by S. L. Scott
Her heart began thumping in her chest, her fear echoed with each dense beat. There was no out. He wasn’t leaving until she signed, so when he shoved the pen back into her hand and placed it on the clipboard, she scribbled her name across the wiggling line.
Dr. Conroy ripped the pen from her hand and then the papers, leaving a deep cut in her finger. He had her wrists secured in the straps before she could think to struggle.
“He’ll come for me.” She looked at him, really looked at him, eyeing the bruising, and whispered, “Or has he already been here?”
“I can see we have a lot of work ahead of us. Your delusions have gotten worse.” He laughed without humor. “I’ll note your worsening condition in the chart for the guardianship review coming up.”
Jude had rarely cursed, but it flew out in anger and frustration. “You can go fuck yourself!”
“Marriage has made you bold when you should be scared, little girl.”
Her body went limp from the threat and tears filled her eyes. With all of her strength, she willed them back in, and grinded her teeth. “I hate you.”
“That makes two of us because I hate myself too, but it changes nothing. We’re still stuck in this shitty world trying to improve our remaining days.”
Jude turned away from him. The doctor left her strapped to the bed and shut the door. She heard the bolt and she was stuck in this holding cell, locked away from the world once again.
Yanking a few times, she knew it was pointless. She would be here as long as they wanted her to be here, or until she was released, whichever came first and right then, she had no idea when that would be.
She despised every aspect of this place, all the different stages they dragged each patient through, but lying in this room “waiting” to be moved to her usual room had to be the worst. Her arms hurt from being stretched out and she wanted her legs together. “They” liked how vulnerable patients were in this position, and took advantage of the hospital gown barely covering her.
Focusing on the box breathing technique she learned after her first suicide attempt, she tried to settle the outrage that pinpricked every awakened nerve.
Inhale. One. Two. Three. Four.
Hold. One Two. Three. Four.
Exhale. One. Two. Three. Four.
Hold. One. Two. Three. Four.
It didn’t work. She was in full-blown fight mode, and knew they wouldn’t put her in another room until she was subdued. The problem with subdued meant that she was giving in and she had no intention of giving in. She never did. She just eventually got moved.
In Bleekman’s, time was irrelevant. It moved over the hours like a snail, every minute escalated to more importance than it should be given, the day disappearing beneath her. There was no beginning or end. Just the sun rising, the daylight, the sun setting, and the nighttime. Four distinct times.
Hold. One. Two. Three. Four.
She watched the sun steal the day as it crossed the room in light and shadows. Maybe the last four months of her life were all in her head. Maybe she had been here the whole time.
No breakfast.
No lunch.
Exhale. One. Two. Three. Four.
When a nurse arrived with dinner, she set the tray down on a table in the far corner. One Jude couldn’t reach and the nurse walked closer. “Why do you fight this so much? You know how this goes, Judith.”
Jude rolled her eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’m not crazy.”
“I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m Nurse Lacy. I’ve been your nurse once before,” she said quietly, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one else was listening. She moved the strap higher on Jude’s arm and then pulled some lotion from her pocket. Dabbing a little on Jude’s wrist, she smiled. “They say you’re married.”
“I am,” Jude replied even quieter.
“Congratulations. Is he wonderful?”
Through the haze of past visits, Jude remembered Nurse Lacy. She believed the young nurse was doing the best job she could and actually cared about her patients. She was just naïve to what was really happening at the hospital. “He’s wonderful.”
She leaned down, and whispered, “Dr. Conroy was hit by a very angry husband today, a husband wanting his wife released. Do you think…?” She left her question open-ended.
I hadn’t imagined him. He was real. She smiled. My Hazel came for me. “I do think, but more than think, I hope.”
“That’s good,” Lacy replied. “Always hold onto hope.” Backing away, she grabbed the tray and sat back on the side of the bed. “I need to feed you. Are you going to cooperate for me?”
Jude was famished and thirsty. Eating didn’t mean giving up or giving in. Eating was for survival and to keep her strong. And in her current predicament, she wanted an ally, someone who had shown her compassion, so she replied, “I will.”
The sun disappeared just after the nurse left her room. Jude stared out the small window, having stopped pulling on her straps before the sun was above the facility.
She lay in the dark, her weaker thoughts starting to get the best of her. Was Hazel here? Was he not? Was she imagining things when she saw him? Maybe she was crazy.
Jude wanted sleep. She wanted to go to sleep and wake up to Hazel next to her in bed with his eyes open like when he watched her sleep. She wanted to wake up and see the sun rising outside his high-rise as she lay in his arms. She wanted to sneak out of bed and make him comfort food to give him the same feeling he gave her. She wanted to believe that her life with him was real, that he was real, and not a figment of her imagination, not a side character to her crazy.
Even though Nurse Lacy had confirmed Taylor was alive, she struggled to believe when locked in this oppressive room. “Dear God, please let Hazel exist in the world. Please.” She closed her eyes and eventually, after much discomfort, fell asleep.
