Her hands had been strapped down, and a nurse stood at her feet to hold them when the shock was delivered. A piece of rubber had been placed in her mouth as soon as she got on the bed. An approving nod from the doctor, and all went blank. After that, she couldn’t remember what happened next. She recovered with her lucidity mostly intact about a couple of hours later, but soon discovered that she couldn’t remember what happened before treatments or immediately after. Like Ruth, she’d decided the procedure held something sinister, an indescribable essence she disliked. As much as she refused to admit it, once she got past the nausea and occasional headache, she discovered her mood had perked up a bit.
Hydrotherapy, on the other hand, posed another issue, most likely because time in an ice bath didn’t go quickly, and Claire learned if you didn’t pass out from the shock or hypothermia, you had too much time to think. At least rocking away in the common room or doing work in another activity burned off pent up energy. Being trapped in a tub, sealed in with a heavy canvas cover didn’t afford such a luxury.
Today, Grace ran the tub room with the usual tenacity of the fiercest drill sergeant. When Greta stepped out for a moment, she took the opportunity to thrash Millie, who fought back as the cold water hit her skin.
“You just shut up and sit down!” Grace pushed the poor woman hard, sending her flailing into the tub.
Millie stuck out her tongue. “Bitch!” She shot out a hand toward Grace’s face.
The attendant delivered a resounding smack on Millie’s cheek, the sound of it filling the room with a sharp snap. Claire winced and turned away.
“Mind your mouth, you worthless fool. I’ll drown you as sure as I’m standing here.”
“Grace, enough!” Greta had entered the room again, clapping her hands as she moved in between Grace and Millie, who’d began fighting to pull herself out of the tub. Claire breathed a sigh of relief.
“Here, help me get this canvas over her. Now, dear, just be still. The water will make you feel better.” Greta patted Millie’s face and helped settle her into the tub. “There’s a good dear. Yes, you’ll feel so much better.”
“How you coddle these idiots.” Grace glared at Greta as the nurse positioned Millie’s head. Grace yanked the canvas cover around Millie’s neck, fastening it in place. She stood up and faced off with Greta. “What are you so riled up about, anyway? She got mouthy and tried to hit me. So, I let her know who’s boss.”
“You provoked that woman.” Greta moved her face within inches of Grace’s. “I’m aware of the way you and other staff treat these poor people. If anyone outside ever knew what really happens here, we’d be in big trouble. We’d find ourselves without jobs and homeless if this place ever closed down. All because of people like you.” She poked a finger into Grace’s chest.
Grace stepped back. Her eyes lit up with an evil gleam. “You know what, Greta, you really sound as paranoid as some of these patients at times. Know what I think? It really wouldn't take too much to convince these quacks we have for doctors that you’re starting to lose your mind. Now, wouldn’t that be something, you being a patient here? Of course, spending time around the loonies can make you loony, so we’d all understand. It’s all right. It can happen.” She postured and waited for a response.
“You better wipe that smirk off your face before I slap it off myself, Grace—just like Millie!” Greta's eyes widened in anger. She continued, “How dare you speak to me and threaten me in that manner. I'm in a higher position than you, so smarten up and know your place.” She shook her fist and moved toward the door, ignoring Claire as she passed. Before exiting, she turned back to Grace one last time. “And I'll tell you something else, you shameless girl, you keep provoking these patients, and one day you’ll find yourself on the wrong end of the bargain.”
When Greta had disappeared, Grace put her right hand under her left elbow and raised her left arm in a movement depicted by society as an obscene gesture. Claire closed her eyes and prayed she’d get through this treatment today.
“You’re next, Miss Uppity.” Grace moved over to a spare tub, tapping her foot with impatience. Claire approached, pulled off her dress, and dropped it on the floor. She stared at the tub. The cold porcelain interior looked like a monster with a gaping mouth, ready to gobble her up. She hesitated before lowering into the hammock. Could she stand another day of being doused with cold water? She’d been at Hatchie River over a month, and surely these treatments had to end someday.
