by Jamie Mackay
Chapter 17
Well aware that the next three weeks would go slowly, Tatum resolved to bury herself in her work. In particular, she intended to make significant progress on her research work. She had initiated a proposal to develop an Autism treatment and diagnostic center, and she intended to meet her goal before the end of her internship. She knew that the first three days of the week were often scheduled fully with direct patient contact, but Thursday and Friday would leave some time for working on her proposition. She also knew that her biggest struggle in getting her work done would continue to be the obsession she was developing about the strange events at WMI.
Monday morning and afternoon were, as she suspected would be the case, booked fully with clinical time. Despite her heavy clinical schedule she ensured that she made time for James. Having had the weekend to think it over, she had decided she was prepared to dismiss his comment from the previous week. She would not let her own feelings and pride interfere with the progress James had made as a result of her company.
As was her routine, Tatum assessed until noon and then grabbed lunch to-go and made her way to Unit Three. She chatted with James, not letting him know that she had been upset with him a few days before. Finally, when she was done filling their time together, Tatum got up to leave
"Bye James," she said as she always did.
"Bye," he responded in his mumbled tone.
Tatum took extreme pleasure in knowing that his responses were becoming routine. Perhaps being overzealous, she also assumed that his choice not to repeat his previous comment also demonstrated that he had understood that she had been upset by it. She knew that for people with Autism, emotional understanding did not come easily, and being able to understand her response would show real progress.
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Tatum finished the afternoon, working her way methodically through her expected tasks, knowing that there was one thing she would be sure to do prior to leaving for the day. When her final therapy session was over, Tatum sat down at the computer in her small, rectangular office, and drafted an e-mail to Tim.
"Hi Tim, I have a request that I was hoping you might be able to help me with. I spoke to Anne last week and she suggested that I should make this request to you, since you were able to help me with my previous request for time off. Recently, a patient I've been seeing, Kory Atchinson, was moved to Unit Four because of an incident with one of the nurses. I would like to be able to go and see Kory. So, I would like to request that I be provided with increased access. Do you think that it may be appropriate for me to have access to these units at this time? If so, could you please let me know what the process is to be able to gain access? Thanks Tatum."
Tatum re-read her message, making sure that her request was both respectful and clear, and then she clicked send, hopeful that she would have access to see Kory prior to the end of the week.
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Tuesday and Wednesday Tatum concentrated fully on the tasks at hand, trying her best to keep her mind on her work. During spare minutes, either throughout the day or at home in the evening, she worked on completing her reports, so that on Thursday she would have time to visit Kory, assuming she was permitted access. Finally, late Wednesday afternoon, a response from Tim arrived.
"Hi Tatum, I agree that you have now been here long enough to be appropriately assigned to Units Four and Five. However, I would prefer to provide you with a supervised tour through the units, rather than having your first visit as an independent visit to the facility. Do you have some time to meet with me tomorrow afternoon? We could set up your access and then I could take you through the Unit? Let me know... Tim."
Tatum knew that she should wait, as to not appear overzealous about getting into the additional units, but, despite her best judgment, she responded immediately.
"That sounds perfect Tim. I would really appreciate you helping me set up my access, and showing me the units. Should we meet in the board room at one o'clock on Thursday? Tatum."
As quickly as she had responded, Tatum received an answer.
"One o'clock tomorrow it is. Tim."
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Tatum stayed late that evening to make sure that all of her clinical reports were drafted and so all that would be required the following morning would be to do final edits and submit. She walked home around seven contemplating a variety of different scenarios about the goings-on in Units Four and Five. She was certain that regardless of what occurred, neither unit could be as bad as what she had imagined in her head. Knowing that the next day she would finally see the inside of her up-till-now non-accessible units, Tatum could not help herself. She broke the promise to herself that she had made several weeks prior. She made herself a quick dinner, one that went directly from the freezer to microwave, and then sat down at her computer to eat. Similar to times past, her search started with a history of Wainwright Mental Institution, and then quickly became more specifically geared toward any information she could find about Units Four, Five, and Six. As always, her search found several blogs, including those that Tatum had previously written-off as developed by nut-jobs. This time she paused, willing for the first time, to browse the blogs that she had earlier considered ridiculous.
