Deranged: Twisted Myths Book One

by Monica Corwin

  I snagged a few of the files, plopped them on the wood desk and shut the drawer with a clatter. Once I’d satisfied myself it was all the way closed, I pulled out my chair and plopped down. It bounced a little, and I adjusted it to the height I needed. The previous occupant was taller than I was.

  I flipped open the first file and sighed as data greeted me from the white sheet. It would naturally take time to get to know these people. The downside: many of them wouldn’t understand how many interactions would be required before I might make a difference in their lives, and I wanted to help them the best I could. But a person could only be helped as far as they allowed. And in my experience, people rarely allowed strangers enough time for meaningful interaction.

  I scanned the page before me. This woman had multiple admissions over the years, but the notes left by my predecessor told me nothing as to why. I flipped through the pages and let them flutter back to resting. She didn’t even have a meaningful diagnosis to speak of. Plenty of medications listed treating everything from pain to depression. How had she continually been admitted with no diagnosis and a whole damn pharmacy in her records?

  I snagged another file, flipped it open and read over the first page. This case seemed normal. A solid, clear, historically accounted for case of schizophrenia.

  I dragged another file out, again it was an easily digestible clear-cut case.

  The fear churning in my gut stilled somewhat. The new employer version of buyer’s remorse quickly clearing. So this one case must be special, which meant I might be able to diagnose the poor girl myself and release her from this viscous cycle of admissions.

  A knock broke my concentration, and a nurse I’d met earlier poked her head in. “Just making sure you don’t need anything, Doctor.”

  What was her name again? Ah. “Nurse Minthe, thank you for checking on me. I’m doing fine.”

  She ducked her head, a blush tracking up her neck. “Millie, please.”

  I sat back and smiled. Her unruly black curls had been tamed at the nape of her neck, and the dark brown of her smooth skin gleamed under my office’s abysmal lighting. “Is that short for something?”

  She came closer. “Amelia. But only my Nana calls me that.”

  “You can call me Ash. Short for Ashton.” I prompted before she could ask. “But my grandma calls me Meander. It’s an old family name. Greek.” I said before she got in the next question. “My whole family is Greek.”

  Her smile widened, and I realized I’d been rambling, and she likely had better things to do.

  I stood and shifted around the desk to her side where she stood bracing her hands on the back of one of the leather arm chairs. “I’m sorry, you probably didn’t need all that extra information.”

  She waved away my concerns. “No, it’s okay, really. But I do have to make the rounds. Let me know if you need anything as you get settled.”

  She ducked out the door before I could make more of a fool of myself.

  Way to go, Ash. Always great at first impressions.

  I closed the file and put them back in the cabinet. There was no discernible order of the files in the drawers. Yet another thing to add to my to-do list.

  For now, I should probably go meet some of my new patients and let them see my face. I grabbed a notepad and pen, slid them into my pocket, then exited my office to peer down the hall in both directions before heading toward the nurses. I scanned my entrance card and pushed through to the other side. The other side was empty, so I wandered until I found a single patient in the social room, watched over by the stone-faced Nurse Styx.

  I caught her eye and gave her a smile. She smiled back tentatively and then seemed to remember herself. I continued my exploration. The place was similar to most hospitals, if those hospitals had as big aesthetic budgets as they did medical supply budgets. Past the social room started several patient rooms. As far as my research went, this was a quiet hospital with few patients and very generous donors. Which usually meant we had a celebrity hidden in our midst. The few encounters I’d had with celebrity patients always ended the same way. A lawyer checking them out, declaring themselves cured without a doctor’s input at all. I wasn’t looking forward to meeting him or her. I turned and headed back toward the nurse stations. Nurse Minthe was gone.

  Styx now sat behind the desk. She quirked an eyebrow at me. “Can I help you, doctor?”

  “No, thank you. I’m just exploring, getting to know the place.”

