Asylum

by Amy Cross

  "Hello?" I say, and I immediately feel stupid. What kind of guy calls out like that when he's alone? Do I seriously expect to hear some ghostly voice reply? I settle back down and decide I should try to get some sleep, even though that feeling of being watched is getting stronger and stronger. I close my eyes and try to think about other things, and I resist the urge to take another look. It's just stupid to think that there's anything in the room with me. I need to sleep, not stay up all night while my mind works overtime.

  But after a few minutes, I find that I just can't shake the feeling that someone's here with me. I open my eyes again, and this time I see a shape over by the door. It's dark in here, so I can't make out any detail, but it looks as if there's a person standing there. I reach out and turn on the lamp by my bed. The bulb flickers a few times as it lights up, and now I can see that there's no-one by the door at all. Relieved, I turn the lamp off again, but then I notice that the same shape has moved and is over by the window. I turn the lamp on again, and the shape is gone. It's as if I can only see it when the room is dark.

  The really crazy thing is that even when I can't see the shape, I can feel it. It's as if something's in the room with me. Trust me, I'm a man who's used to being lonely, to being ignored. No-one ever pays me any attention. So when suddenly there's a pair of eyes trained on me, I can feel it, even if I can't see the person. Maybe I'm losing my mind, maybe I'm cracking up and I'll get my wish to become a patient here, but I know what I just saw and I know what I'm feeling right now.

  I sit there for a while, not daring to switch the lamp off. Finally I decide that my mind is playing tricks on me, and I click the switch on the lamp again. The room goes dark, and I look around for the shape. This time there's nothing, and eventually I manage to get to sleep. When I wake up the next morning, the whole thing seems silly. I get up and take a shower, but while I'm getting dressed I happen to glance over at the door and I see a figure standing there again. This time, with the light of morning starting to appear outside, I can see the figure's features: it's a woman, wearing a nun's habit, and she's looking straight at me. Like an idiot, I just stare back at her. I'm not scared. She's so beautiful, with such an angelic and innocent face, and her eyes are full of kindness. Really, she's the perfect woman, an image made by God and sent down to me. I want to reach out and touch her, and then I want to peel her uniform off and see her naked body. I want to make her stay, but I know that there must be some mistake. Such a beautiful creature simply doesn't belong around me. She must find me to be disgusting and hideous, an affront to her sensibilities. I don't deserve to even see her face. And then, as quickly as she appeared, the nun vanishes right before my eyes, leaving me standing there, half-dressed, wondering whether I'm finally losing my mind.

  Two important things happened today. President Kennedy was shot dead in Dallas, and I put an ax through the face of that bitch from across the hallway. Fucking whore deserved it.

  Chapter Two

  Four months ago.

  After a while, I get used to her being around. She appears to me almost every day, sometimes just for a moment, sometimes for a few hours. I quickly realize that I'm the only one who can see her, so I don't mention her to anyone else. I'm pretty sure they'd just write me off as being insane if I started talking about a ghostly nun. Besides, she's mine. Crazy as it might sound, I'm starting to feel kind of blessed. I've lived a long, ugly life devoid of beauty and now, from out of nowhere, this vision of perfection attaches itself to me. My initial fear that it's all a big mistake gives way to curiosity: why is she here? What does she want? And whatever she's doing, why does it involve me? Is she here to help me, or does she think I can help her? I'm an ugly old man: what the hell could I possibly do for such a beautiful creature?

  My initial feeling of discomfort at her presence eventually gives way to a kind of weary acceptance, and in a way I start to enjoy seeing her. She doesn't seem angry. She just loiters near me, a constant and strangely reassuring presence. I just wish I understood what she wants, because there's nothing in the world I wouldn't do to help her. I'd do anything, go anywhere, just to please her. As the days and weeks roll by, I start to feel that now, nearing the end of my life, I've perhaps been chosen to play a role in something more important, more powerful. God has looked down at me and decided that I will be given a chance to atone for my sins.

