Hexad: The Ward

by Al K. Line

  Her nurse didn't rush her, allowed her to take her time, even stop and stare at the other patients, although Amanda could never bring herself to look at them for more than a moment — it reminded her that she was far from well. She was getting better though, could almost convince herself they had different hair styles, different colored hair, were fat or thin, large or small, old and young, rather than all looking almost exactly the same. Looking like her.

  She would get better soon, would be able to see the other women for who they really were. Once she got better and fixed her head then all the visions of multiple images of her would clear, be replaced with their real faces.

  She had a long way to go yet though, that was for sure, but she was getting better, little by little, day by day, and besides, it wasn't even that bad once you got used to it.

  Not really.

  She was directed down yet another corridor, catching a glimpse of the recreation room before being ushered away. She stared longingly at the open space, the women not restrained but playing cards, watching TV, even reading books. They were quiet, somber and mostly rather insular, but they had their freedom — of sorts.

  It was a lot more than she had.

  "Here we are. Go straight on in, Amanda, no need to knock." Nurse Emily paused for a moment then put her hand to her mouth in shock. "Oh, I'm so sorry, how terrible of me." Nurse Emily opened the door and ushered Amanda into Hector's room where he saw his patients.

  Did she say about knocking on purpose? No, I'm not well, I'm not well.

  It's all in Your Mind

  37 Years Future

  "Hello, Amanda, you're looking well," said Hector from behind his desk. He glanced down at a stack of papers, picked them up and tidied the pile before placing it to one side.

  "Um, thanks?"

  "Was that a question?" asked Hector, peering at her over glasses Amanda couldn't help but imagine were there just because it was what was expected of your resident psychiatrist. Same for the timeless suit and the gray hair. In fact, the whole room couldn't be more clichéd if you tried: dark panels, lots of unpronounceable book titles and he even had an oak desk with leather inlay and a green reading lamp — it was like he'd just looked up psychiatrist in the dictionary and followed the rules.

  "Amanda?"

  "Oh, sorry. No, I guess not, I am feeling better."

  "Good, good." Hector pushed back in his chair and stood before walking around the desk, moving close. "I think we can take off all this unnecessary restraint, don't you?"

  "Yes please, my arms are numb."

  "Sorry about that. It's for your own safety, as I am sure you know. There were, um, certain incidents when you first arrived. Do you remember?" Hector untied the straitjacket as he spoke and Amanda gratefully moved her arms about, clenching and unclenching her fists to improve the circulation, sure to make it as non-threatening as possible when all she wanted to do was grab him by the throat and make him tell her what... No, she was ill, he was helping her.

  "Thank you," Amanda forced herself to say instead. "I'll be good."

  "Of course you will. Now, please do sit down. I suppose a chair is quite the luxury to you at the moment, am I right?"

  "Yes, Doctor." Hector frowned over his glasses as he sat. "Sorry. Yes, Hector." Amanda sank into the comfortable chair, as amazed as she always was at how such a simple luxury was taken for granted in the past.

  The haze of the morning was long forgotten, more like waking from a dream, not really recalling anything but the vaguest idea of what it contained, but the drug-stupor had lifted for the most part. Giving days were the only ones where she almost felt herself for a few hours in the afternoon preceding and subsequent to her session with Hector.

  Amanda was never sure if it was a good thing or a very bad thing. Thoughts and distant memories would begin to crowd her mind as they were doing now, and it was hard to separate fact from fiction. So much made little sense, so much seemed wrong, yet she knew she was unwell, knew that the drugs administered at every mealtime were stopping her from losing her, albeit tenuous, grip on reality.

  Part of her wanted to become semi-comatose once more, to be lost in the fuzzy haze of timelessness where thoughts could no more be held onto than the clouds in the sky. But part of her wanted to see what complete clarity would deliver, to find out just how insane she was and be an observer of her own thoughts and emotions, try to understand what was wrong with her, why she was broken and how she could be fixed.