“Don’t act like you’ve never done this before. Sit down and be quick about it.” Grace’s eyes seemed to launch a barrage of angry bullets as she shoved Claire inside.
Claire held out an arm, risking backlash from the young woman standing next to her. “I’m going. Don’t push.”
“Move it, then!”
The hammock in the tub kept the brutal, cold surface from sending shockwaves through her system as she lowered herself down. It took every ounce of resolve to keep from screaming when Grace turned the tap on. Ice -cold water lashed at her ankles and legs like a million angry whips.
“Warm enough for you?” Another smirk from Grace, and Claire debated whether or not to throw good sense to the wind and just sock Grace in the eye and be done with it all. Surely death couldn’t be as bad as enduring the woman in control of the taps. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.
The water soon covered her thighs and crept up to her waist. No matter the number of baths, one simply could never get used to this torture. She decided then and there, electrocution was much better. Once the water had covered her chest, Grace shut everything off, fastened the canvas on top and walked away. Claire hoped she’d only spend no more than a couple of hours in the tub. She knew some of the other patients often spent hours and even days in this room, with attendants feeding them their meals.
Trapped under the canvas, unable to do anything but shiver and think, she spent the next thirty minutes imagining her body at a warmer temperature. She’d read magazine articles of certain spiritual men in other countries doing this same thing when they slept outside in the snow. The weather beat all around them, snowy and cold, and their bodies survived without any of them dying of frostbite or exposure, all because they willed themselves to stay warm. Needless to say, her intent failed miserably as it had in previous attempts. Perhaps these men possessed a special power she didn’t have.
In her estimation, Hatchie River seemed bent on breaking down the resolve of every patient who walked through those front doors rather than heal them. The worse you behaved, the worse staff had it in for you. She witnessed one unfortunate patient having their own feces from the toilet shoved in their mouth after smarting off at an attendant. Greta had not been on duty that day, and the nurse in charge ignored the commotion. And yet, staff were never held accountable for their actions. “Keep quiet, keep out of trouble, try to blend in. Most of all, pray hard. Pray real hard.” Ruth’s words haunted her.
Claire’s mind wandered back to life before entering the asylum. She’d learned this trick of forcing herself to think, to remember people, places, and events so her sanity remained intact during hydro sessions. Each time she tried extracting every detail from anything she could think of so her brain “wouldn’t go soft.” That’s the term she’d heard when patients had finally been broken by the system. They’d lost their ability to think and reason. If she lapsed into unconsciousness, she feared her brain may never be sane again. She counted all the friends she’d made in her lifetime, attaching to each name their face and a trait she liked best about them.
Her mind wandered back to carefree days when she was eight years old, and ran through fields of flowers, with long braids trailing behind her as the sun smiled down from a brilliant blue sky. All through high school she’d been popular and treated well by friends and teachers, asked to parties, courted by young men. She counted all the parties she’d attended in her life and the number of boys who’d tried to steal a kiss. Her parents spoiled her with trips to the ocean, pretty dr
esses, anything her heart desired. She tried counting these, too, the number of trips, the number of skirts and dresses she’d owned. Her parents would be so shocked, maybe embarrassed, if they saw her now. She kept her mind pressing onward. At eighteen, her life changed when she married Adrian, strong, handsome, adoring, and fit with a solid mind to rule the household, business—and her. Had anything caused him to falter the way her mind faltered right now, this moment, trapped in a tomb of ice? Why else would he do such a thing as this to her?
Then there was Mitchell, Adrian’s younger brother. She couldn’t recall enough specifics to count anything regarding him. One thing she knew, he’d always struck her as something of an enigma, mostly because he wasn’t around much until recently. When she and Adrian first married, Mitchell had refused to take part in the hatting business, choosing his own path and wanting a life away from family. This created great frustration in Adrian. Claire hadn’t formed much of an opinion, writing him off as a rather distant sort. The only question in her mind was how Mitchell could have succeeded in his marketing career if he didn’t have the personality for it? Maybe Adrian’s younger brother came off as suave and debonair to others. Just because he didn’t show that side of himself to her or his brother didn’t mean he hid it from those who mattered—people with money to buy products he pushed. She tried counting all the salesmen she’d ever encountered.