  She continued reading her book, and I went around to check out the patient rooms on the other side. I didn’t open any doors, just walked from one end of the hall to the other, and returned. The grey lady didn’t look up as I scanned back through the door toward my office. I found my way back and closed the door behind me.

  I was supposed to eat lunch with the trustees soon, something I wished I could get out of. And afterward, one of my first patient sessions. The only bit of the day I looked forward to.

  I sat behind the desk again feeling restless, itchy. My mind strayed back to the woman from last night. She seemed troubled, but hopefully, she got as good as she gave. I could still feel the echo of her skin flush with mine. I wondered if I went back to the bar, if she’s be there again, and up for another round.

  A speaker went off somewhere, and I pulled myself from the memory of her with reluctance. I stared at the file cabinet, not sure I was ready to take on that herculean task just yet. Shouts echoed down the hall, and I caught the sound of rubber soles on linoleum. Running. I vaulted around my desk toward the door. The hall was empty by the time I poked my head out. I went to the nurse’s station and peered over the counter. “What’s going on?”

  Minthe now, who jerked at the sound of my voice. “Nothing but the usual. Our resident celebrity just arrived for her annual stint still half drunk. She knows she’s not supposed to drink with her medications.”

  She didn’t sound too concerned. “Should I go check on her?”

  She waved me off. “No, she’ll sleep it off, and then we can start her on her usual regime once all the alcohol and god knows what else is out of her system.”

  “Did you say annual stint? Who is she?”

  She leaned closer and the scent of mint wafted from her skin. “She’s some high profile senator’s daughter. I heard the senator is about to make a bid for president.”

  Her answer told me nothing about my patient. Which concerned me. If the staff only cared about her mother, what were they doing to help her?

  I peered down the now silent hall. All my instincts were telling me to check on this poor girl. “Can I have her file please?”

  With eyebrows raised and lips pursed, she stared at me for a heartbeat, then slid her chair to a cabinet and grabbed a manila file from the holding tray. She pushed off the cabinet back toward the desk and offered it to me.

  I gave her a smile to hopefully lessen the sting of my doing what she said was futile. Her cute blush told me I’d been forgiven already.

  I turned the corner and walked slowly toward her room as I scanned: Kory Persephone Sito. When she said some kind of celebrity, I didn’t actually expect to recognize the name. I’d seen her mother on TV before I left for work. How had she committed her daughter and made a TV appearance within hours?

  I kept reading. Self-admitted then… How often did that happen, and why did she admit herself every six months? More questions bloomed in my head as I walked. This was the same patient who I’d found stuffed in my filing cabinet. Except this record was more thorough and even more confusing.

  No diagnosis, her medications didn’t make sense, and the session notes seemed perfunctory. Not a single observation from the last doctor, nothing. What the hell?

  I stopped outside her door, all was quiet now. They’d give her a sedative, but if Minthe’s accusations were true, the woman likely needed an IV drip and cup of coffee.

  I knocked softly, and a quiet reply called, “Come in.”

  As I pushed the door open, she was already speaking.
“I don’t know why you bother knocking when we know you’re going to enter anyway.”

  I froze, hand on the door, and stared at the small woman sitting on the bed surrounded by books.

  The woman I kissed last night. The woman I still tasted, and felt, and desired. The woman who could now completely ruin me.

  She tilted her head to the side and studied me. “Long night, doctor?”

  Her words from last night the ice cold slap I needed to jolt me into action. “Sorry I…”

  My brain failed to slide all the pieces into place. She sat still, waited.

  I closed the door behind me. “Did you know I worked here?” My tone was hard and clipped, but I couldn’t help it.

  She placed a book carefully on a pile. “You mean did I stalk you and admit myself to be close to you?”

  Her words didn’t make sense, and yet, we were in a mental health ward. This time, I waited.

  “Fuck no. I didn’t. And if I had, I’d have taken my shots and went home before you could even say a word to me.”