The first one had been started by a blogger who called himself 'notsocrazybloke'; he wrote about government conspiracies, national and international. His tirades included theories about the Twin Towers, the Swiss plane crash, and the Unibomber. He also discussed lesser known issues, including the one that caught Tatum's attention. He was convinced that the Units were a place of abuse, neglect, involuntary commitment and unethical experimentation. He talked about corrupt politicians that provided funding for things the public couldn't know. He talked about powerful and influential physicians that accepted brides to complete the work that ethical professionals refused to do.
She switched to a discussion forum dedicated entirely to talk of WMI. There were contributors who claimed to be previous patients that had escaped, others who said their family members were trapped inside, and some who thought that WMI was a facility that housed aliens the government had found but wanted to keep quiet.
Crazy! thought Tatum as she continued through the postings.
Occasionally, someone sane would make a contribution and say something about how it might be possible the WMI was just an institution intended for housing and treating people with mental health issues. These posts would always be followed by a barrage of accusations about how the person writing the defense of WMI was overly-gullible and didn't understand the real workings of the political underworld.
Tatum realized she was starting to think that she might be one of those who were overly-gullible and trusting; an uneasy feeling came over her. She was thankful when her moment of dread was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. It was Jake, calling her as had become his nightly custom. She picked up the phone, took one look at the disturbing material on her screen and then shut off her computer, convinced it would be her last visit to such ridiculous websites.
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Thursday morning Tatum jumped out of bed and completed her run with enthusiasm and energy. Today would be the day she'd get to dispel all of her concerns about the types of things that happened in her off-limit units.
I was all concerned about Unit Six, and it turned out to be nothing. I'm sure this will be the same, she reassured herself.
Milligan poured her coffee and asked, as he always did, about her plans for the day. "So, today's the secret units, hey?" Milligan asked.
Tatum laughed. She knew Milligan was teasing her about her obsession with what went on in Units Four and Five. "Yeah. I'm sure it's nothing compared to what's in my head. Couldn't be I don't think."
"Well, I want a full run-down tomorrow, right?"
"Of course. Probably be nothing to tell though."
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Tatum got to work early so that she could make sure all of her reports were complete and submitted before lunch. She spent lunch hour with James and then waited patiently for Tim in the board room.
Several minutes after one, Anne entered the meeting space.
"Surprised to see me?" asked Anne.
"Kind of, but it's a nice surprise," answered Tatum. "What happened to Tim?"
"I don't know. You know Tim. He mumbled something about too much work to do, and then asked me to cover for him. Pretty typical. Anyway, I was glad to. Get to spend the afternoon with my favorite intern." Anne flashed one of her brilliant, engaging smiles. "Ready?"
"Let's go," answered Tatum.
The first task for the afternoon was to see Marja at the front desk and have Tatum's FOB updated. Tim had forwarded an email giving permission, so the increased permissions only required a couple of moments for the capable front desk clerk.
"You ready for this?" she asked Tatum half joking, half serious.
"I think so. How bad can it be?"
Marja and Anne shared a look.
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Tatum and Anne moved to Unit Four with an ease that wouldn't have occurred several months previous. Tatum knew her way around well and now opted to lead the way to the unfamiliar unit. She approached the previously inaccessible door that guarded the higher security unit and placed her FOB on the reader that determined who could pass through. Tatum heard the familiar click and then pulled on the now accessible door.
Unit Four was blue. The patients wore blue issue and the charts had blue covers. Similar to the other units, it had one large room and several smaller rooms on tiers surrounding the inner circle. But, in contrast to the other units, the larger inner circle had no homey feel. There was a single TV placed high up near the ceiling and two reclining chairs. No tables, puzzles, books or any other item that could potentially be used for harm was evident. Patients sat restrained, many of them appearing to be so heavily drugged that their consciousness was minimal. Others continued to scream and writhe, presumably despite substantial medication. Their writhing was in vain, with strait jackets preventing many of the patients from using their arms. Others wore gags on their mouths, Tatum assumed to avoid biting and spitting.
It looks like a scene out of 'Silence of the Lambs', she thought as she took it all in.
She saw patients with scars on their torsos and cuts all over their arms. She saw patients attempting to claw and pick their own faces, having the appearance as if they'd previously been successful on many occasions. Video cameras kept close surveillance on every corner of every room, and security guard watched intently as clinicians worked with the patients. Tatum immediately understood the adoption of prison lingo within the institution's walls.
