Asylum

by Lily White

  “Did I do that?” Barely able to form the words with my tongue, I spoke slowly, whispering the question to which I wasn’t sure I wanted an answer.

  “I don’t know, Ms. Sutton. Do you remember doing that?” Jeremy prodded me gently with his question and I couldn’t fault him for not understanding what was portrayed in the photograph. I didn’t understand it myself and, as documented by the camera, I’d been there to see it in person.

  Tears fell along my cheeks and my bottom lip quivered with an emotion I didn’t recognize. “I don’t think so.”

  Suddenly it was Dain who was kneeling in front of me. When he’d approached, Jeremy had graciously moved and I was soothed by the strong presence of my brother.

  “Are you going to be okay to go through with this, Kid? We can wait…”

  “No. I want to start the session now while the memory is fresh.” Jeremy interrupted. Dain’s face twisted with anger, but softened again when he looked at me.

  “Can you do this, Alex?”

  “Yes.” The word felt robotic and automatic. It wasn’t spoken because I honestly felt prepared to go forward. My reasons were my own and those reasons were nothing more than a tool for avoiding Joe. I wouldn’t tell the men that truth, solely because I knew they would never believe me.

  Forcing my gaze to Dr. Hutchins’ face, I reluctantly announced, “I’m ready.”

  With a single, solemn nod, he reached out and took my hand to help me up from my seat. After giving me a few moments to say goodbye to Dain, he led me out of the room before turning back to my brother to say, “If we learn anything, Mr. Sutton, I promise you’ll be the first to know.”

  Dain nodded his consent and I was led down the long white hallway with flashing bulbs above my head.

  I knew it was only therapy to which I was being escorted, but for some reason the dread had reached a level inside me that was so high it felt like I was a dead woman walking.

  Chapter Twelve

  “...our memory has no guarantees at all, and yet we bow more often than is objectively justified to the compulsion to believe what it says.”

  - Sigmund Freud

  “I’m going to select the room for you this time, Ms. Sutton. You won’t like it, but it’s necessary in order to lead you to the particular moment in your life that I would like to explore.”

  Crossing the room with a fluid stride, Jeremy moved towards the section of the room that I’d not yet been allowed to see. It was the portion behind the curtain, the room hidden from view. It was the one that had caught my attention on both occasions when I’d been here.

  “What’s behind the curtain?”

  He paused mid-step, turning towards me with a look of sympathy in his eyes. “It’s been designed to promote recognition. It’s been set up to resemble the photo you just viewed. I won’t lie to you and tell you this will be easy, but I’ll be with you every step of the way. If you can trust me, you can get through this.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  Without acknowledging my question, he pulled the curtain aside and I gasped to see the size of the space that lay behind. The curtain was nothing more than a doorway. My steps faltered as I approached the space.

  Grasping my shaking hand lightly in his, Jeremy pulled me through the door and into an area that resembled the living room I’d seen in the photo.

  “Before we begin, I’ll show you around. There are three rooms: the living room, which you see, a bedroom through that door and a bathroom that is adjacent to the bedroom. Everything in this space has been selected to match the photographs of the crime scene in which you were found with Bobby Arrington’s remains.”

  “But there was only one photograph,” I objected.

  Looking at me with eyes that resembled the color of a summer storm, he confessed, “There was only one photograph that you were shown. The rest were intentionally kept from you. I want to ensure that what you remember is a result of memory and not a simple suggestion by having viewed all the photos.”

  I swiveled where I stood, my legs unsteady and weak as we started to cross the living room area to enter the bedroom.

  His voice was soft and comforting, the deep baritone and Southern cadence soothing me from the inside out. “I want to conduct the session in this room.”

  My eyes immediately sought out the bed and I recoiled at the sight of it. I couldn’t understand my reaction. It was nothing more than a bed, nicely dressed in black silk sheets with white pillows that popped against the midnight color.

