Confinement

by Gabriella Murray

  I pushed at the grate. It wouldn't give. I looked back briefly over my shoulder: it was too far to turn back, and besides I couldn't maneuver to turn around anyway. I made up my mind. I prayed to Lord Jesus with all my might, then in one swift movement

  I threw the entire weight of my body into the grate. It gave, with a wrenching crash.

  I quickly pulled myself out of the shaft and fell to the ground. It was a far fall, at least ten feet; I banged my elbow hard, but I was too pumped up to feel it. The crash of the grate was too loud. Someone would have heard it.

  As if telepathically a light went on from inside. I got to my feet, and all out ran for the fence, across what now seemed like an endless stretch of grass.

  The cool night surrounded me. I had to beat them to the fence. Because of Duffino, everyone would still be diverted. It would be unguarded. Curled over, I ran full speed. Thick darkness surrounded me. I lost my balance and fell to the side. I cut my leg on a protruding rock. Warm blood ran down my thigh. It didn't matter. I had to go on.

  Finally I arrived at the gate. I turned and peered back. More lights had come on. I yanked myself back from any nostalgia and feverishly pulled myself up the thick, metal fence. When I reached the top, I took the two thick, sweaters wrapped around my waist, and wrapped them over my forearms and hands. I then reached up and pulled myself over the barbed wire. I kicked my legs over and with one huge jerk and a deep gash on my shin, was over to the other side.

  I ran and ran down the hillside. It was over. I was out. I breathed the stillness, the pines, breathed the hope that I would be led where I belonged. I was intoxicated with freedom. I prayed I would find Duffino soon and that we'd move on together. The wind whistled in the trees. In answer to my prayers, I heard a sudden, swift shot, like a firecracker, go off in the dark. At first I thought there had been a minor explosion. Then another shot sounded, far up and away. What was it? Had they found Duffino? Were they after Colin? The shots fired more rapidly, one after another, closer.

  I spun around and looked. Figures in the dark were running down the hill, coming my way. For me?

  The figures ran faster, firing shots in the air. It was me they were after. I had been spotted. They were tracing me.

  "God," I cried out, "what did you do now?"

  TWENTY FOUR

  No matter how fast I ran, I could not outrun them. Three huge orderlies had their arms around me, pulling me backwards, jamming my neck. In a second, huge search lights from the roof were glaring down on us. A second later sirens started, and the automatic loudspeaker was triggered: ESCAPE FROM BINGHAM it blared over and over.

  The whole hospital was on alert. Inmates woke. Lights, like stars, went on in all the rooms.

  ESCAPE FROM BINGHAM the loudspeaker kept blaring.

  I couldn't move or turn around.

  "We got her," one of them was shouting.

  A brigade of doctors, guards, orderlies, and reporters came running at me full speed. Maybe they thought I was Duffino?

  "Damn," I heard Dr. Whitney shouting, running, followed by reporters, flashing cameras as they ran.

  "What the hell's going on?" he practically spit in my face as he talked. Dr. Farbin was close behind him, and coming up behind was Greta, running for her life. A regular family reunion.

  "Damn, damn!" Dr. Whitney kept repeating. The cold night air stung my face.

  "What's the commotion?" I tried to say calmly. "I just went out to find Duffino," I said, thinking quickly.

  "What?"

  "She's not back yet, is she?" A cold, steel backbone propped me up.

  "Damn it, damn," Dr. Whitney was infuriated.

  "Let Charlotte speak," Dr. Farbin stepped forward.

  "I left to find Duffino," I answered, squirming in the orderly's arms.

  "Let Charlotte loose," Dr. Farbin said simply.

  My heart started beating.

  "I mean, let her out of the guards control. She's completely surrounded, where can she go?"

  "I agree," piped up Greta.

  Dr. Whitney wouldn't have it. He wanted to see me squirming in pain. I had disrupted the order, caused an outburst. But reporters were snapping pictures of me. He had to be careful.

  "Undo her for a moment," he grudgingly agreed.

  I shook my arms free of the confinement.

