Page 4 of Asylum
I guess the neighbors heard the screams.
I make my way over to my bed, sitting on the edge, tapping my fingers against my knees as the sirens get closer. My heart rate slows, and I breathe deeply as my mind becomes my own again. Two words replay in my head over and over.
I’m fucked. I’m fucked.
Anxiety slams into me, and I begin counting the letters of the words I’m reciting, including the apostrophe and the period. It equals an even number.Ten.A deep breath of relief leaves my chest, and I feel a little better.
Standing from the bed, I slide on a t-shirt and shorts, heading for the living room. As I pass through the doorway, I flip the light switch off and on four times. Closing the door behind me, I’m sure to push on it four times, ensuring it’s latched before continuing down the hall. I count each footfall as I gaze at my feet, coming to stop at the edge of the room on the sixteenth step.
The front door crashes open, police entering the house with guns drawn, trained on me. “Get down on the floor!” They all scream, and I drop to the floor, lying on my stomach, hands above my head.
I’m so fucked.
Everything will be okay. I still have my even number.Twelve.
THREE YEARS LATER…
My nose is itching like a motherfucker, but I can’t scratch it strapped to a gurney.
I’ve lost all feeling in my hands, and my forehead aches from the pressure of the leather strap holding my head in place. The flickering fluorescent lights swaying from the ceiling are painfully blinding, my eyes sensitive from all themedications they’ve pumped into my body. The old metal gurney makes for a bumpy ride, and the only sound I hear is the whining of the wheels against the concrete floor.
Maddening.
I assumed I was making progress with my treatment, Dr. Sweeney fueling my delusions, praising my hard work and cooperation. I thought I was on a healthy road to rehabilitation, but the joke’s on me.
It was all a lie.
He didn’t give a fuck about me, steadily counting the days to his retirement, not the least bit concerned about my wellbeing. I began feeling safe, slowly letting my guard down around him, accepting his help like the good little patient I was. I kept to myself, never causing any trouble, but in the end, it was all for nothing. He retired, and I’ve been transferred to another facility.
Wellard Asylum.
Home to the criminally insane and depraved. I’ve heard people whisper about this place, and now that I’m here, I get it.
Two male nurses roll me down the creepy hallway, the smell of piss and shit assaulting my nostrils. A sense of dread overcomes me, the energy in this place feels oppressive and lifeless. My senses pick up on it just from my view of the ceiling, and I’m not sure I want to see the rest of it.
The obnoxious lights dim as I’m rolled into a room, my eyes darting around, attempting to see my surroundings. The gurney stops, a female nurse approaching me from the side. The male nurses leave the room, and she unbuckles the strap across my forehead. “You will behave while I remove your restraints, or I will sedate you.”
I nod in agreement, and she quirks an eyebrow. “Yes ma’am.” I concede. I’ll do anything to prevent them from pumping me full of drugs. They fuck with my head, only aggravating mycondition. Dr. Sweeney was adamant about keeping the sedation to a minimum as long as I played nice.
The straps around my wrists give way, and I wiggle my fingers to get the blood circulating again.
“My name is Nurse Carter. I will be assisting in your transition to Wellard Asylum.” She slips her hand behind my shoulder blades, lifting me into a sitting position. She takes a step back, clasping her hands in front of her, staring down her nose at me. “The rules are simple, young lady. Do as you’re told. Do not be disrespectful. Follow the treatment plan you’re given. Do not cause any trouble. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Yes ma’am.”
“Good. Now, I’m going to leave the room. Stay where you are. The doctor will be in to examine you.”
She exits the room, closing the metal door behind her, the lock clicking into place. It’s a deafening reminder of my situation, and I feel the finality settling deep into my bones. Now that I’m alone and unrestrained, I’m able to get a good look at my environment. The walls are concrete, the dull, gray paint chipping off in parallel lines, something dark outlining what looks more like claw marks the longer I stare at them. Squinting my eyes, I realize the deep color resembles dried blood. A chill slithers down my spine, and I shudder.
Why are people clawing the walls?
What the fuck is this place?
A cot is pushed against the wall, the once white sheets now a piss yellow color. Tilting my head back, the ceiling is covered in brown water stains, black mold spreading in the corners. The air feels damp and musty, my lungs beginning to reject the tainted oxygen in this tiny room. My gaze darts to the floor, filthy and covered in rat shit.
I’m going to die here.
Between breathing in fungus, and rodent droppings, I’ll succumb to either respiratory failure or leptospirosis.