Escape From Purgatory
By: Scarlet Darkwood
Copyright 2017
All Rights Reserved. This story is a work of fiction. Any likeness to persons living or deceased is coincidence. Sharing this work, physically or electronically, is prohibited unless there is written permission from the publisher.
Publisher: Dark BooksPress
Cover Design: Dark BooksPress
Images: Depositphotos
Acknowledgements:
I would like to thank my beta readers, Ellen and Chelsea for their honest feedback for this story. I appreciate Rebecca Poole for her formatting and tightening up of the cover and her cheerleading when I need it. I would like to extend my gratitude to Angela Rackard Campbell for her editing expertise and giving her blunt, honest feedback where it was needed. That's always tricky for an editor who takes on a new author. She helped make the book even better. As always, I want to thank my spouse, Phillip, for being the biggest, tireless cheerleader of all.
“Oh, breaker of spirits,
Destroyer of dreams,
Who covers the ears
To silence the screams,
Turn a blind eye
So you’ll never see
The horrors of Hell
You’ve inflicted on me.
Wrench out my heart,
And lock it away.
Shroud it in darkness,
Death and decay”
Chapter One
Claire Wright gazed around the office, confused. Uneasiness crawled all over her as she sat on a hard, wooden chair. Where was her husband Adrian, and why was she waiting in a room inside the local asylum? The door squeaked open. A young gentleman dressed in a starched white lab coat entered. He greeted her with a polite nod and sat down at the desk. She watched intently as he removed a clipboard and pen from the top drawer.
“Mrs. Wright, I’m Dr. Dandridge. This is an intake interview, and I’ll be asking you some questions.”
“Excuse me?” Claire leaned forward in her seat. “What do you mean by an intake interview?”
Dr. Dandridge smiled. “No need for alarm. This is something we do every day. It won’t take long.”
Claire frowned. “I don’t understand why I’m being interviewed. I came with my husband to deliver a hat. You interview people for that?”
“Mrs. Wright, I assure you everything is fine. It’s just a few questions, that’s all. You can talk later about anything that concerns you.”
Claire stood up, indignant. “Now I really don’t understand. Why on earth will I be able to talk later?” She stepped toward the door. “Excuse me, but I need to find my husband.”
Dr. Dandridge bolted out of his seat, positioning himself between her and the door. “Please don’t make this difficult.” He guided Claire back to her seat. “Your husband left.”
“Without me? That’s crazy. He’d never forget and leave me somewhere.” Claire struggled with the rising anxiety inside her. This situation didn’t seem right at all.
The doctor scrutinized Claire a few moments in silence. He cleared his throat and spoke again. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but his intent was to have you admitted here.”
Claire grew pale at the words. She stared at the doctor, stunned.
“Can you think of any reason at all that your husband felt you needed psychiatric care?”
Panic hit her full force. “I can assure you I have no idea why.” Claire tried making sense of the events that had transpired up to now.
The doctor said nothing, sitting motionless as he fixed his gaze on Claire.
“Dr. Dandridge, Adrian and I have always gotten along. We’ve had some issues lately surrounding the death of our son, but that wouldn’t be an excuse to have me put away. It makes no sense at all.”
“I see.” The doctor scribbled a few lines on his paper. “Any moments of uncontrollable sadness or mood changes? Unable to do your housework?”
Scowling, Claire answered, “What ridiculous questions. Who wouldn’t be upset that their child died?” She clenched her fists. “I want out of here now. You can’t keep me here. I haven’t done anything.”
***
Claire found herself running in slow motion through dark, winding hallways and passages leading nowhere. Terrified, she turned a corner, tripped over something unseen, and tumbled to the floor.
With a jolt, she sat upright in her bed, in a real world of darkness, not a dream. Sweat dripped down her body, leaving her faded slip of a nightgown damp and smelling mustier than ever. Such was life here at Hatchie River Asylum For The Insane. She’d been here a week, and all she heard were screams, bitter crying, and laughter that came at the oddest times from the lips of those whose brains had been affected by an insult from nature. Claire wondered if these people weren’t, in fact, blessed in some small way. They weren’t aware enough of their surroundings to be driven any madder by this forsaken place.
Women sat for hours, their leg curled up beneath them. They stared out the windows for hours, oblivious. If they balked at all, horrid attendants retaliated. The asylum was a perfect place for letting sadistic natures run amok. Sleep had been difficult since the first night of arrival. Two hours of tossing and turning finally turned into catching sight of the first morning rays flashing through the flimsy curtains covering the window.
“You all right?” The lady in the other bed sat up, bedsprings squeaking in protest as she moved.
“Yes, I’m okay, Ruth. Sorry I woke you up.” Claire rolled over and faced her roommate.
“You sure been tossin’ around a lot. You sick?”
“I’m fine.” Claire adjusted the sheet. “I had a bad dream, that’s all.”
Ruth shook her head. “Wouldn’t doubt that for one minute. It’s hard to not have them, being here and all.”
Claire realized, for the first time, that she and Ruth hadn’t said much to each other, except for simple pleasantries. Glancing at her roommate, Claire asked, “Did you have trouble when you first came here?”
