasn’t another body hidden somewhere.
There wasn’t. I am sure of that.
I push the door open and scout the empty hall, straining my ears to hear any discrepancies. No one is visible, and I have a limited amount of time before the guard comes around the corner on his rounds.
My long stride quickly gets me to the shower room. I turn towards the women’s entrance; this section is for employees only.
The sound of voices echoes through the door, but it’s too muffled to know what they’re saying.
I do recognize the sound of my little girl.
She is in there, just as I anticipated.
The door opens with a gentle push. Steam smacks me in the face as I walk into the communal shower room. The fruity scent of shampoo overcomes the stale air from the hallway when the door closes behind me.