Asylum

by Amy Cross

  "Are you even listening to me?" Nurse Winter asks.

  "Not really," I reply, starting to gather the necessary equipment for the repair job. "Did you come down here for a reason? I mean, if you just want your titties sucked, I'm afraid I'm a busy man."

  "I came down to warn you," she says. "There's a possibility that Lakehurst might have been..." She pauses for a moment. "Well, there's a possibility that we might have been invaded. By a crazy man. A very angry man. We're not certain. We're checking it out now. But you should be aware that there's a potential risk."

  I turn to her. Finally, she's saying something that interests me. "What kind of crazy man?" I ask.

  She shrugs. "I barely saw him. We don't think there was any way for him to get into the building, but we also don't see any evidence that he's left. No footprints in the snow leading away."

  I stare at her. "Snow?" I ask.

  She smiles. "There's been a non-stop blizzard for three days, Jerry." She laughs. "My God, you really need to get out more. Pop your head upstairs once in a while and you'll see what's going on."

  "I don't give a shit if it's snowing," I say, feeling slightly embarrassed that somehow I didn't realize the weather had taken a turn for the worse. "I also don't give a shit about some maniac who might or might not be in the building. You've got security guards, so make sure they get on with doing their job."

  She sighs. "Why do you always have to be so combative?" she asks. "I just wanted to let you know that there might be a problem." She waits for me to reply, but I'm too busy. "Jerry, are there any doors or windows or other openings down here that might be insecure? Is there any way someone could get into the building via the basement?"

  "Let's see," I say, finding her idiocy infuriating, "we're in a basement, so no, I don't think there are any windows. There's an emergency exit somewhere off in one of the other rooms, but I can fucking guarantee that it's locked."

  "Are you sure?" she asks.

  I laugh. "Yes, I'm sure. Believe me, I don't want anyone to be able to get down here unless I know about it. My work's too valuable." I finish gathering together the equipment I'll need. "Is there anything else, or are you just loitering because you want to piss me off?"

  She stares at me for a moment. "Just keep an eye out," she says eventually. "If you hear anything strange, come and get one of the guards to take a look."

  "Sure thing, Mommy," I spit at her.

  "That's not funny," she replies, her voice suddenly cold and angry. "I'm just trying to help you, Jerry. Your mother was a good woman and she deserved to have a son who makes something of himself. God knows what she'd think if she could see you." She pauses for a moment. "Don't you ever get nervous down here alone, Jerry? Doesn't it ever get a little spooky?"

  "Like ghosts and shit?" I ask, smiling. "Fuck, no. There's no such thing as ghosts." I hold up the CPU for her to see. "Sometimes I find a stray signal in one of these machines. It's not a ghost, it's just some part of the system that I hadn't anticipated properly. If I hear a bump nearby, I know there's a rational explanation, even if I don't know what that explanation is."

  "An admirable attitude," she says, and as I fiddle with the CPU, I'm very aware that she's still standing there, watching me. Finally, she turns and walks away.

  I hold the CPU under an arc light. There are definitely a lot of small scratches, and I'm not certain that I can fill them all in without causing other problems. Dealing with computers is really just as complicated as performing brain surgery. It's funny, but up in the attic of this place there's one of the world's greatest scientists, a man whose experiments paved the way for modern science to develop in its current form. Meanwhile I'm down here in the basement, plowing my own furrow and occasionally helping Nurse Winter and her pals to perform their own 'special treatment' on certain patients. The world really is a fucked up place after all.

  Nurse Winter

  Middlebridge, 1999.

  I stand on the sidewalk, staring at the house. It's been a long time since I last came here; it's a little over three years since I walked out that front door and set off to start a new life. Now that I'm about to move on to another state, to a new job at Lakehurst Psychiatric Hospital, I feel it's only fitting that I should come back to this house and say goodbye properly. Although I'm nervous about today, I've consoled myself with the thought that this is the last time: I will never, ever see my family again after this final encounter. This is my way of saying goodbye to them forever.