The sun didn’t wake her. The doctor didn’t wake her. The kind nurse who had sympathetic brown eyes didn’t wake her.
An orderly did.
Flicking the overhead fluorescent light on, he said, “Wake up, sunshine! Time to move.”
Jude groaned, her body stiff from the tight bonds and her heart aching for Hazel. “I need the bathroom.”
“You’re getting moved first.”
“Please.”
“No.”
She looked him in the eyes. “Please. Don’t make me wet myself.”
“I’ll clean it. I’m used to it.”
Traitorous tears pricked her eyes. They made her show how weak she felt and she hated appearing weak. But she’d wet herself once before when she was isolated for a day and she swore she would never let that happen again. “I’m asking nicely. Please let me use the bathroom.”
“How bad do you want to use it?”
Everybody wanted something… “Is Nurse Lacy still on duty?”
“She’s gone. You’re stuck with me.” He licked his lips as he looked her over.
“Who is having me moved then?”
“Dr. Conroy. Do you want him? Or me?”
Pulling herself toward the wall as much as she could, she backed away from him. “Neither.” There was no good option out of those two.
“Well, there’s your answer.” He unfastened one ankle and then the other, but her legs felt too limp to fight. Her muscles had betrayed her and she glared down at them while pulling on her arms to test them. “Don’t hit or kick me or I’ll leave you in here.”
The smell of corn chips and coffee on his breath churned her stomach, so she turned her head away from him while he worked on her wrists. One arm. Then the other. They fell to her sides, her shoulders screaming in pain from the new position. “Can you walk?” he asked.
“I don’t think so,” she replied with her head still turned, now embarrassed. This is what they wanted. They wanted their patients at their weakest.
He scooped her up as if she weighed nothing and set her in a wheelchair waiting in the hallway. Jude looked around as she was pu
shed. It was the middle of the night by the vibe of the place. Empty of medical staff. The patients locked in their rooms. The center eerily quiet. She saw the abandoned reception desk and the front doors just beyond. A red light was lit up in the corner—either a camera or an alarm. He turned and took her down a green hallway. “Where are we going?” she asked, starting to feel uneasy.
“To your room.”
“I’ve never been in this hall before. I usually stay in the blue hall.”
“Not this time. You’re here for a longer stay and apparently need the extra security.”
Squirming in her chair, her voice got louder. “Can you double-check? I’m always in the blue hallway.”
“What’s the big deal? They’re all the same.”
“Maybe I do need to speak with Conroy.”
He stopped in front of a restroom. “Stop your complaining and I’ll let you use it.”
She sat back and nodded. “Thank you.”
He helped her out of the chair and she used the railings to go inside, shutting the door for privacy. She wished she could stay in there forever, but she knew her fate was sealed while she was drugged out.
When they walked into her room next door, she instantly saw what the big deal was—there was no window. There was a bare mattress in the corner and nothing else. Shaking her head, she repeated, “No, this can’t be right. I need a window. I need a pillow and sheets and a bedframe.”
“You do realize this isn’t the Four Seasons, right?”
Jude didn’t reply. She just stared ahead as he nudged her forward, the chair hitting the back of her legs. When she was in the room, he pulled the wheelchair out and said, “Sweet dreams.”
Turning and moving, she shouted, “No! Don’t leave me in here!”
The door shut and the overhead light was left on. Looking at the walls, she didn’t see a switch. Her hands were trembling, remembering she would be here for a month. They’re trying to make me crazy. She recalled telling Hazel that and here she was in a room with no window, no way of telling the time, the day, which way was up or down. She was facing her biggest fear—complete and terrifying isolation—in a place she feared more than death itself.
Standing over the mattress, she dropped to her knees and curled onto her side. Images of her usual cell, the one with chipping paint and metal bars on her window, came to mind. She always hated that room, but it was luxurious compared to this one. It had given her an isolated form of safety. It wasn’t trying to be perfect or prim or proper. It was what is was and she valued that room’s honesty. But here… she had none of that. It was a room covered in treachery with people selling her to the highest bidder. Closing her eyes, she pushed all the bad to the back of her mind and pulled the good forward—Hazel. Hazel. Hazel. Hazel. Hazel.
WHEN JUDE WOKE, the doctor was sitting in a chair nearby. He looked up and she scrambled to the corner of the room, half on the mattress and half off, but away from him.
“Good Morning, Judith.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Now. Now,” Dr. Conroy said condescendingly. He tapped his pen against a clipboard. “Don’t be upset. We have some business to discuss and then you can be moved to a nicer room.”
“What business?”
“Money. Yours to be precise.”
“I have nothing, not a dollar to my name.”
He stood and set his clipboard down on the seat with the pen on top. She had visions of flipping into action and stabbing him with the pen… but she would never do such things. She may be in an asylum, but she wasn’t crazy. And by the way the doctor left the pen unguarded, he didn’t believe she was crazy either. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Boehler. You have more than a few million dollars to your name in fact and I want a lot of them.”
“I’m not following. I have no money,” she insisted.
He rubbed his face, and grunted in what sounded like frustration.
