WHITE WALLS FINAL Ebook

by Lauren Hammond

  “I don't think anything,” Aurora harrumphs. I turn my head to look at her and notice that she's gone back to coloring. “I know where they took her.”

  “So where is it then?”

  “The basement.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “The basement?”

  “Yeah. That's what I just said, the basement.”

  “Well, what goes on down there?” That's something I've always wondered about. I've seen unruly patients being taken down there, but I never really knew what they were being taken down there for.

  Aurora sticks her tongue out and scribbles with an orange crayon. “Trust me, you don't want to know.”

  “I do, though.”

  “No you don't.” Aurora chucks the orange crayon at the table and stares at me deadpan. “But, I can tell you this; once they take you down there,” she exhales and looks out the large rectangular window behind her, “well, I haven't known anyone that's come back the same.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  ~After~

  I wait.

  For an answer.

  To find out about my future.

  The stunningly handsome Dr. Watson hasn't returned to my room. His muffled voice mixed in with the police officers muffled voices faded out hours ago. A wide range of emotion has been running through me ever since.

  There's fear.

  Confusion.

  Anger.

  The uncertainty of my situation gnaws at me. In some moments it feels like a pair of teeth are ripping into my stomach and clamping down before they tear away the lining and I'm left alone. I'm open, exposed, and hemorrhaging from the inside out.

  I hate not knowing what's going to happen to me. As I sit here and wait, a dozen possible scenarios flash through my mind.

  What if...

  What if...

  What if they let me remain in the hospital until I'm healed then haul me back to Oakhill? What if they take me now? Or what if there is some sort of protocol they have to follow first?

  No matter which way I look at it, there is no happy ending for me. I'll wind up, tortured, lost and empty. The biggest disappointment is that I had hope. I had it, believed in it, and cradled it in my arms like a swaddling newborn. I trusted hope with my future and got let down.

  I think of Aurora and what she probably sacrificed for my escape. Then I think of how enraged she would be if she saw me being drug back down the darkened halls of Oakhill by two orderlies dressed in white.

  I gave you a chance, she'd tell me.

  At chance at freedom, she'd tell me.

  I imagine the saddened look in her big brown eyes. I imagine the twist of emotion on her child-like face. You know what else she'd tell me. She'd tell me, you had it all, Adelaide, and you blew it.

  I've spent so many years loathing myself. Believing everything Daddy ever told me. That I was a waste. A whore. A stupid girl. Even Damien couldn't wash away a lot of the self-hatred I'd built up through the years. I blink back tears and drop my gaze to my hands when I think of him. The tubes connected to my arms blur in and out of my vision and I come to the heart-wrenching realization that it took Damien dying to make me realize that I am not all the things Daddy has led me to believe I am.

  I am smart.

  I am strong.

  I am witty.

  I have a good heart and fierce determination inside of me.

  Pressing the tip of my finger to one of the plastic tubes connected to my arms, I know what thinking about everything from my past means. It means technically I am not a patient of Oakhill. I'm not even a patient at this hospital because they don't even know my name. I'm Jane Doe. Unless the police told the staff my real name. But if they haven't I'm still free.

  And I can still get the hell out of here.

  Picking up my pillow, I bite into it and rip the IV tubes from each arm. I let out a muffled scream and bite down on the pillow harder as a stinging pain sprints down my forearms, stopping at my wrists. Little droplets of blood pool in the crooks of my elbows and I wipe them away quickly before yanking off the cords that are connected to my chest.

  There's a rectangular window on the opposite side of the room. Stumbling out of bed, I make my way toward it, limping and gritting my teeth. My legs ache. My entire body is stiff. I can barely breathe on account of my broken ribs, but I'm not going to let that stop me. I'm not going to let anything stop me now.

  I make it to the window and press my good shoulder into it, sliding it open the slightest bit. Then I hook my right hand underneath it and push it open as much as I can for me to climb out.

  Then I look down.

  I'm on the second floor.