  Lying was something I usually caught easily, and the night before, I hadn’t sensed anything off about her. I dropped her file on the desk and scrubbed my hands over my head. “Shit. I’ve got to move you. Or find another doctor.”

  She snorted and continued stacking. “Don’t bother. They don’t actually expect you to do anything for me. Sign the forms, pretend to make sure I’m behaving myself, and you’ll get a nice bonus when I leave.”

  I gestured at the chair, my legs suddenly feeling a little wobbly. “Do you mind?”

  “No,” she said, not even looking up at me this time.

  “What is happening here?” I grabbed the file and flipped it open again.

  She chucked. “You haven’t gotten the call yet. It’ll come soon I expect.”

  “The call?”

  “The one from my mother’s staff outlining the parameters of my care. I’m sorry doctor, but your fancy degrees have been relegated to over-priced babysitting.”

  I knew I sputtered. “Babysitting?”

  She leaned toward me, and I flinched back. The memory of her still too strong to rectify with her sitting in front of me. “I’m not actually crazy or mentally ill. Maybe a tad depressed. I’m really only in here to keep me out of the way.”

  “Who would do that?”

  She chuckled softly. “My mother. Likely soon to be Madame President.”

  Chapter Three

  Kory

  He didn’t stay very long after that revelation and thank fuck. I didn’t know how long I could hold this indifferent facade I’d learned from the best, but I wasn’t my mother.

  Once he’d shut my door behind him, I shoved the books back in the trunk by my bed, grabbed the covers, and dove underneath. It provided the only barrier I could access. A mockery of privacy and protection, but it helped a little. Enough to calm my erratic breathing and allowed me think straight.

  What the fuck was happening was the correct sentiment. I’d woken up in my hotel room this morning, still blissfully sore, and wishing I’d bought him back with me. Now…I wanted to scrub my body with steel wool. How could I see him every day and not remember what we did? I barely survived these little trips to the other side. Now, with him, a walking reminder of my freedom, it would be torture.

  Last night, he’d said he’d have liked to make the choice about getting to know me for himself. It made this whole situation so much worse, since we’d flipped the coin. He’d gone from not getting to know me against his will, to knowing every last detail against his will. Every last mortifying detail.

  I dragged a pillow over top the blanket. It didn’t help a single bit. For the first time in years, I wasn’t resigned to this. How could I be? I needed to get out. It had been five years since I tried to bust out of one of these places. That’s when she switched from regular old hole to the super max mental places.

  I jerked the covers down, leaned over the bed, and found a fat volume at the bottom of the trunk. The Count of Monte Cristo. A well-loved antique edition my mother sent me for my birthday years ago. What would Edmond do in this situation?

  I imagined one of my literary heroes flashing a dashing grin and using the pretty doctor to get him out of this situation. I couldn’t do that though? Right? No. It was a bad bad bad idea.

  And the plain cotton uniform they stuffed me into didn’t really lend me any style points.

  No, I wasn’t really equipped for seduction. But maybe Edmond would lend me knowledge later on. I hugged the tome to my chest taking comfort in its presence. If I did this, tried to escape, and screwed it up, they could strip me of my books. It was one of the few ways my mother learned she could control me when I was locked away. And the threat of their removal always kept me in line.

  But that was before.

  Before I knew how Ash’s hands felt on my skin. Before I woke with his name on my lips.

  Before I bought myself a fucking ereader, which my mother didn’t know about.

  It didn’t have wifi, but it held every friend I’d ever made in its tiny little shell.

  The thought made me feel freer. Let me breathe a little easier. One tiny act of independence cut off my mother’s reach by a huge chunk.

  The orderly who checked my stuff knew I had it, but he’d shoved it aside as negligible and likely forgot it existed. I hoped.

  I stared at the white ceiling now. Yes, I needed to get out here. And then run as far and as fast as I could manage.