  But what if she wasn't broken? What if everything she had once believed was actually true?

  What if she had jumped through time? What if they were keeping her here to take the fluids from her and build time machines for the masses? What if all the other women here really were other Amandas and what if she had once had a life with a handsome man for over a decade and she had met The Caretaker and another version of her had jumped into The Chamber, that strange inverted world at the end of time where another warped soul had tried to take what he had no right to from endless Amandas from universes created by the paradoxes that built because of time travel?

  God, I am utterly insane. But how did I get here? Who brought me and when will they let me go?

  "You're doing it again, aren't you?" said Hector calmly, steepling his fingers, resting his chin lightly on the well-manicured tips in what Amanda was sure was a mere affectation of what a man of position was supposed to do.

  "Sorry, I was just..."

  "Trying to understand what's happened to you? Wondering if you are in need of help? Not quite sure if what you believed to be true really is?"

  "Yes, I mean no," said Amanda hurriedly. She knew the only way to get out of her cell and at least into the open Ward was to show she was making progress whether she believed it or not.

  "So you don't really think that time travel exists? That The Ward is full of other women that are exact clones of you? What did you call them, other versions of you from alternate universes?"

  "Haha, yes, but I'm better now, Hector. I know that is silly, that it isn't true. I just... get a little confused sometimes. It's because my medication is wearing off, I'm just getting withdrawal symptoms, that's all. I know what's real." Amanda put a hand through her hair, trying not to grimace at how oily and dirty it felt. Why couldn't she at least shower every day? Have five minutes of her own to get clean?

  "Amanda?"

  "Sorry, I was just thinking." Keep it together, it doesn't matter what's real, you just need to get out of your cell — it's not a room, it's a cell — and be allowed to at least move your own hands.

  The conversation continued. Amanda tried her best to act normal, or at least what she thought normal meant, and focused as much as her still-slow thoughts allowed her to do so. It wasn't easy and it took all of her energy to focus on the conversation, to try to act how she believed she should, and to not just leap across the desk and rip out her tormentor's eyes and—

  "Sorry, can you say that again please?" Did I hear that right? Please, God, let it be true.

  "I said, I think you have made excellent progress and that you can enter into the general population area of The Ward whenever you feel you are ready," said Hector, smiling benevolently like it hadn't been him responsible for her spending who knew how many months constrained in a straitjacket, locked away in isolation and having to eat like a dog off the floor.

  "Today?" asked Amanda, trying not to let the eagerness overwhelm her.

  "If you wish, yes. I shall get Nurse Emily to arrange everything and first you can have a shower with real shampoo and even conditioner if you like. I know how important that is to you."

  "Really? Oh, thank you Doctor— Hector, can I do it twice?"

  "Twice?" asked Hector, confused.

  "My hair, can I condition it twice? I always used to." I did, didn't I? Where are you, Dale? Do you even exist?

  "Twice it is then," said Hector, rising and walking around the desk again. "Now, Amanda, I want you to listen carefully. Are you paying attention?" />
  Amanda looked him in the eye, forcing herself to appear pleased rather than homicidal, reminding herself that this man had total power over not only her body but her mind. She needed to think straight, to sort out what was really happening. Now was her chance, she just had to be the person he wanted her to be.

  "I'm listening." Amanda nodded her head eagerly.

  "If you begin to believe in this time travel nonsense, or that the other women look like you, or anything else that you know is a sure sign of a relapse, then I will expect you to ask to see me immediately. Is that understood?" Amanda nodded her head, foul smelling hair stinging her eyes as it dropped in front of her face. "Good girl. We all want you to get better, but you have to help too, you have to keep reminding yourself that you are still delusional. But I don't think you are a risk to yourself or others any longer, so let's see how it goes, shall we?"

  "Yes, thank you."

  Hector walked across the plush carpet to the door and opened it, called quietly for Nurse Emily, who seemed to have nothing better to do than wait for her.