“Couldn’t imagine a soul not having trouble when they come in here. I’d be more worried if they didn’t, if you ask me.”
“You know something, I haven’t been very friendly at all, a real big sour puss. I’m sorry for that.” When Claire smiled, the other lady smiled back.
Ruth waved her away. “Aw, don’t think nothing of it. It’s partly my fault too. I’m not much into sayin’ a whole lot around here. Sometimes it's better to keep quiet so you don’t get yelled at or hit on the head by some crazy person. And I don’t mean just the ones in here like us, neither.”
Both women chuckled and settled back down in their beds. Claire closed her eyes and tried dozing a little longer before breakfast hours. Only a week in her life, and it seemed like she’d been here forever. Why hadn’t Adrian come by for a visit? Why did he dump her off here? Had things been so bad that he felt he had no other choice?
“Time to get up! Get up, get up! Breakfast time, let’s go.” One of the asylum attendants banged on the door frames, yelling at the top of her lungs as she alternated between the right and left sides of the hall. The coarseness of her voice mixed with the horrid pounding of her fists against the wood sounded like the world coming to an end.
Grimacing in disgust, Claire braced herself for another day with "Nurse Grace" That's what Grace often made patients call her when the real nurses weren’t around. Never would Claire forget the first time she saw the lowly attendant, with her sullen blue eyes, and how they lit up the moment she entered the receiving room and viewed Adrian. Grace appeared amiable enough as she and Adrian chatted briefly in one corner. In her mind’s eye, she still saw Adrian gra
sping the hatbox, a mere prop in the ruse to lure her here. Grace had glanced down at the box and back up to Adrian’s face, her head bobbing up and down with a knowing grin. When they finished, she gently led him by the elbow out of the room.
When Grace returned alone, she led her to Dr. Dandridge’s office for the ill-fated interview. When the interview ended, Grace returned, leading her to the ward. She told Claire to “get settled in because this is your home now.” It was the last admonition that chilled Claire the most: “You also better listen to me and do what I say, or I’ll make your life a living hell.” Claire never dreamt Adrian had signed her life away, making haste out another exit before the ink dried on the paper and she’d have a chance to protest.
Grace yelled out again, “Time to get out of those nightgowns and into your day clothes. Move, you worthless things.” Grace made a special point of stopping in the entrance to Claire and Ruth’s room, yelling louder. “That means you, too, Miss Uppity. You don’t get no special treatment around here!” She strode in and jerked the sheet off Claire before grabbing her up by the arm and hauling her to her feet.
Claire struggled to keep her balance. When their eyes met, Grace’s lips turned up in a sneer as she slowly shook her head. “You don’t get no special treatment. I don’t care how fine your husband’s hats are. You won’t be wearin’ ’em here. Bet you thought you were high and mighty, didn’t you, struttin’ around town, all gussied up.” The words spilled out of her lips smooth and easy, deliberate enough, but the bitterness in the tone bit down on Claire’s soul as hard as the fingers digging into her arm. “I bet you miss that man of yours. Quite a looker. Real nice too.” Grace clicked her tongue and the glint in her eyes sent a chill down Claire’s spine as the nasty gaze looked her up and down. The sneer left her face. “Still can’t figure out why he left you here. Maybe it’s because you don’t know how to please a man.” Her face brightened up. “That’s it, maybe he wasn’t gettin’ any from you.” She wagged a thin finger in front of Claire’s face. “You know it’s not nice holdin’ back like that, especially when he kept you up all nice and fancy.” Grace moved her face within an inch of Claire’s. “That’s what you get when you snap those legs shut. At least that’s what he told me.” With another sneer, she released her grip and left the room. The booming sound of her voice faded as she walked down the hall.
Both Ruth and Claire stared at each other. After several moments of silence, Ruth took Claire’s hand in hers. “You okay? Don’t let her get to you.”
“I-I haven’t done anything to her. Ever since I’ve been here she’s been nothing but mean.”
Ruth shook her head, scowling. “I try to be nice and not say things about people, but I’ve lost everything since I’ve come here, including my religion. So I’ll just say it. Grace is a bitch, plain and simple. I think she’s really the Devil’s bride in disguise.” She wrapped an arm around Claire, giving her a quick hug. “C’mon, we better get washed up and dressed and on down to breakfast, or we’ll have more than Grace breathing down our backs.”
The ladies walked to the washroom located midway down the hall, where they waited in line for the next available sink. Inside a large, tiled room, only five sinks and three toilets served fifty patients. Nothing but a tiled divider wall separated the area for washing and the other for elimination. Performing activities of self-care in plain view of others had been a shock to Claire’s senses the first morning she woke up to this ignominious routine.
Naked women at the sinks rinsed off with hurried swipes over their bodies. Some used bits of soap on the counter while most splashed themselves off with thin streams of water coming from the tap. Claire decided early on that no amount of washing at Hatchie River would ever relieve the foul odor lingering in her nose. Claire removed her assigned toothbrush from a designated rack, feeling lucky to have that luxury. Large rolling racks along a side wall held dresses and shoes. Patients selected their clothing based on assigned numbers given them on admission.