  Then I took the offensive. "Is Duffino back yet? I demand to know."

  "Any minute," Dr. Whitney reiterated.

  "You said that a few hours ago! Someone has to go get her!

  Security for Duffino has been lax."

  The reporters wrote it down.

  "For me, who is completely innocent, there is retention wherever I turn."

  "Completely innocent?" a reporter looked at me strangely.

  Greta piped in then, "Charlotte claims to be innocent of her crime. She never had a public trial."

  A reporter in the back, flashed another picture.

  "Now, wait a minute!" Dr. Whitney spun around, enraged, at Greta.

  "I am reporting what she told me in Insulin," Greta responded

  professionally.

  "It is a private matter," Dr. Whitney growled at her.

  The reporters came in closer.

  "It's not about me," I interrupted. "Duffino could be in danger right now. Worse than I am."

  "This patient was sacrificing herself for Duffino," Greta spoke to the reporters, loud and clear.

  "I wouldn't go that far," Dr. Whitney said.

  "Let Charlotte, speak," Dr. Farbin repeated again.

  "Duffino's not coming back if someone doesn't go get her," I

  said hoarsely.

  "How do you know that?" one reporter came closer.

  "We were roommates since the day she got here. I know things about her no one else knows. We became friends."

  "What things do you know?" the reporters got cozy.

  "I found her diaries. I deciphered the letters. I read them all."

  The reporters eyes opened.

  "Hold on. What's this? New evidence for the trial?"

  "Nobody ever read it but me. Nobody can find it but me. I know details no one's ever seen before."

  The reporters turned to Dr. Whitney. "These are headlines," they said.

  Dr. Whitney's hands gnarled together.

  "No need for excitement, gentlemen. After all, this is a mental patient you are listening to. In her case, imagination and obsession are in control. You cannot believe a word she says."

  "I have it in writing," I called out. "Evidence. In my possession."

  "They all say they have things in their possession," Dr. Whitney was determined to stop this cold.

  The reporters blinked.

  "Charlotte has been known to make all kinds of claims. But she's just returned from Insulin Therapy. Down in Insulin patients are temporarily drenched in dreams."

  "Drenched in dreams!" the reporters were writing it down.

  Then they turned, and scrutinized me closely.

  "And Greta is new here as well. She's not used to the fact that patients make wild claims while in Insulin Therapy. It doesn't necessarily mean any of them are true."

  Dr. Whitney turned and smiled at Greta bitterly then.

  Greta did not return his smile.

  "Dr. Farbin will be able to give you a fuller picture of Charlotte," she said instead. "He has been her doctor for all this while."

  As one man, the reporters now turned their attention on Dr. Farbin.

  He looked sad suddenly. Unutterably sad and alone.

  "Yes?" the reporters said to him.

  "Charlotte has made progress," Dr. Farbin stated simply. His reputation was on the line.

  "Would you call her deranged?" one reporter was persistent.

  "I would not call her deranged."

  My eyes filled with tears. He had never said that before.

  "I would say, however, that Insulin Therapy treatments, which she has just undergone, are known to temporarily confuses the patient."

&nbs
p; Moe, the fat reporter, didn't buy a word of this. Not one word. He'd always liked me. He took a step closer.

  "Has Duffino talked to you, Charlotte?"

  "No, not yet."

  "Are you positive?"

  "Yes. But she almost talked. If they had let us stay together longer, it certainly would have happened."

  "It's always a question of almost," Dr. Whitney broke in. "But the fact of the matter is Duffino has not talked to Charlotte at all."

  "When we were together," I continued, "I read her diary to her, out loud. It helped."

  Once again their eyes opened.

  "Tell us."

  "Out of the question."

  "Because there is no diary, gentlemen! Because Charlotte belongs back in Insulin to complete her treatments. The problem is, we let her upstairs too soon."

  "You did not let her upstairs too soon," Greta tried again, but Dr. Farbin put his hand on her hand, to stop her. He knew as I did, in that moment, that Greta would not be allowed to stay here long.