  Jeremy’s body heat rolled over my back when he stepped up behind me. His mouth was close to my ear and I shivered to feel his breath on my skin. “I’ll be with you, Alex, for every step. These memories will tell us the truth of what’s happened to you. They can help us free you, or if you are guilty of what you’ve been accused, they can help us understand what caused you to commit the crimes in the first place. Without knowing what happened, I’m unable to adequately help you.”

  “I know.” Failing at my attempt to put strength into my voice, I asked, “I assume you want me on the bed.”

  “It’s where I think this therapy can best be conducted.”

  Spinning on my heel, I looked up at him and was surprised by the gentle heat I saw in his eyes. “But in the photo, I was in the living room…”

  “You were photographed in the living room, yes,” he interrupted. “However, the investigation revealed that the beginning of the scuffle occurred in the bedroom. I want to take you back to the beginning.”

  Weakly, I nodded my head in feigned understanding. In truth, I had no idea what would come of this, no clue if my past would come crashing back to haunt me, or whether it would remain in the distance completely out of my reach. If the knowledge that Joe and Emerson were outside of this room waiting for me weren’t firmly planted in my thoughts, I would have refused this afternoon’s therapy. I would have run from the room and hidden in whatever shadowed corner I could find. As it was, the real threat against me waited out in those halls. They were a far more real and present threat than anything that could possibly be trapped in my head.

  “You’ll take care of me, right Doc? You’ll be there with me in this, right?” My voice was pleading with him, begging him to answer that, yes, he would walk me through my past and safely pull me out of whatever nightmare waited to greet me when I relaxed enough to remember.

  A gentle squeeze on my hand was his response.

  “Okay. No time like the present, I guess.” With inching steps, I approached the bed, sighing loudly before I climbed onto the soft silk and luxuriated in the feel of the soft mattress beneath the sheets. In an attempt to lighten the suffocating mood in the room, I joked, “By any chance, can we move this bed to my cell? Or better yet, why don’t I just start sleeping in here?”

  His laughter was soft and was followed by the light scratching sound of the tip of his pen over paper. “I wish I could accommodate your request, Ms. Sutton, but that would be outside of my control.”

  His words confused me. I thought the directing psychiatrist had absolute control when it came to this place. “You don’t deal with the day to day stuff here?”

  “I’m used more for consulting purposes, but there are other doctors who are better qualified in the administration and directive duties of the institution.”

  Jostling my thoughts to determine who that could be, I finally gave up and asked, “Who directs the asylum?”

  He smiled at me, but the expression was so slight, the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “Dr. Ali sees to the administration of the institution.” Stressing his last word, he indirectly scolded me for referring to this place as an asylum. “If there is a major decision that needs to be made or an emergency treatment required for an out of control patient, she will run the situation past me before making any decisions. However, when it comes to the daily operations, she is typically the person to make the calls.”

  My eyes followed him as he crossed the room and took a seat in one of the wing-
backed chairs closest to the bed. Settling himself back, he retrieved his glasses from the front pocket of his white coat and set them in place over his eyes. Reaching again into another pocket, he withdrew the syringe that was becoming all too familiar in the therapy sessions.”

  My curiosity was piqued and I dared to ask, “What’s in the needle?”

  Looking up from his notes, he maintained a blank expression – an expression typically worn by a professional and one that revealed nothing of what the person was feeling or thinking. “It’s a mixture of a mild sedative and a not so mild stimulant and hallucinogen. The combination is enough to calm the patient to whom it’s administered, while also opening that person up enough that they no longer feel a need to hide behind whatever walls they’ve built around themselves.”

  “It makes me feel floaty,” I confessed.

  He chuckled and I realized that I enjoyed the sound of his laughter, perhaps a bit too much. What was I feeling towards Doc Hutchins? It wasn’t fear or hatred like I felt towards Joe or Emerson, but it wasn’t the same trust I felt for Terrie. With Jeremy, I felt an apprehension of what he would do to me, while at the same time, anxiousness to spend more time with him to find out the truth of his intentions.