Claire thrashed her legs, hoping she’d warm up just a little. Fighting to stay awake, she closed her eyes and hummed as she shook her head several times. Where was she in her tracking of things? Mitchell being an odd sort, yes. She continued mentally recounting her knowledge of Mitchell. Two years ago, Adrian finally succeeded in getting his brother to see how they could influence hat fashion for the better, he creating the new styles, while the other marketed the business and collected orders. Mitchell relented, finally teaming up with his older brother if he agreed to split profits fifty-fifty. That was the only deal he’d accept.
When he set up his office next to Adrian’s, Claire saw more of this man, one who wore fashionable suits with shirt cuffs bound with gleaming gold cufflinks. He penned notes in a leather-bound journal using a sterling silver fountain pen. She bet he and Ruth’s uppity cousin Fran might hit it off if they ever met. Fran was uppity, Mitchell seemed uppity. And apparently, she must have seemed uppity, too, because Ruth and ugly old Grace had both referenced her as such. Otherwise, she couldn’t count any other faults in Mitchell.
Her teeth chattered as her body temperature dropped. When Greta returned, she’d ask for warmer water. Treatment procedures had rules, and Greta meant to follow them mostly to the letter, but she had a heart. Claire’s eyes closed. How long had she been in this forsaken tub? Maybe she’d be out of here soon and back in the common room. In the other tub, Millie had already fallen asleep, eyes closed, mouth open. If Grace didn’t slap her any more today, at least this poor woman could rest a little.
The sound of splashing water and voices interrupted Claire’s thought processes. Or had those thoughts been merely dreams? Her eyes fluttered open. Grace and Millie struggled against each other as Grace tried pulling her from the tub.
“Come on, you old hag. Time’s up.”
“Ow!” Millie cried out, slapping at Grace’s arm. “That hurts.” Her voice came out raspy.
“Quit fighting me or I’ll knock the fire out of you.” Grace pulled one last time before hauling the poor haggard woman out of the tub and onto the cold tile floor. Millie stood dripping wet, shivering. Claire saw too clearly the gaunt body, delicate skin, and sagging deflated breasts as the woman waited for Grace to dry her off and replace her clothes. However, the scene with Grace and Millie quickly took a back seat to the burning sensation in her bladder and the fullness in her rectum. The passage of time and cold water had wreaked havoc with her system, and now she panicked.
After helping Millie dry off and dress, Grace pulled her out of the room. Claire gritted her teeth and clenched her muscles, trying hard to hold everything in. A gripping cramp passed through her abdomen, so hard she cried out. It passed, but she knew her body wouldn’t hold out much longer. Fumbling underneath the canvas, she worked two fingers through an area encircling her neck and pulled. The canvas had been tied down, leaving her a helpless victim. For once in her life she prayed for Grace’s return. What would she do if Grace didn’t return?
A rumble in her stomach left her with a sense of hopelessness. If she couldn’t get out . . . Claire tugged once more at the covering, hoping by some chance of a small miracle it might slip loose, but no such luck occurred. Her ears perked up at the sound of footsteps. In seconds, Grace stood beside the tub.
“So how are you doing? Having the time of your life in there, not a care in the world?” Grace delivered a few hard pats on the back of Claire’s head, rattling her nerves so bad she almost lost control of everything right then and there.
“Am I done? I need to use the toilet.” Claire’s words came out in a raspy whisper.
“You need to use the toilet?” Grace grinned down at her. “Sorry. I’d let you out, but your time’s not up yet. Can’t go against doctor’s orders. When they order a certain amount of time, we have to follow it.”
“I’m not in here as long as the others.”
“And how would you know that? You don’t see a clock in here, do you?” Grace tapped her foot.
Stunned, Claire looked up at her with pleading eyes. “I-I just know they let me out in about a couple of hours.” She swallowed hard, holding back the tears. “You can put me back in here when I’m done. I won’t give you any problem, I promise. Please just let me use the toilet.”