  Sticking my head out the window, I estimate the drop is about twelve feet. My attention averts to the side of the cement building. There's a ledge that spans from one end to the other. Below me is another ledge. Above me are more. In fact, it seems that there's a ledge about ten inches wide on every floor. I study the distance between the ledge on the first floor and the ledge on the floor I'm on. With my injuries, swinging from one to the other is going to be a challenge, but I tell myself that I'd rather die trying to escape rather than not try at all.

  It's not until half of my body is out of the window that I hear the door to my room slam, followed by someone mumbling, “Shit.”

  I start shimmying and I'm almost completely out the window when I feel a pair of strong hands on my waist. I start kicking. No! Damn it! No! I wiggle my body and start swatting at the person with my good hand. “Let me go!” My hand connects with the person's face. There's a grunt. “Just let me go!” Now they're using more force. Both of their arms are wrapped around my waist and they pull. They yank. I'm trying to grip onto something, but I can't and I fall back through the window and on top of someone.

  My eyes are closed and I open them abruptly. I suck in a deep breath and stare into a set of amber eyes. Amber eyes that are blazing with rage. I try to pick myself up off Dr. Watson, but my arm buckles and I fall back on top of him. A pain so intense surges through me ribs and I gasp for air. Dr. Watson is up in a flash and he pushes me into the wall hands flat against my chest. The pain subsides and I enjoy the glorious air as I suck in a deep breath and take it into my lungs.

  The beautiful monster with his hands on my chest is scowling at me. “What in God's name is wrong with you?” he forces out, his jaw clenched. “You could have killed yourself!”

  “No,” I gasp and push against him trying to get back to the window. The image of him earlier, leaving my room to go chat with the police officers resurfaces. I see the stern emotionless expression on his face. I hear the strained grunt leave his lips when I squeeze his fingers. I need to get out of here. I need to get out of here now.

  Maneuvering to my left, I try to slide around him, but he grips my arm. It doesn't hurt, but he's using enough force to keep me next to him. “Don't make me have to move your room. I'll put you in the basement, I swear it. Right next to the morgue.” His voice isn't cruel, but hearing basement and morgue in the same sentence sends all of my composure to a dark part of my mind and I hit my knees.

  Then I scream.

  The tears fall from my eyes.

  I'm shaking, shaking, shaking.

  I can't stop.

  Finally, I beg, “Please don't send me down there!” My face is on fire and not even my tears can put out the blaze. “You can't send me back there!” I bury my face in my hands and cry harder. “You can't! You can't do this!” I look up at him, my lashes soaked, my cheeks red and stained with wetness. “What kind of a doctor are you?” I thought they'd actually help me here. A sliver of me hoped that maybe I was wrong about him and the he would help me.

  Dr. Watson gives me an odd look and takes a knee in front of me. His look is a mix of an awestruck yet confused look. It's like he's never seen someone hysterical before. He reaches out to me, but I cower away. I'm afraid of him. Afraid of he might be capable of. And the fact that he might have had a hand in adding to my misery. He might have had a hand in st
rapping me to the gurney at Oakhill and had a hand in sending thousands of volts of electricity pumping through my body.

  He reaches out to me again and I slap his hand away. Then he lets out a frustrated sigh and runs his hand through his strands of gold. “Will you please be reasonable?” he asks curtly. “I'm not going to hurt you, Adelaide.”

  My eyes widen, and my mouth gapes. “You know my name,” I whisper.

  His stare is adamant. “Yes.”

  “They told you.”

  “Yes.” He reaches out to me again, but I'm too numb to react. He surprises me when his fingers brush against my cheek, and he tucks my hair behind my ear. My cheek tingles and I can't do anything but stare. It's the first tender gesture I've ever seen from Dr. Watson. Then again I've only seen him twice.

  This creature of a man confuses me.

  He's complex.

  Unreadable.

  Not that I have much to base my opinion on, but Damien was like an open book. One look at his face and I knew what he was thinking. Or how he was feeling. Thinking of him takes me to dark places and I turn my head away from Dr. Watson and close my eyes. In a strange way this man reminds me of Damien.