  "In a few days I'll see you again, but remember what I said: the first sign of a relapse you ask to see me."

  "I'll remember, and thank you again, Hector."

  I'm free. No, Amanda, you aren't. No, I suppose not, but I'm more free than I have been in months, and that's a good start, isn't it? Maybe, just be careful. Oh, I will.

  "What was that?" asked Hector, staring at her intensely.

  Did I say that out loud. Don't ruin it now, Amanda, not when you are so close.

  "Nothing, just saying thank you again. Goodbye."

  "Goodbye, Amanda. Be well."

  You can count on it, dickhead. Did I say that out loud? Amanda glanced nervously at Hector, but he had already returned to his desk and was busy shuffling papers.

  "Come on, it's a big day for you, Amanda," said Nurse Emily, running back in to grab the straitjacket, looking at Amanda's bare arms and the curve of her chest now she was down to her white vest.

  She must have known I was going back into gen pop, thought Amanda, worrying slightly as Nurse Emily rushed past her then glanced back, eyes drawn down from her face to her torso. This is why I'm never allowed to shower myself, nothing to do with self-harm.

  Amanda shook her lank hair — she was thinking too much, letting bad thoughts enter her head. This was what Hector had warned her about.

  Be good. Be good.

  New Friends

  37 Years Future

  Amanda settled into life mixing with the other women better than she would have imagined — they all seemed really nice. Nice, but loopy. For the first few days she walked around in a drug-stupor, unable to think about anything apart from shuffling one foot in front of another, hitching up the white institutional clothes so she didn't trip over her own feet.

  She was lost inside herself, unable to bring thoughts to the surface and hold them, just a bystander waving as the fluffy clouds drifted by languidly, listening to the background noise of the seagulls she slowly came to realize was the chatter of the other women.

  Some of them were in worse shape than her, but clearly still allowed their freedom, whilst others seemed rather animated at certain times of the day — usually before it was time to top up on their medications which were now dispensed to them individually by Nurse Emily as they lined up orderly to get their meals.

  What a revelation and a treat that was: to use a plastic fork and even a spoon, move her own arm from the plate to her mouth, chew whilst sat on a chair like an almost normal human being. She kept her head down, literally, for a few days and her few moments of lucidity allowed her to understand that she was on a higher dose of medication and being watched carefully to ensure she behaved. There was nothing to worry about, she couldn't have done anything even if she'd wanted to.

  In fact, all she wanted to do as the days wore on and her head cleared because of the lowered dosage, was to shower.

  Ah, the luxury of standing in the stall, letting the isolation of the dividing walls allow her to feel free for a few minutes, let the steaming water spray over her pale skin, touch her tight belly and tickle her breasts like a lover she felt she would never have again, if she ever had. She would think of Dale, the man she loved, and question if it was him that had committed her, maybe for her own good, and couldn't help but wonder if she would ever see him again.

  Hector had told her that her past was not to be discussed, not until she was properly well and her delusional state was well behind her. He had said it could cause a serious relapse to think about such things, let alone to talk about them. There would be time enough later, first she had to get well.

  So the thoughts of Dale faded each time the water washed away the dirt of the day, and Amanda focused on shampooing and conditioning her hair, scrubbing her skin until it glowed pink and shone. It was her time, doing what she loved, some peace from the madness of The Ward that sometimes threatened to overwhelm her even though it was still better than the solitude of her cell.

  It was no easy thing to cope with. Without the daily showers where she could gather her thoughts, summon up courage and mental fortitude, tell herself to just do what was expected and ignore the glaring contradictions of The Ward, then she knew she would have gone haywire very quickly. But the water scalded her skin and brought her alive, and making herself look pretty, if a little angular around the face and hip, gave her enough to cope — just.