  I walk along the garden path. When I reach the door, I knock politely. I'm sure I still have a key somewhere in my purse, and I also know that the door is almost never locked. But just walking in would be a sign that I belong here, which is not the case at all. I'm an observer, a visitor, almost a stranger; I'm here to say hello, but this isn't my home. It's only right, therefore, that I should knock and wait to be allowed inside. That's what visitors do. As I hear footsteps shuffling towards the door, I take a deep breath. This won't be difficult. It'll be short and sweet.

  "What do you want?" asks my mother as she opens the door. She's a little more hunched over than before, and the lines on her face are more prominent. She's getting old.

  "It's me," I say.

  "Who's me?" she asks sourly.

  "Kirsten," I reply. "It's me. Your daughter, Kirsten."

  She narrows her eyes, as if to get a better look at me.

  "Kirsten," I say again. "It's your daughter, Kirsten."

  After a moment's pause, she sniffs. "Better come in," she says before turning and heading through to the back of the house.

  "Hi, Mom," I mutter under my breath. I step inside, immediately overcome by a wall of stench. The house smells awful, like a cross between cat pee and old food. Did it always smell this bad? Did I used to live in such a horrible atmosphere, or have things deteriorated faster than I expected? I shut the door and follow my mother through to the living room, where she's just switching off the TV as I arrive.

  "You want some coffee?" she asks.

  "I -" I look over at the kitchen and see that it's a complete mess. There are dirty pots and pans piled up everywhere, with flies buzzing around. Old food is rotting on the counter, and it appears that an army of beetles are slowly dismantling a piece of cake. "I'm fine," I say, reasoning that to accept anything from that kitchen would be tantamount to asking for a dose of food poisoning. I knew things would be bad here; I didn't know they'd be this bad.

  "Suit yourself," my mother says, sitting on the sofa.

  I stand in silence, waiting for her to ask me about my life. It's been three years since she heard from me, so she has to be at least curious, doesn't she? Or is her mind so far gone that she doesn't have the ability to care about anyone any more? It's shocking to realize how much things have changed around here. My mother used to be so house-proud, so worried about even the tiniest speck of dirt. I can't imagine what's going on inside her mind these days, but there's clearly something wrong with her. Three years ago, I suspected she was suffering from early dementia. Now it's clear that I was right.

  "I graduated," I say eventually. "I finished my nursing training and I've got a job."

  She looks over at me. "Where?"

  "A hospital called Lakehurst," I say. "It's a psychiatric institution. Have you heard of it?"

  She shakes her head.

  "I leave in a few days," I continue. "That's why I'm here, really. I won't have much time for visits once I get started, so I thought I'd drop in and see how you're doing."

  "We're good," she replies, nodding. "All good."

  I smile. "I can see that," I say, realizing that there's no point arguing with her. "Are you seeing anyone?" I immediately realize how ridiculous the question sounds. It's quite clear that my mother isn't seeing anyone at all. She probably spends all her time floating around the house, watching TV and trying to find something to eat. I don't know where she gets her money from, or whether she has any friends. Most daughters would try to help out, to get their mother out of such a
wretched situation. Too bad I'm not 'most daughters'.

  "I don't want to disturb you," I say. "If you're busy -"

  "Sit down," she says, patting the sofa cushion next to her.

  Not wanting to be rude, I walk over and sit next to her. I feel dirty even being in this room, as if the mold and decay might attach itself to me. All I want to do is get this visit over with, so I can say I tried, and then I'll never come back again. Not ever. This is it. This is goodbye.

  "You heard from your father?" she asks.

  I pause. "Not really," I say. "I was thinking of popping by to see him later."

  "Give him my best," she replies, staring straight ahead. There are tears in her eyes. "It's been a long time since you were a kid, Kirsten. A long, long time."

  "It has," I say, taking a deep breath. "Listen, Mom, I don't think I'm going to be around much, so you're going to have to look after yourself. Are you going to be able to do that?"

  "Me?" she asks. "I'm fine."

  "Does Mr. Sanders still live next door?"

  She nods.