  "As the supervising psychiatrist here," Dr. Whitney took command quickly, "I order that Charlotte be returned to Insulin Therapy immediately to complete treatments required. She must not be allowed upstairs again too soon. Treatment will be given in place of any official discipline for tonight's attempt. That is final, gentlemen."

  Then he turned, and walked briskly up the hill.

  Chapter Twenty One

  It was hot and dark down in Insulin. There was no need this time to put me in a straight jacket. I was not throwing metal. I was not threatening anyone. I was only filled with human despair.

  Miriam Stony was the first to receive me. She glared down at me, strapped on the stretcher.

  "Creating an uproar when there are reporters!" she scolded furiously in my ear.

  "Duffino is gone," I murmured softy to no one.

  "How far did you think you could really get?"

  She grabbed the stretcher from the orderly, signed for it, and pushed me roughly to a tiny, steel gray room at the end of the hall.

  "This will be your room for the rest of your stay here."

  Then she turned, left me strapped on, and slammed the huge, metal door shut.

  Although it was late, I was wide awake. Wave upon wave of fear rose up, and rocked me, like a dark mother, all night long.

  Early the next morning a new nurse came to my room, Tara. I had seen her here a few times before. She was tall, too thin, and completely impassive.

  "Charlotte?"

  "Yes?"

  "I am assigned to be your nurse here, for the following month."

  "Month?"

  "You are being given a triple dose of Insulin Treatments." She showed absolutely no expression.

  "What happened to Greta?" I asked in a sinking tone.

  "Rumor is she is to be discharged. May I have your arm?"

  She wanted to place a long needle in it.

  I held my arm fast at my side.

  "I'm not ready," I said.

  "No one is, are they?"

  "I really mean it though."

  "I have my orders. Charlotte, give me your arm."

  * * * * *

  I tossed and turned. I squirmed and fought. I would not surrender to the long, icy needles. Three doctors came in, masks on their faces, stood over me and observed.

  "She's rough this time."

  "She's not ready for more Insulin."

  The first one laughed. "Ready or not, here we come."

  I laughed too. I was stronger than they were. They had my body. But I had my soul. My soul was stronger, it would defeat them. What difference did it make what they did with my body? No one here could touch my soul.

  Finally I tumbled down into the coma. It was dark down there, putrid, and unkind. No matter what happened, though, I could take it. I would get up one day, and find Duffino again.

  * * * * *

  After the first two days of comas, I settled into sorrow. It was warm and listless, encompassing me everywhere. Nowhere else to go. Although there were no clocks down in Insulin, I always knew what time it was. I could hear the chimes upstairs on the trees and feel the earth turning on its axis. Nothing eluded me any longer. I could even hear flowers breathing, if I listened closely enough. I had no need to fight the comas. I had no need to vomit or to pray. I could simply listen to the sound of each moment passing. I was plunged into eternity.

  When she came into the room I tried to get Tara, the nurse, to speak to me, but she had orders to say little.

  "Is Duffino back?" I pleaded with her, the third morning.

  She looked at me with her impassive stare.

  "Please, just tell me."

  "She came back about four hours ago," she finally whispered in my ear. Despite herself, she was excited.

  "Came back?" I couldn't believe it.

  "Everyone's talking about it. Detectives and reporters are all over the place.

  "Detectives?"

  "One reporter called in a case of kidnapping."

  I gasped. "Did they arrest Colin?"

  "Not yet."

  "Yet?"

  "It's uncertain." Tara's face was flushed as she talked. Actually, she could hold back nothing. "Nothing like this has ever happened here. Dr. Whitney's been pacing up and down for hours."

  "How did they find them?"

  "They just wandered in when they were ready. Dr. Ethan was amazed by the reactions. He said they just forgot about time."

  "And Duffino?" I wanted to jump up and scream, but my head was too groggy to lift from the pillow.

  "She was taken away from him, forcefully, and put in a new room of her own. They say it's really upset her. She's all in a frenzy in her room. Won't see reporters. Won't see anyone."

  "Poor Duffino," I cried out.