  And re-opening that wound is painful.

  Now I'd prefer that I be taken back to Oakhill.

  They can take me to the basement.

  They can fry my brain.

  Because I know that's the only way I'll be able to forget everything.

  I exhale in defeat and stare at Dr. Watson, deadpan. “When are they coming for me?”

  Dr. Watson closes his eyes for a second, and runs a hand along his chiseled jawline. He has a fresh patch of stubble and I have the urge to fan my fingers across it. I clasp my hands together to keep from acting on the urge. When he opens his eyes there's something different about them. It's almost like there's a spark of some kind in them. It flashes brilliantly. And I think it's... it's...regret. “They're not,” he says slowly.

  “What?” I almost squeak. “You didn't turn me in to them. Why?”

  He stands, pacing in front of me. “I don't know.” He stops mid-pace and extends a hand to me. When I try to stand he leans over and puts both hands on my shoulders, helping me to my feet. “That's not something I normally do.”

  “What isn't something you'd normally do?”

  “I don't break protocol to lie for a patient.” He helps me over to my bed, puts the cords back on my chest, then pulls the sheet up to my elbows.

  “You're a man of rules then?” I try to get a good look at his face, but his chin is down. It's like not looking into my eyes is his suit of armor. He doesn't seem like the type that likes to get too personal.

  “In some way yes,” he answers informatively. “Mostly, I'm a man of order and I don't like when that order becomes unbalanced. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Dr. Watson.”

  “Good. Now get some rest.” I fight the urge to ask him if that was an order and simply lie back on my pillow. Dr. Watson continues, “You've got some fight in you. That's an admirable quality. If I was hit by a car, and sustained the amount of injuries you have, I don't think I'd be up and on my feet so quickly.”

  Hit by a car?

  So that's what the bright lights were.

  I mean I should have suspected it because I knew I was on a road, but then again I was delirious from not having any food, water, or proper sleep. I almost smile when I think of the compliment Dr. Watson just gave me. Damien always told me I was a strong person, but Daddy's words that haunted me never allowed me to believe him. Damien was right. I'm a lot stronger than I give myself credit for.

  With a turn on his heel, he starts for the door. “Dr. Watson,” I call out. He stops and glances at me from over his shoulder. “For what it's worth, thank you.”

  He doesn't answer, only nods.

  “I'm not sure if the police told you what happened to me or not, but—”

  “It's none of my business, Adelaide,” he says cutting me off. He walks to the door, puts his hand on the knob and pulls it open slightly. “But it is my business to make sure that you're recovered before you leave.”

  Then he exits, leaving me alone to drown in my own thoughts.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ~Before~

  I don't like Dr. Matthew Morrow.

  At all.

  I see him from time to time for private therapeutic sessions and I know that lurking behind that placid, face smile of his is a monster.

  I've seen the way he treats the patients who don't cooperate with him. He's loud, brutal, and cruel. He gets physical by slapping, pushing, and restraining. Sometimes he takes unruly patients to the basement where he performs procedures on them. He reminds me of Daddy. So I told myself early on that I wouldn't give Dr. Morrow a reason to be loud, brutal, and cruel with me.

  I stand in the doorway of his wide office with yellow walls, hardwood floors, and a plaid loveseat in the far corner. Dr. Morrow's salt and pepper hair is the only part of him I can see from where I'm standing, but I can tell he's absorbed in paperwork. “Come in, Adelaide,” he beckons with a hand gesture.

  Timidly, I take a few small steps into the office then scurry over to the loveseat. I lie back, positioning my head on the head rest and wait for Dr. Morrow to finish up. My hospital gown rides up my thighs, almost to my pubic region and I tug on it frantically until it's at a reasonable level. Then I hear a voice. “I don't like this guy.” Damien.

  I don't look in his direction, but I whisper, “Go away!”