  Would Ash chase me down? He’d seen my record; he’d known something with my case wasn’t right. Soon, he’d get the call, be offered a lot of money, and then I’d once again be relegated to dollar signs. Only be worth what my status as a senator’s daughter and a six digit pay day.

  I realized that was the part I couldn’t stand. Ash looking at me and seeing dollar signs after the way he’d touched and kissed and made love to me.

  I wouldn’t be able to survive that.

  A knock at my door, and I looked over the covers to watch the same burly bearded orderly bring in a tray. A bowl and a cup of water. He sat it on my desk. “Doc said you might want this.”

  Was this his response to the call? Take extra care of me so his money doesn’t go fluttering in the wind?

  “What is it?”

  “Just some oatmeal. Said it would settle your stomach.”

  The orderly shrugged and handed me a spoon. A plastic spoon. Like I was some newbie who might use it as a shank.

  “Thanks,” I said pointedly.

  I wanted for him to leave. But he stood and eyed the trunk of books. “You like to read?”

  I took the bowl off the tray and scooted up my bed. “No, I just like to drag these around with me wherever I go. You know, to keep the demons out.”

  He stared at me, mouth open. I couldn’t help but to laugh at his expression. “Obviously, I like to read.”

  He didn’t appreciate my sense of humor. Oh well, hopefully I’d be gone soon anyway.

  “Are you going to stand there and watch me eat all of this?”

  He jostled from foot to foot. “Policy. I have to take the tray back when I leave.”

  In that case. I quickly shoved hot oatmeal in my mouth and handed him the bowl. “Thanks. Get out.”

  He blinked at me a few times and pressed his eyes tight, but took the drinks and left me alone again.

  Way to make friends with the locals. But experience taught me no friendship stood up to hard cash. No friendship, no relationship, nothing. A lesson learned the hard way over and over again.

  The food had settled my roiling stomach. I pushed the trunk over and squeezed between the bed and its heavy metal frame. The door wasn’t locked, and I slipped out into the quiet hall. There usually were very few other inmates when I checked in. My mom wanted me locked away, but heaven forbid one of her offspring mix with mere mortals. Especially en masse.

  A TV blared from the social room, and I followed the hall to the sound of it. An old lady sat passed out
in an arm chair. Two women sat in the nurse’s station, and an orderly stood looming in the corner.

  No Ash around that I could ascertain. Why did I want to see him again so soon? To reassure myself what I was going to try to do was necessary, worth the risk?

  Or did I just want to look at him? Linger with my fantasies a little longer.

  I sat in a chair and rocked it to face the station. Keeping watch for the perfect opportunity I told myself. My ereader weighed down the pocket of my sweater. I had a crumpled smuggled twenty in my shoe. Everything a girl needed to make a quick escape.

  Time slipped by. I didn’t know how long I sat. A nurse had left, and my orderly had gone. Sunlit slanted through the windows at an angle now. Definitely time for the small night shift to take over.

  I stood and yawned. Like I wanted to go to bed. The nurses barely spared me a glance. I walked slowly toward my room again, trying to think. Yes, the closet at the end of the hall. Cleaning supplies and stuff, but they usually keep an extra pair of scrubs. I could change, walk through once the night shift came on.

  I found the closet. Locked. Fuck. But it was an easy pick with a bobby pin and a little pressure.

  I found the scrubs, changed quickly, and then stood there with my bundle of clothes. I removed my reader and my money and shoved the clothing on the shelf. Now what? Shit. I should have thought this through better. I slipped out of the closet and crossed to the emergency stairs. Again locked, but another easy pick. The door opened, and the blaring alarm followed. I ran out the door and down the stairwell as fast as my hung over sedated lungs could carry me.

  I missed the last stair in the dark and then fell onto someone from coming up from the bottom.

  I knew that scent and the strong fold of his hands around my waist.

  “Damn it,” I said, sitting up so I straddled him.

  His eyes narrowed, and for a second, his fingers tightened around me. A blink of sensation there and gone before I was hauled to my feet with him as he rose.