  "He'll help out with anything you need," I say. "Just go and ask him. You know he's a nice man, don't you?"

  She nods again.

  "Promise me you'll go and ask him if you need anything, okay?"

  She turns to face me. "Does it taste sour in here to you?"

  "Sour?"

  She scrunches her face up, as if something disgusts her. "In the back of my throat," she says, before letting out a loud burp. "It tastes sour."

  I smile. "I can't say that I've noticed anything," I tell her.

  She shrugs. "Must be me."

  I reach into my purse and pull out $20, which I set on the coffee table. "Use this for food, okay?" I say. "I'm sorry, I don't have much to give you. Go to the grocery store, or ask Mr. Sanders to go to the grocery store for you. Get something to eat. Do you promise?"

  She nods. "I'll -" Suddenly she winces in pain, clutching at her neck. I reach out to try to help, but the pain seems to pass. "I'm fine," she says. "You should go."

  I stand up and walk to the door. My mother slowly gets to her feet and follows.

  "I'll try to stay in touch," I say as I step out onto the porch. I turn to her. "I don't know how successful I'll be."

  "That's okay," she says. "I -" She pauses, and then she opens her mouth and a beetle crawls out, carrying a small piece of flesh in its pincers. "Damn it," she says, brushing it off her mouth. A fragile, embarrassed smile quivers on her lips. "That'll be the sour taste, I guess."

  I look down and watch as the beetle scurries away with the little piece of my mother that it ripped out.

  "I'm okay," my mother says, turning and shutting the door. I'm left standing on the porch, and it's quite clear that I'll never see my mother again. Perhaps I should do more to help her, but I have my own life to lead. I spent long enough trying to keep that woman on her feet, and now I've got to focus on my own life.

  "Hey!" calls a voice from nearby. I look over to see the neighbor, Mr. Sanders, waving at me. "Tell your fucking mother to clear up the stink from her yard!"

  I turn and walk away. Am I a bad daughter? Yes. Should I get over my feelings and try to help my mother? Yes. Would most daughters go back and do whatever they could to try and improve the situation? Yes. But I didn't come here to help. I came to say goodbye. I realized long ago that my only option in life is to be a cold-hearted bitch when it comes to family. Now I'm disassociating myself from them, one by one. All I have to do is make one final visit to my father, and I'm done.

  Jerry

  Lakehurst. Today.

  Deciding to take a rare trip up into the main part of the hospital, I find that a lot has changed since the last time I was here. It must be five or six months since I left the basement, and in that time there have been not one but two changes of leadership around here: first Dr. Campbell was apparently knifed to death by a patient, and then his successor Dr. Lava was rather quickly relieved of his duties. Now the place looks spotlessly clean, and there even seems to be some new equipment in the hallways. I have to give Nurse Winter some credit where it's due: she knows how to keep this place running. If the trustees have any sense, they'll give her the top position permanently, and we can all carry on doing what we do best.

  "Hey, Jerry," says Nurse Perry, looking surprised to see me as she comes out of a nearby room. "What are you doing up here? Did you make sure all the doors in the basement are shut?"

  I nod. "It's all good down there," I say. "So is it true? Is there really some fucking maniac on the loose? I mean, apart from the maniacs who are supposed to be here."

  "We don't know," she replies humorlessly. "He was definitely outside. We all saw him. I can't see how he got inside, but at the same time, there are no footprints leading away, so we have to consider the possibility."

  "Fucked up," I say. Lakehurst is pretty spooky at the best of times, but now that there's a chance that a real maniac has got in, it's going to be even harder to relax. "I heard it snowed," I add.

  Nurse Perry smiles. "You really should come up more often," she says. "Yes, it snowed. A lot. In fact, we're snowed in. I've never known anything like it."

  I peer a little closer at her face. Around one of her eyes, there's some scarring.

  "Oh," she says, looking a little embarrassed. "That's nothing. Really. Listen, Jerry, I have to get going, but it was really nice to see you. You should definitely come up more often. It's not good for you, spending all your time down in that dark basement. You're so pale, and you'll go crazy."