  Damien shakes his head and sits down on the floor. “I'm not going anywhere. I don't trust this guy.” Damien cocks his head in Dr. Morrow's direction. “He should be a prison warden not a doctor. Doctors are supposed to help people.”

  “He is helping!” I snap and raise my voice.

  Dr. Morrow lifts his head and raises his eyebrows. “Did you say something, Adelaide?”

  I quickly shake my head as Dr. Morrow shuffles a stack of papers on his desk and folds his hands in front of him. He shifts and leans back in his chair, his eyes dead-locked on me. “All right then. Let's get started.”

  I nod.

  “How have you been feeling, Adelaide?” Dr. Morrow's voice is deep and brusque and there isn't one ounce of concern in it.

  “I'm starting to feel better,” I tell him. “I'm not having as many night terrors and the voices I used to hear are starting to fade.”

  Damien snorts and I still refrain from looking in his direction.

  “Good,” says Dr. Morrow. He sits up and picks up a notepad. “Tell me about your father.”

  “My father?” I question. “What about him?” I like to think that he died. Or never existed at all for that matter.

  Dr. Morrow grips a pen, narrows his eyes, and exhales. “Has he tried to contact you at all?”

  “No.” I hope the doctor can sense the relief in my tone.

  “Does that bother you?”

  “No.”

  I am glad Daddy refrains from contacting me. But even if I wanted him to, deep down inside of me I know he wouldn't. Deep down inside I know that he probably hates me more now than he did before. Because in his head, just like when he used to beat me, everything that happened to him is my fault.

  I testified against him and from the look in his face during his trial, I knew that that would be the last time I ever saw him. A small part of me was elated and at the same time I was terrified. It was difficult to look at the man who'd inflicted so much pain into my life. It was difficult to look at the man who fathered me and not see an ounce of love for me in his eyes. But I knew I had to go through with it. There had to be justice for what he'd done to Mommy and Damien. What stood out to me the most about that day were two things; Damien’s' parents who sat in the back of the courtroom and never once looked at me while I was on the stand. Then Daddy and the way he looked at me. I remember the way he scowled at me. I remember the way he drug his finger across his neck, eyes wide with fury, insinuating the obscene gesture was for me
. I am glad Daddy is locked up for life. I hope I never see or hear from him ever again.

  ~ ~ ~

  After my session with Dr. Morrow concludes, I walk down the hall with Damien at my side. I still won't look in his direction, but I know he's there. I can feel it because suddenly the whole temperature in the hall drops a level or two. Finally he says, “How long are you going to let this go on, Addy?”

  I stare blankly straight ahead. “Let what go on?”

  “How long are you going to continue avoiding me?”

  Until you get the hint and move on to the after-life. “I don't know.” I'm surprised by my actions toward him, really and truly. In the past, I possessed no strength when it came to Damien. He could persuade me to do almost anything. Except maybe jump off a bridge or something. I know I submitted to his every whim in the past, but that was because I loved him so much. Sometimes the love I have for him suffocates me even now. Before I convinced myself that it was okay to not breathe because living without him would be like living in a world without air anyway.

  But now...

  I see things differently.

  I'm thankful every day that I met Damien. That he whisked me away is his convertible to a world of possibilities. A world where I wasn't just the daughter of the town drunk. A world where I wasn't just a girl with a miserable life. We loved each other. We had hope. Now we have nothing.

  Because Damien is dead.

  I can't hold on to what used to be. I can't go through life loving him this way.

  It’s sick.

  Twisted.

  Not right.

  “Damien, I—” The rest of the words get caught up in a wad of saliva when I notice Suzette staggering down the hall. My eyes widen and terror snakes through my veins at the sight of her. Her hair is frizzy and messy. All the color is drained from her face. She has purplish crescents underneath her eyes. My jaw hits the floor. “Suzette.”

  I know they gave her electro-shock and I’ve witnessed the flickering lights and vibrating walls, but I’ve never seen a patient after receiving electro-shock therapy. And right now, I feel like retching.