  “Then it’s doing exactly what I’d hoped it would do.”

  “Do doctors use it often?” I was full of questions; some were the result of idle curiosity, while others were an attempt to delay the inevitable.

  He sighed. “Are you scared?”

  “No.”

  Yes, I was scared, but I wasn’t willing to admit it.

  “I was just wondering.”

  Pushing up out of the chair, he approached the bed and slowly lowered himself onto the mattress until he was sitting next to me. He resembled a predator inching up on its prey, moving slowly in fear that his approach would frighten away whatever it was he’d selected for dinner.

  “Both of the drugs are commonly used in my practice. One for the obvious reasons: to settle an anxious or violent patient. The other is somewhat experimental, but has been tested sufficiently for me to condone its use. There has been remarkable progress in the treatment of PTSD patients as a result of this drug, however the broad spectrum of its benefits are not yet fully understood.”

  “So, I’m a guinea pig?” I didn’t like the scowl that crossed his face with that question.

  “Of sorts, yes. I won’t lie and tell you this is a common form of therapy. However, I distinctly remember telling you that this was my own idea when we first started. Speaking of which, Chatty Kathy, are you ready to proceed?”

  “I’m stalling, aren’t I?”

  He chuckled again.

  “Okay.” Extending my arm out to him, I presented my vein and clenched my teeth waiting for the familiar pinch that came with the needle. It was quick as usual and I was thankful that Jeremy was as gentle as he was kind.

  Sinking back against the pillows, I closed my eyes and breathed out a sigh as the instant floating sensation took over. Sitting on top of what felt like clouds, I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped me as my mind felt melted inside my head. I knew that Jeremy sat monitoring my every move and behavior, but I didn’t care or feel shame about how the drug affected me and caused me to react. It was wonderful, a slow heat that rolled through my muscles, ironing out the kinks and spasms that felt like heavy stones. My constant tension and fear drifted away and for that brief moment in time, and I smiled.

  Life wasn’t so bad beneath the effects of such a wonderful drug.

  “Hey Doc…” I didn’t know if I’d spoken out loud or if my lips were able to form the sounds of the words. They must have because Jeremy was quick to respond.

  “Yes, Ms. Sutton?”

  Sighing as I sank further against the soft pillows and sheets, I asked, “Is this stuff addictive?”

  He was quiet for a few seconds and I knew without having to open my eyes that he had a contemplative expression on his face.

  “I assume it can be, if used improperly. However, the dosage I’m administering and the frequency of its use are not enough to become addictive to your body.

  “What about my mind? I have to be honest, Doc, I love this stuff. I feel like I can flap my arms and fly away from all of this. It’s like liquid happiness. Is this what drug addicts feel like?”

  “I suppose that when they get their fix, yes. However, this drug won’t leave you with painful cravings once it’s left your system.”

  The silence became heavy between us, but it didn’t carry the usual tension and uneasiness that was normally present. I credited the drug for that absence.

  “Hey, Doc?”

  “Yes, Ms. Sutton?”

  Taking the opportunity of a moment where I didn’t care whether he believed me or not, I voiced a concern I’d been too afraid to admit over the past few days.

  “Did you know that Joe and Emerson rape the patients at night? They warned me that if I said anything, I’d get the shock so that I would forget what was done. So that I’d forget everything. I’m sure if you asked some of the other women, they’d tell you. Just not Erin. She was shocked yesterday.”

  Silence, thick and heavy, settled itself down in the room like a weighted blanket, but I didn’t care. The feeling of floating was too nice and I could ignore whatever apprehension I should have felt for having been honest.

  “I’ll look into it, Alex. For now, I want you to think only about the distant past. Discussing any other subjects could disrupt what we are hoping to accomplish.”

  I nodded, satisfied that he didn’t call me an outright liar for my claim. Lower and lower, I sank into a place where nothing could frighten or hurt me. At the point where I swore I could fall asleep, I heard Jeremy whisper in a dark voice, “I promise you, Alex, no other man will touch you under my watch.”