“Have you really not been paying attention? What do you think you do when you’re here?”
“I’m supposed to be recovering, but this place makes me crazy.”
He sighed heavily and sat down again, his intense stare aimed at her. “This is about money. It’s always been about money. You were just dumb enough to drag someone else into this mess.”
“What money?”
Leaning forward, he said, “Listen up because I won’t be repeating myself. Here’s how it’s gonna go. You are going to sign this, which will allow a transfer of two million dollars into an account. When I see it’s there safe and sound, I’ll let you see your husband.”
Thinking of Hazel, she sat up, feeling ashamed of how she looked and ran her hand down her hair to keep it in place. “What two million? How am I going to make two million magically appear?”
“See, this is the story. Pretty little Judith was being molested by her big bad uncle. She tries to commit suicide. When she doesn’t die, life goes on just as if nothing had changed at all. Am I on the right track?”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “Just go on.” This has been talked to death every time she’d come in for an evaluation.
The doctor smiled. “Uncle picks up right where he left off, but after your brother died, you had nothing to lose at that point and told his little girl—your cousin—all about it. Did she believe you?” He sounded bored with the story. “Not only did she believe you, but she blamed you. The family did. Uncle commits suicide. At the reading of the will, Little Judith—tempting, beautiful Judith—hits the mother lode or what we like to call a payday.”
Bringing her knees to her chest, she stared at him, holding a steady expression of disinterest despite the shock she felt inside. She had no idea what he was talking about with the will. Hold it all in, she reminded herself. Give him nothing.
“Yes, Judith, I’ve been doing my homework, have talked to you, to your family, and since we’ve kind of masterminded this whole thing, I want my cut now. As for this unfortunate husband, what’s his name?”
Silence and a hard glare were her only response. The doctor stood and started to walk away, but Judith said, “Is he still here?”
He mocked her with a hardy laugh. “I know his name, where he lives, his age, all about his disease, and who his parents are. What I don’t get is where you fit into his life or why you call him Hazel.”
Her eyes glinted with anger hearing Hazel’s name roll off the doctor’s tongue as if he has a right to even utter it.
“I don’t understand what you want from me? How you expect me to produce two million dollars when I can’t access a single dollar?”
“I’m sure he’s nearby. You’re wasting my time, Judith. For all I’ve done, for my time and my overdue compensation, I want my cut now. So think long and hard about your choices here. Husband or money? I’ll be back in twenty.” The door closed and the light went off, leaving her alone in the pitch-black room. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. They’re trying to make me crazy.
Fight.
Fight.
Fight.
She felt for the mattress and climbed onto it. Lying on her side, she stared in the direction she thought the door was. Struggling to tell if her eyelids were open or closed, she tucked her head down and tried for sleep instead. This was going to be a very long month.
TAYLOR SAT IN the small town police station, waiting for someone to help him. When he was finally called in, he was led to a young deputy’s desk. They shook hands and the deputy asked, “What can I do for you, Mr. Barrett?”
“My wife is being held against her will at Bleekman’s.”
As soon as he mentioned Bleekman’s, the deputy sighed and leaned back in his chair. “There’s nothing we can do about that facility. They have regular inspections and pass code. If you’d like to file a complaint, Lucille can help you do that, but I have to warn you. It’s not a fast route.”
Taylor’s palms were sweating. “I have my lawyers looking into options, but I need to get her out today. They have her strappe
d down and drugged.”
The deputy picked up his pen and said, “Not to offend you, but if she doesn’t belong there, how did she end up in there?”
“Her parents admitted her.”
His chair squeaked as he leveraged back. “Why would her parents do that?”
“She’s not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
His impassive face wavered. “Look, when it comes to Bleekman’s it’s complicated.”
“You’re telling me,” Taylor added.
“I can’t just go in there and take people out free Willy. If you truly believe she’s not crazy, you can get a court order and send in an agent.”
Taylor stood up. “How do I do that?”
Eyeing Taylor, he said, “Get those big city lawyers of yours on it.”
As soon as Taylor got in his car, he called Caleb. “I want her out of there right now!”
“I’m working on it, Taylor,” Caleb Monroe said after a heavy sigh. “Nothing in the legal system moves fast. You know this.”
“What I know is what I fucking witnessed, and that’s my wife passed out, looking like she’s on the verge of death while they have her spread out on that fucking torture device. So don’t tell me what I know. Just help me get her out of there.”
“Give me an hour.”
“You’ve got thirty minutes.”
“Don’t go back there without a court order. Do you hear me, Taylor? I understand you’re upset, but don’t make this harder for me to get her out. Get something to eat and save your energy. You’re going to need it.”
“What have you found out about the conservatorship?”
“Her parents have full right and the hospital has some say in what is required for recovery. Look, you should have told me you got married and about her situation. I could have had a head start on this. We’re working against time now. And it’s not looking good.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s sitting in an asylum that her guardian and doctor think is necessary. On top of that, we’re going to have to fight the expert opinion that she wasn’t capable of making the decision to marry you.”