  I know this might sound strange, even pathetic, but after a month of having her around, I find myself looking forward to her daily visits. I've never had what you'd call a proper relationship with a woman. Apart from a few prostitutes when I was a younger man, I've not had any luck with the ladies at all, so it's kind of nice to have a woman finally show some interest in me, even if she happens to be a ghost. After all, I'm just the janitor. There's nothing I can do for her that anyone else can't do. So why has she chosen me? Why has this woman of God chosen to come and grace me with her presence? I guess she, or God, will let me know in due course. I can't hurry things. All I can do is enjoy the fact that she's here with me, and wait to see what happens next. One thing I know is that there must be a meaning to all of this. It's not just a coincidence.

  I always sense her before I see her. I'll be getting on with my day, and I'll suddenly feel this overwhelming sense of sadness. It washes over me like pain. Looking up, I know I'll find her watching me, usually from a distance. Her face is usually difficult to make out, but sometimes she's clearer and I can see her true beauty. She reminds me of the nuns I used to see when I was a child. Beautiful and divine, they'd be walking through the streets in Chicago. I never really spoke to any of them, but I'd always stop and stare whenever they passed. In a way, I've spent the rest of my life comparing all women to those nuns. Every other woman I ever met failed to measure up. They all seemed dirty and ugly compared to the nuns, so I always treated them with contempt. Perhaps that make me feel bad, but it's just the way things have always seemed to me. I can't help the way I see the world; it's not my fault that I was exposed to such enormous beauty when I was young.

  No matter what I do, she seems to follow me around. This wonderful apparition has come back down to Earth... just to follow me? It makes no sense, but I'm not complaining. For example, this morning I had to clean the stairs after one of the patients vomited all over the place. While I was down on my hands and knees, cleaning the nooks and crannies, I looked up and saw the vague outline of a woman standing just a few feet away. She'd come to watch me performing such menial work. And a few hours later, while I was fixing a clogged toilet, she came to watch me again. For what reason does a lady of the faith, a lady of God, choose to come and haunt a lowly janitor? Surely she could go anywhere she wanted? Surely she should be up in Heaven? So why does she come and watch me?

  I'm far from the most interesting person at Lakehurst. There are all the patients, who exhibit a variety of mannerisms and tics. Then there are the staff members, who range from the sublime to the crazy. I know one thing: If I was a ghost, I'd choose to watch someone like Jerry, the crazy guy in the basement, or I'd go up to the attic and watch the old man in the wheelchair. Again, I keep coming back to the fact that I'm just a janitor, so what makes me interesting? Perhaps it's my faith. That is the one thing of which I am sure. In this whole godforsaken place, I'm perhaps the only person who believes in the power and will of God. The others have all lost their faith, or they never had it in the first place.

  "Morris," calls out a voice from the other end of the corridor. "Morris!"

  I walk through and find Nurse Perry waiting for me. She's one of my favorites. She genuinely seems to care about the patients, even if there's something unnatural about her, about her eyes. "Morris, we have a new patient arriving today, so I need you to give room five a quick once-over, okay?"

  I nod, turning to go and get my bucket.

  "Oh, and Morris?" she says, sounding a little apprehensive. "You'll need to put a spare bed in the room."

  I turn back to her. "There's already a bed in room five," I say.
r />   "I know," she replies, "but I need you to put another one in."

  I pause for a moment. The idea of hauling a whole new bed up from the basement, for no good reason, makes my blood boil. What do these people think I am? A donkey? A slave? "You said there's one new patient coming -"

  "I know it's a lot of work," she says, interrupting me, "but it's quite important. Two beds. Orders come from the top."

  I nod. There's no point arguing, not if the order comes from 'the top'. The people in charge of this place are idiots, and they don't care if I break my back carrying a bed around. Hell, they'll probably change their mind once it's in place and demand that it's taken back down. Why not? It's no problem for them. I'm the one who has to do all the heavy work.

  I shuffle off toward the elevator. As I head down to the basement, I can't help wondering why one new patient requires two beds, but I guess my job isn't to ask questions. I'm just the janitor. There are smart people here, and they decide what has to be done. I'm just the dogsbody, someone to do the heavy lifting. I've got no right to ask questions, and there's no reason why they'd ever bother to explain anything to me. Like I said before, they barely even notice me. I reckon if I dropped dead one day, they wouldn't realize for a while, not until they needed some new job doing, and then they'd just push my body aside and hire a new idiot.