“But why take you out, then put you back in? That’s so much trouble when you’re already here.” Grace glanced at her wrist. “By my watch, you still have more time left.” She turned her eyes up to the ceiling, pretending to think the matter over in greater detail, still engaging in that annoying foot-tapping.
A flash of anger passed through Claire. If she hadn’t been trapped under that damn canvas, she would have jumped out of that tub and choke the life out of Grace.
Grace shook her head in mock sympathy. “Well, I really don’t have any choice but to let you at least finish out your treatment just the way the doctor ordered it. To end it sooner or stop at all would make me look bad.” She paused her tapping and leered down at Claire.
Claire blinked a couple of time, trying to steady her voice before she spoke again. “So, what am I supposed to do?”
“Don’t know darlin’. You can hold it in or let it go. You make a mess, you clean it up when you’re done. Hold it in ’til I let you out, and you can go then. Makes no difference to me.” Without another word, she turned around and disappeared from the room, leaving Claire alone again.
“I hope you rot in Hell, you witch! One of these days, you’ll pay for all you’ve done.” Claire turned her eyes to the ceiling and spoke freely, her words an incantation filled with unadulterated hate. Wincing as another sharp pain lashed out in her stomach, she took several deep breaths, fighting one last time for a bit of dignity. She’d never make it to the toilet. Not now. With one last involuntary contraction, her bladder and bowels released a hot stream of urine and waste into the tub. Warmed briefly by the heat of her own fluid, she thought of the irony, a fleeting comfortable sensation of warmth mingling in the ice water. But the light touch of her own solid waste tapping against her skin if she moved the slightest bit filled her with an immediate sickness. This incident gashed her spirit. She remained perfectly still.
Other women had gone through this, she knew. She’d somehow had avoided such ignominy until Grace stepped in and made sure she suffered every horror imaginable. Claire envisioned herself killing Grace a thousand times, enjoying the dullness seeping into her eyes as she died a slow death. She sat brooding, counting the number of ways this woman could be knocked off. Yes, like The Maltese Falcon, Suspicion, or even Rebecca, those marvelous crime and mystery movies she and Adrian often saw at t
he Lutesse. The ones that kept you guessing or sitting on the edge of your seat. A blow to the head with a lead pipe, poison, drowning.
“Ach, you’re still in here?”
The clipped German accent mingled with the swishing of a nurse’s uniform skirt hit Claire’s ears like the trumpet of salvation. She craned her neck, watching Greta come up beside the tub.
Claire turned her eyes up to a concerned face. “She wouldn’t let me out. I asked her to.”
Greta frowned. “That girl can’t be trusted to do a simple job. I told her to let you out once she’d finished with Millie.” She unfastened the canvas.
With a blush, Claire reached out for one of Greta’s hands. “I’ve made a mess.”
The nurse stood there for a moment, processing what her patient had just confessed. Her face colored in irritation. “Good grief! She didn’t let you use the toilet?”
Claire hung her head in embarrassment. “I’ll clean it up. She said I had to.”
“You’ll do no such thing. We’ll get you cleaned up.” She rolled back the canvas, grimacing when she saw the water. “Go ahead and stand up. Be careful.”
Grabbing either side of the tub, Claire pulled herself out of the water, turning her head away from the foulness left behind.
“I was just coming in to get her out. Sorry, I got busy for a minute.”
Both women glanced up at the sound of Grace entering the room, and Claire noted Greta’s face turning redder than before.
In a cold tone, eyes smoldering with anger, Greta addressed the attendant. “Bring some extra towels. You’ll need to clean out this tub.”
Grace stood rooted to the ground, eyes fixed on Greta’s. “You want me to what?”
“You know what I mean, you lazy girl. You never do what you’re told.” Greta angled her head toward the cabinet holding the towels. Grace still didn’t move. In a final display of authority, Greta walked over and stood within inches of her face. “You’ll move now, or I’ll throw you in one of these tubs. I’ll fill it to the brim with the coldest water, and you’ll stay until you’re shriveled up so bad your own mother won’t know you.”
Escape From Purgatory Page 4