  "Yeah," I say, smiling as she walks away. "Gotta make sure that doesn't happen." I can't help staring at her ass until she's disappeared into another room. She's not what you'd call conventionally attractive, but there's a part of me that'd still like to get her stripped down for a good examination, if you know what I mean.

  Hearing someone nearby, I turn to find Eddie hurrying along the corridor. Eddie's one of the security guards, a burly guy who I don't speak to much, but who I see as being a little separate from the rest of the nutters up here. "Hey, Eddie," I say, "you okay?"

  "Yeah," he says sarcastically. "Great."

  As Eddie walks quickly away, I run to catch up with him. "So what's going on?" I ask. "Come on, Eddie. You know everything. Is there a fucking psycho in the building?"

  "No idea," he says, reaching Nurse Winter's door and knocking loudly.

  "Fucking hell," I reply. "Finally some excitement around here."

  "Damn it," Eddie says, opening the door to Nurse Winter's office and looking in to see that she's nowhere to be found. "Where the hell is that woman when you need her?"

  "You seem spooked," I say.

  He sighs. "A group of us just went out to check the hospital grounds," he says.

  "And?"

  "And..." He pauses. "You didn't hear this from me, okay? You know the little garden where we bury the dead? It's been all dug up. Bones everywhere. What kind of fucking animal does something like that?"

  I take a deep breath. I'm pretty sure my mother, who I never met, is buried in that garden. "Are you sure it wasn't, like, a fox or something?"

  "Pretty damn sure," he replies. "Something's gone around methodically digging 'em all up. Some of them's still got skin and meat on 'em."

  "Can I see?" I ask.

  "No, Jackass," he replies, "you can't see." He pauses. "You know what? Actually, go and take a look. I don't give a shit. You'll probably get killed by whoever or whatever this maniac is, but go suit yourself. Just make sure the door's locked behind you, okay?"

  I pause for a moment. "I think I'll give it a mass," I say.

  "First smart thing I've ever heard you say," he replies, turning and walking away. "I'm going to find the boss. Don't follow me."

  Left loitering in the corridor, I wander over to Nurse Winter's office door. Given the general chaos that seems to be ruling the hospital today, this might be my best opportunity to do a little snooping. I've already got into her email and personal fi
les, but I came up with nothing. This time, I figure I might as well see what's in her desk drawers. Slipping quickly into her office, I hurry over to the desk. The drawers are all locked, and the desk itself seems to offer nothing but a load of mundane paperwork. I head over to the bookcase; I don't know what I'm looking for, exactly, but I know there has to be something that I can use against her. I'm convinced that she knows more about my mother than she's letting on, and I need to find some information I can use for a spot of blackmail. Unfortunately, the bookcase seems to contain nothing more than medical textbooks.

  I turn and stare across the rest of the office. Damn it, where does this woman keep her secrets?

  Getting desperate, I hurry over to the sofa in the corner and start checking under the cushions. When that fails, I start looking for anything else that could be used to conceal documents: loose floor tiles, hidden panels in the walls, anything. Finally, though, I realize that there's nothing here. I guess there's no chance that she'd keep incriminating information in her own office. Before I leave, I pull out a small microphone from my pocket. The size of a pinhead, it's going to be pretty hard to detect. I hurry over to her desk and carefully press the microphone into a small gap behind two of the drawers. Once I get my computer down in the basement hooked up to receive the right signals, I should be able to eavesdrop on everything Nurse Winter says when she thinks no-one's listening.

  I hurry over to the door. Once I'm out in the corridor, I take a deep breath, kind of surprised that my plan has worked. I've waited so long to find a weak spot in Nurse Winter's facade, and it's hard to believe that I might have just moved a step closer. If anyone here knows the truth about my mother, it's her.

  "Hello, Jerry," says a familiar voice. I turn to see Nurse Winter approaching from the other end of the corridor. "What brings you up here?"

  "Hi," I say, "I was hoping to grab a word with you, but you weren't in."

  "Well I'm here now," she says, eying me suspiciously. "How can I help you?"