  "Hey," says Jerry as I step out of the elevator. Jerry's a nice guy, always working hard in the basement, fixing his machines. He's kind of creepy, but at least he bothers to speak to me even when he doesn't need anything. I don't understand what the hell he gets up to, and I'm not saying he's the kind of guy you'd ever want to get a beer with, but he seems alright. Besides, I get the feeling that he hates Nurse Winter as much as I do, so he's got to be a nice guy, hasn't he? He's smart, though, and that kind of makes me wary of him. If he was a cartoon character, he'd have a huge head with, like, an oversized brain. He's pretty much a mad scientist kind of guy.

  "Hey," I say, heading through to one of the storage rooms.

  "Whatcha up to there?" Jerry asks, following me through. That's the thing about Jerry: he's always got time to stick his nose into other people's business. I guess he doesn't see many other people while he's down here. He doesn't speak to me because he likes me or because he finds me interesting; no, he speaks to me because I'm one of the few people who ever have to come down here. In a strange way, our solitary worlds overlap.

  "Getting another bed," I say, grabbing a spare metal bed-frame - with a mattress already strapped into place - and hauling it toward the door.

  "Here," Jerry says, helping me carry it back over to the elevator. "We got a new patient coming?" he asks.

  I nod. "And two beds are required."

  "Two beds?"

  "Yep," I continue, pushing the bed into the chamber. "Orders from the top."

  "The top, huh?" Jerry says. "I hate orders from the top. I gave up trying to see the logic in their orders long ago. They've got their own twisted rules, and people like us just have to do what we're told."

  "It's not worth arguing with them," I say.

  "Hell no," he replies. "I just don't understand why such stupid and cruel fuckers get put in charge of this place."

  I smile. "My job isn't to ask questions," I say. "My job's just to do what they tell me to do."

  "Amen to that," says Jerry, stepping back as the elevator doors close. The chamber starts to rise and soon I'm back up on the ward, hauling the bed-frame out into the corridor. In the distance, I can hear chatter coming from the recreation room. I take the bed along to room five, positioning it opposite the bed that's already there. I really don't get why a new patient is deemed worthy of having two beds, but no-one's gonna tell me a damn thing, are they? Sighing, I take a deep breath, glance around the room to make sure it's clean, and finally I decide that there's not much more I can do in here.

  Just at that moment, I hear the front door slam shut in the distance, following by footsteps approaching. Giving the bed a gentle kick to ensure it's firmly in place, I slip out of the room just in time to see one of the guards leading a young girl this way. It's strange, but usually I don't pay much attention to the patients. This time, though, there's something strangely familiar about her. I can't quite put my finger on it, but I swear I know this girl's face.

  "Keep moving," the guard says, grabbing the girl and pulling her along. She trips and falls, landing hard. I'd feel sorry for her, except she's already got a much easier life than I'll ever have. "Get up," the guard says, hauling her up onto her feet. She looks dazed, as if she doesn't really know why she's here. That'll change. The new ones always act like they're having such a terrible ordeal, but they quickly settle into the routine around here and soon they're sitting on their asses, vomiting and puking. And guess who gets called in to clean up after them?

  "You busy, Morris?" asks Nurse Perry, who has walked up behind me.

  "Bed's in the room," I say.

  "Well, I'm sure you can find other things to be doing, can't you?" she says, before turning to the guard. "Who's this one?" she asks.

  "Room five," the guard says.

  "The new girl?" Nurse Perry says, as the guard leads the patient towards her room. "I'll get the kit." She turns to me again. "Please, Morris. Go and do some work, okay? Don't just stand there staring. It's incredibly rude."

  "That's Annie Radford," I say, suddenly realizing where I've seen the girl's face before. "She's the new patient?"

  "Yes, Morris," Nurse Perry says, hurrying away, "now get to work."