  They could roam the communal areas of The Ward from after breakfast until it was time to retire for the evening, and even then you were never alone. The women were housed in one large room, bunk beds lining either side of the narrow but long space, reminding Amanda of army barracks she had seen in movies. When she first saw it she burst out laughing and got a stern look from Nurse Emily and a deep scowl from Laffer, who was always there at morning call and lights out, just in case.

  "What's so funny?" asked Nurse Emily.

  "Oh, nothing, I'm just so happy," lied Amanda, when secretly she was imagining what must have been at least fifty women being told to "Get down and give me ten" and maybe have to polish their boots. One thing was for certain, these soldiers most definitely would not be given guns.

  On it went, day after day. Slowly, her mind returned, but it was changed. She was a different woman and she knew it. Her past felt so distant, like it genuinely hadn't happened, and a large part of her supposed that it hadn't. After all, time travel? Factories, The Chamber, taking her spinal fluid to power such devices, of course it was a hallucination, a breakdown.

  Hector had explained it to her, saying that when she arrived she was a gibbering wreck, and that after her lumbar puncture she further constructed her story, only now it included an endless procession of Amandas to power these things called Hexads. She had simply allowed her mind to embellish her story to accommodate what was an unfortunate but necessary procedure.

  Amanda didn't understand why the lumbar punctures were necessary, she thought they were more to test for things like meningitis, but Hector had explained that the procedure was quite common and a lot of the women had it performed regularly — it was often the root cause of mental illness, namely that they had abnormal production of cerebrospinal fluid that was way too high and the increased pressure on the brain caused by the elevated fluid levels resulted in mental confusion in some cases, or more serious mental breakdown, hallucinations and sometimes even complete loss of consciousness and a vegetative state. In severe cases even death.

  So, hard as it was, she accepted that the procedure must be performed weekly, and the more times she underwent it the more likely she was to regain her true memories and become the person she once was. Hector had smiled and said that he would very much like to meet that woman, and that he could tell she was very happy and energetic really.

  It all made perfect sense, and now that Amanda could think about it then it did sound plausible.

  The one thing that held her back from accepting what she was told, and what was done to
her, was that she was living her life surrounded by other women who all looked exactly the same.

  However hard she tried to perform the mental exercises that Hector made her promise to practice every morning and evening, she couldn't shake off the lack of different facial features. She lied to Hector, told him that of course the women didn't all look the same, but he'd caught her out easily when Nurse Emily had brought in a number of women to his office and she was asked to describe them.

  Inevitably, she'd got it totally wrong — how could she possibly know what they really looked like when all she saw was dark sunken eyes, the blue barely visible under the stress of mental illness, and blond hair, a pale, freckled face and fear. Always fear.

  Hector had told her to keep practicing, to imagine they looked different, even if that meant just making facial features up, and soon enough the true faces of the others would reveal themselves to her.

  Weeks later, it was working. Amanda made certain to practice as often as she could, giving the different women a specific set of imaginary features, and every time she looked at one she would paint that composite face in her mind, until it became second nature and the vision of herself staring back at her in various states of depression, mania, happiness or preoccupation, was replaced by nothing but smiling brunettes with nice makeup, or pale redheads, or gorgeous, dark-skinned African ladies, or slender Japanese women with perfect features straight out of Manga.

  It made such a difference to how she interacted with the women. As she sat there talking about nothing much to the few women that would talk to her, she could have a conversation as long as she kept up the pretense, until it was no longer a pretense and it became second nature. She was talking to women that looked different to herself. They were from some far-flung corner of the country or another one entirely, they absolutely did not look exactly like her, just maybe a little fatter or thinner with shorter or longer hair and a better or worse complexion.

  The only thing really missing was conversation with any real depth. They were absolutely not allowed to use their names, this was a strict rule and if anyone was caught using their name then they were sent immediately back to isolation — Amanda had it drummed into her and she never heard a name mentioned, the fear of being alone for months at a time, strapped up tight and eating like an animal was enough of a motivator for even the most seemingly lost of the patients.