Twenty minutes passed before Claire and Ruth stood at the sinks. Ruth cleaned under her arms and breasts followed by her private parts. Claire swished her toothbrush over her teeth, splashed off her face, and finished rinsing off. She cringed at the reflection in the dull, spotted mirror, running her fingers through oily strands of limp hair. The long, silky mane of dark hair she used to style and pin up with fashionable clips and combs had been chopped off by the surly nurse who finalized the admission process. Grace had looked on with her usual evil-eye gleam and smirked as Claire fought back tears.
“We don’t allow long hair or nails here. It’s for patient cleanliness and safety.” The nurse must have received a quick jolt of compassion, because she had glanced up at Claire, shaking her head. “The last thing you need is someone grabbing a handful of hair and leaving you bald.”
Her pristine street clothes had been exchanged for the hideous dress she’d soon remove from the rack. Exhaling in despair, Claire turned away from the mirror. Nothing in the asylum would ever restore the looks she pulled off with style when she lived at home, in the community, in the real world where a woman’s beauty meant something. When her beauty meant something to Adrian.
In the hallway, the two ladies joined the other residents. Each face reflected unadulterated depression. In their sockets, eyes brimmed with lackluster stares where brilliance of spirit had once shone. She often studied these faces. These ladies, like her, had been plucked from their life in society and carelessly dropped off at the doorstep. Each lady surely had stories, lives with loved ones, pets, walks on country roads and getting caught in the rain. Surely they’d received garden flowers gifted lovingly by children and grandchildren. Hatchie River had destroyed those lives, leaving nothing but memories and a bitter aftertaste.
The dining room hosted yet another dull breakfast, which took place like clock-work at seven-thirty each morning. Having received their trays of food, Ruth and Claire grimaced at each other and began eating.
“Bon appetit,” said Ruth, faking a cheerful smile while lifting a chipped glass of milk. “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say before a scrumptious meal?”
Claire chuckled and turned her attention to the stale toast, eying one corner. She pinched off a tiny bit of mold, wagering if she’d survive another meal without food poisoning.
The remainder of the day consisted of work. Never had she imagined the world of the asylum and how it truly functioned like a tiny universe. Each participant, including the patients, all worked together to ensure Hatchie River remained sustainable, growing food and creating clothing and other necessities. Claire admitted that work assignments instilled a sense of purpose, even for a fleeting moment.
Chapter Two
After breakfast, Claire and Ruth made their way to the common room, joining eight women. Anne, another attendant, met the ladies and led the way to the sewing room where everyone would stay until lunch time.
The sewing room was located farther back from the wards and down a different hallway altogether. Claire memorized the direction, took note of unique architecture, such as ornate banisters and archways along the way, and burned into her memory every twist and turn. After her admission, Claire had taken a special interest in learning the design of the asylum, inside and out. In her opinion, knowledge meant survival.
The sewing room windows faced the back side of the building. The outside scenery held a peaceful allure. To her amazement, the sewing room had become an internal counterpart to the woods and fields.
She often sat quietly, stitching dresses, mending linens, and listening to the others chat endlessly about the asylum and the injustices
On top of a long table sat baskets of linen, clothing, and material, along with sewing supplies. Claire learned that only the safest patients selected by the head nurse were allowed sewing duties. Anne still performed the customary item counts at the end of the session.
“Okay, ladies,” Anne began, her face filled with a warm smile, “I think we can start.” She
pulled some material from one of the baskets. “Who wants something different to work on today?”
She glanced around the room at each of the women. “You don’t get a lot of choices here. I don’t believe any of you are bad people or criminals. I don’t make the rules, but I like to treat people like I want to be treated.”
“You’re one of our favorites, Miss Anne,” Ruth spoke up. “Nobody cares about us. We’re lost and long forgotten.” The woman’s face showed dejection.
Anne rushed over and put an arm around Ruth’s slumped shoulders. “Aw, no need for a long face. We make the best of it, won’t we?” “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be so down.” Ruth looked straight ahead as she quickly wiped her eyes.
“Now then, let’s get to work.” Anne returned to the baskets and handed Ella some sheets. “Ella, you can mend these.” To Claire and Ruth, she handed out yards of fabric and some patterns, as well as some scissors. “You two do such a nice job at sewing these dresses.”
Ruth wrinkled her nose. “Can’t they give us nicer material? This is just plain ugly. Don’t matter what you do to it.”
“Sorry, it’s all we can get.” Anne pulled out some more from the basket and handed it to Bonnie. “We can’t forget you. You’re also a good one with needle and thread.”
“You flatter me, Miss Anne.” Bonnie pursed her lips and spread out a pale-yellow print. “Can’t we make fun pockets or fancy bows? You know, spruce these things up a bit?”
Anne shook her head. “Rules are rules. I’d be in big trouble if I let you do that.”
Ruth glanced up from cutting. “We don’t want anything happening to you. You’re our only saving grace.”
“Considering the Grace we do have is pure hell,” Bonnie blurted out, never taking her eyes off the pattern on her piece of material.
The other ladies murmured in agreement.
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