  I stare at the girl as she's led into her room by the guard. Annie Radford, the most famous girl in America right now. Her face is on all the newspapers, all the websites. She's infamous. I've been following her case on TV. She killed her younger brother, shot him dead. There are a lot of people out there who'd like to find her and slit her throat. Just the other day, I saw a newspaper headline that described her as 'the most hated girl in America'. Plenty of people called for her to be executed because of what she did, and some believe her punishment - being sent to a psychiatric hospital - was far too lenient. There are others who believe she's been possessed by the devil, that she's an incarnation of pure evil. Hell, there are even websites that present elaborate conspiracy theories, claiming that Annie Radford was manipulated in order to present some convoluted message to the media. There's one guy somewhere in Ohio who insists that she's innocent, that she was framed and that her brother was actually murdered by a secret group of bankers. The list of theories goes on and on, but one thing's clear: America is gripped by the story of Annie Radford.

  Me personally, I don't give a damn about Annie fucking Radford. So she killed her little brother? So what? People do shitty things all the time, and who knows? Maybe the little bastard had it coming? When you've spent long enough at a place like Lakehurst, you start to see that the dividing line between sanity and insanity isn't so fucking clear. Sure, Annie Radford's been declared insane, but her big mistake was to get caught. If she'd just covered up her tracks better, she'd be free and probably off to become some rich executive in New York. There are places where they actually reward cut-throat bitches rather than strapping them up and sending them to places like Lakehurst. I guess the world turns in mysterious and unfair ways.

  Making sure that no-one's about, I hurry through to one of the back rooms. I could probably make a few hundred dollars if I phoned up one of the tabloids and offered to reveal Annie Radford's location, or I could maybe take a few photos of her with my phone and make even more money. I mean, sure it'd be a little immoral, but fuck it, I don't get paid enough to worry too much about things like that. All the gossip magazines and websites are running stories speculating on her whereabouts, and every day there are stories from people who claim to have spotted her in various places. There was even a woman in New Mexico who got attacked by a group of women who were convinced that she was Annie Radford in disguise. In other words, there's a media shit-storm going on, and suddenly I'm right in the eye of that sto
rm. I can make some serious money here.

  As I'm about to dial, though, I realize that she has come to watch me. At first, it's just a feeling, a sense that she's nearby. Then, glancing up from my phone, I see that she's standing just a few feet away, looking at me with an expression of pity and compassion. It's quite clear that she doesn't want me to make this call, and I immediately realize that I can't do anything to disappoint her. I sigh, putting the phone away. I've always known that I'm not exactly a 'good' man: I make mistakes, I'm greedy and selfish, and I curse a lot, using the Lord's name in vain. I'm not the only one, of course. The world is filled with sinners. For some reason, though, I have this guardian angel watching over me, helping to steer me away from the worst errors. Sure, I could've made a few hundred dollars by ratting out Annie Radford's location to the tabloids, but would I have felt good about myself afterward?

  "Is this what you're here for?" I ask the ghost. "Just to make sure I don't do anything bad?" She doesn't reply, of course. "I know, I know," I mutter, turning and heading back to the ward.

  Standing outside the church, I try to summon up the courage to go inside. God would understand what I did, wouldn't he? God would forgive me? I take a deep breath. Yeah, God would understand alright. But the priest? Fuck, no. I've seen the way he looks at me. I can't trust him with my secrets.

  Chapter Three

  Three months ago.

  It's 7am on a cold Monday morning. Nurse Winter's in a bad mood, which is nothing new, but this time there seems to be some real anger bubbling just beneath the surface. It's probably because there's a new guy at Lakehurst: his name's Dr. Lava and he seems to be a bit of a hard-ass. I'm pretty sure Nurse Winter wanted to get the top job, and she resents that this Dr. Lava guy has been brought in instead. I sure wouldn't want to be Dr. Lava right now, not if Nurse Winter's got her eye on him. I give him a month, tops, before she forces him out. Everyone knows that Nurse Winter's the real power at Lakehurst. She was gradually easing Dr. Campbell out for months before he died. He wouldn't have lasted much longer.