Where a small window provided some ability to observe Unit Three patients in their dorms, Unit Four dorm walls were nearly entirely see-through and made of some kind of protective glass to prevent it from being smashed and becoming a potential weapon. The dorms were laid out similarly, but no provisions for privacy were permitted. For those that could complete their own daily care, all personal activities occurred in plain view of everyone else in the ward. Otherwise, the nurses completed the care activities, in an openly observable care-giving room with guards in attendance. Tatum watched as one of the patients exited the main room and entered a dorm. He pulled down his pants and Tatum felt her stomach enter her throat as she thought about what was about to occur publically.
Maybe I wasn't ready for this, she told herself as she attempted to keep from vomiting.
"Are you alright Tatum?" asked Anne.
"I will be," responded the sickly intern.
Finally Tatum caught sight of Kory, sitting in his dorm on the bed. He had been placed in a strait jacket like the others, preventing further nurse injury while waiting for his day in court.
"There's Kory," she said to Anne. "Can we move out of his line of sight? I just don't think I can see him at the moment. I'll come back."
"You bet honey. It's tough. I know it's tough."
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Unit Five was more of the same, with yellow issue, additional guards and bars. Where the Unit Four dorms had doors that the patients could open and close if they were permitted, Unit Five's dorm doors had prison bars where the doors had been in the previous unit. There were additional video cameras and the security guards stood solemnly holding their protective weapons. There were both men and women on the ward, but the female side was much smaller and segregated from the men.
"They are not allowed out at the same time," explained Anne.
Some of the women had faces that looked as if they'd been beaten in with baseballs bats, others were missing limbs or walked with an ogre-like hobble, and the women looked better than the men. Many of the men looked like they had lived hard lives, tattooed and pierced. Scarred and maimed bodies were the norm and many of their faces were disfigured beyond recognition of humanness. They reached their arms through the bars of their cells, making it look like the unit was alive with some kind of parasite. Tatum felt small, like a frightened child. She was embarrassed by her reaction. Her skin crawled when the men in the cells cat-called lude comments to her, appreciating the pretty doctor that was in their midst. A few of them touched themselves and let her know what they had in mind. There was a distinct smell of bodily fluids, covered by copious amounts of bleach and air freshener. Once again Tatum could taste vomit in the back of her throat.
Nope, not worse in my mind, she thought as she re-considered her comment to Milligan earlier that day.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Anne led Tatum out of Unit Five and outdoors where the air smelled clean and fresh. Tatum took in a deep breath, desperate to remove the stench of Unit Five from her senses. Slowly she felt her stomach start to settle back down and her heart rate return to normal.
"Pretty tough, hey?" asked Anne.
"Harder than I expected."
"Don't worry hun. Pretty much everybody reacts like that the first time. You'll get used to it."
Tatum didn't respond. I've heard that before.
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Tatum left that afternoon, still in a fog after having visited the two highest need units. She ran herself a bath and stayed immersed for longer than normal, hoping to remove the feeling of Units Four and Five on her skin.
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The next day in the Research Unit promised to be easier. Supervision of the research assistants was both simple and predictable, something she could count on to not make her sick. Tatum worked on correcting the assessment techniques of the assistants in the morning and then visited James over lunch. For the afternoon she had planned to continue working on her proposal for the Autism treatment center.
Her office in the research center was brighter than her clinical office and there were more co-workers with whom to share the day. Her afternoon was enjoyable and she spent some time wondering around the Unit, getting to know some of the other workers. She wondered into the Psychopharmacology Lab, intent on befriending some more friendly researchers. Instead, she ran into Dr. Gagnon.
"Hi June. Remember me? Tatum?"
"Hi," responded the less than friendly psychiatrist without even turning around.
"I didn't know you did research in here. Do you mind if I ask what you're working on?"
June turned around. Tatum saw the scalpels Dr. Gagnon held imposingly in each hand and took a quick step back.
"I do animal model research," she explained gruffly, obviously not interested in any more discussion.
"Okay," Tatum said, taking the hint, "I'll let you get back to your work then."
Tatum left the office, curious about the precision and skill it must take to complete surgery on mice.