  "You rest, Charlotte. You can't do a thing about it."

  "Duffino in a frenzy," I echoed.

  "She tried holding tight to Colin Ethan, but they ripped him away, just like that."

  For the first time since I'd been down here, I saw Tara smile. My feet kicked futilely at the bedpost. I was trapped down here. I could not help her. I had days and days of injections to go. Who knows who I'd be when I came up again, if I ever did.

  "Poor Duffino," I called out again and again.

  "Rest, Charlotte, please. I never would have told you if I thought it would upset you so."

  "What will happen now?"

  She leaned far over and put her face close to mine. Too close.

  "There's talk she'll will be sent back down to Insulin immediately. No time to lose in a case like this."

  Then she lifted her head, smacked her lips tightly, put her hands on her hips and started to go.

  "Duffino in Insulin?" I couldn't believe it. "Tara, wait, wait, before you go."

  She turned.

  "I beg you one thing, please. If you say yes and do it, I'll never give you any trouble anymore."

  "What?"

  "When Duffino comes down, tell me what room she goes to."

  "No."

  "I beg you."

  "Don't beg me."

  She turned and looked deftly. "Why do you want to know?"

  "We were friends, Somalia. It will make me feel better."

  "All right. I'll tell you what room she's in. But that's absolutely all."

  * * * * *

  The moment Tara walked out the door, I fell into a deep, strange sleep. I dreamt I was walking on the hills with Duffino,

  carrying her papers. It was spring, we were skipping and tiny birds had clustered besides us, chirping dissonantly.

  I awoke with a start to see Tara standing over me.

  "What happened?"

  "Shhh," she said. "Duffino's down now."

  For a second I forgot who she was talking about.

  "Listen, you hear the commotion?"

  I strained and heard stamping back and forth roughly, outside in the corridors. Wheels were rolling up and down - carts, stretchers? I couldn't be certain. It sounded
like lots of people.

  "A whole bunch have come down with her," she said.

  "Why?"

  "There's reporters, photographers, Dr. Whitney, Dr. Farbin. I never saw anything like this before. Not in Insulin. So there, I told you."

  I lifted my hand and stroked her hand gently. "Thank you, Tara, very much."

  "She's going in room 209, across the corridor. That's all I'm going to say."

  "Does she know I'm here?"

  "How could she?" Tara turned and eyed me funny. "Why should she know, anyway?"

  * * * * *

  The minute Tara left, I wrapped both hands on the sides of my bed, and pulled myself up for my very life. Then I swung my legs around. I felt weak, nauseous and dizzy, but I'd made it. I was sitting, and soon I'd be entirely up.

  Once on my feet, I had trouble standing. Stand feet, I yelled in my mind. Be strong for me now, just for a few minutes. My feet obeyed. They started to walk.

  I got to the door, opened it quickly, and leaning against the walls, slid myself down the hallway, across to Room 209. As soon as I got there, I yanked open the door.

  The room was packed with doctors, reporters, nurses, and Duffino, being put forcibly into bed.

  "I'm here, Duffino. Duffino," I yelled, with whatever I had left of my voice.

  Shock waves ran through the room as I stood there, probably a ghost of my former self.

  The nurses ran over to catch me, as I was falling, down into a heap on the ground.

  "Let Charlotte in," Dr. Farbin interjected.

  "Duffino," I called, in the orderly's arms.

  Duffino stared at me, terrified. Her huge, dark eyes turned into storm clouds.

  "How did she find the room?" Dr. Whitney was agitated.

  Reporters started writing rapid notes.

  "I'm down here forever, Duffino," my strangled voice called out. "They caught me on the hills making a run for it. I was only trying to find you."

  Duffino's face was filled with alarm.

  "Charlotte is terrifying the patient," Dr. Whitney interjected to the main orderly.

  "They threw me down in Insulin," I was unstoppable.

  Duffino's face grew white. Then her back arched, like an enormous panther, and she called out fiercely, "Let Charlotte go."

  Stunned silence gripped the room.

  "Let Charlotte go."