  I didn’t really comprehend what he was saying, but for whatever reason, I felt safe because of it.

  “Let’s begin.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I should like to lie at your feet and die in your arms.”

  - Voltaire

  “I don’t know about this, Bobby. What if we get caught? You know my aunt has been on to me lately about getting home on time. What if your parents come home early?”

  “Shut up, Alex. I’m so sick of your constant worrying.” Wrapping me in his arms, he pulled me tight against his body, his arousal evident from beneath his pants. “Nobody is going to catch us. Your aunt thinks you’re staying the night at Cheyenne’s and my parents are on a fucking boat on their way to the Bahamas. I doubt they can change their mind and suddenly come home.”

  “They might send somebody to check on you.”

  In truth, my concern wasn’t that we would get caught. I was more concerned that we wouldn’t. For months now, Bobby had been pressuring me into doing things I didn’t want to do; odd sexual kinks that I didn’t find to be romantic or fun. I was still shy about my nudity, still struggling to allow my thoughts and emotions to make sense of the things Bobby had been forcing my body to do.

  “Your pulse is elevated, Alex. Where are we?”

  Jeremy appeared near the spot where Bobby and I were standing. Whenever his image popped up, it felt like time stopped. Bobby was nothing more than a motionless statue, holding me in his rock hard grip.

  “At Bobby’s. He wants me to spend the night.”

  “I see. Well then we’re where we want to be. Continue.” His image dissipated with a passing breeze and I was left alone to play out the scene on the front porch of Bobby’s house.

  “I don’t know about this. What if the neighbors or somebody else is watching? I’ll be in so much trouble and if my brother finds out…”

  His mouth was on mine before I could finish the sentence. Soft and warm, his lips moved with the gentleness of a loving boyfriend, but still had the need and ferocity of a man starved for a sexual release. Hands gripped my hips, pulling me tighter against his erection. I gasped and he took the opportunity to explore my mouth w
ith his tongue, stealing away the fear and concern from my thoughts and the breath from my lungs.

  Deft fingers explored my hips and the bit of skin between my mound and belly button. They were soft swirling motions across such a sensitive area – perfectly timed and matching the motion of his tongue in my mouth. I was seduced in an instant, my knees buckling as I held on to his shoulders for support.

  I groaned when he pulled away, my eyelids heavy and my heart beating a quick staccato in my chest.

  His eyes twinkled with mischief when he looked down at me. “I’ve have a surprise for you. It’s a present I bought just for you.”

  Surprise shot through me like a razor edged arrow, searing my heart with the heat of its velocity. Warmth followed its path and I beamed up at Bobby, excited to hear that he’d bought something for me. It was the first time he’d given me anything of real value. Even on my birthday and the Christmas we’d already spent together, I never received anything more than some chocolates and a quick, lustful pounding.

  “Really? I want to see!” My voice was two octaves higher than it should have been, the sound jarring even to me. Clearing my throat, I looked away sheepishly. Bobby laughed and pulled my face back to look at him.

  “I’m saving it for later. You’re going to love it. I promise.”

  His hand released my face and moved to open the front door. I looked inside and couldn’t help my admiration of his parents’ home. Stepping into the large front entryway, I glanced up at the black chandelier with black jewels and beads that hung delicately from the iron frame. Mrs. Arrington’s taste was modern and throughout the large house, I knew that each room was designed to have crisp, clean lines with little color except for a mixture of blacks, whites, greys and reds. It was a beautiful home that was tastefully arranged, so much different than the small country cottage where my aunt and I lived.

  The door slammed behind me and I turned to see Bobby leaning up against the wall watching me with sultry eyes and a puckered and full mouth that seduced me with not only words but also with tenderness and heat. However, a quick shiver ran down my spine when I thought about the sharp bite of the teeth that were concealed beneath his pillow soft lips.