Page 21 of The Locked Ward
The most dangerous animal on earth isn’t the great white shark or a hungry crocodile or a mama bear. It’s the human being.
You learned that somewhere—in a classroom, or maybe from an Instagram post. It wasn’t terribly relevant to your life at the time.
You took precautions, after all. You didn’t walk alone late at night, and you always met men in public places for your first dates.
Once, you even stepped out of an elevator in your doctor’s building after a guy got on and stared at you instead of pressing the button for his floor.
Now you’re constantly reminded of the unique capability of the human mind to plan ways to inflict harm.
The evidence is walking and breathing all around you.
You’ve eaten breakfast, and you’re on the couch by the nurses’ station, watching television. The channels here are restricted, which means nothing with even a hint of violence or nudity can be shown, but today you discovered HGTV is permitted.
It’s as if you’ve been handed a glass of water as you’re dying of thirst. The simple distraction, this segment of normalcy from your old life, allows your battered psyche to rest. You could sit here all day. You plan to, in fact.
On the screen, a peppy husband-and-wife team is helping a pregnant couple find their first home. She wants a sunny nursery. He wants a garage. She wants a cook’s kitchen. He wants a yard.
As a wedding planner, you had a knack for guessing which couples would make it and which would be filing for divorce.
It boiled down to how they handled the inevitable stresses that underlie every big life event.
The groom who kept texting with someone during his wedding rehearsal—nope.
The bride who blasted the groom’s obnoxious mother for inviting eight extra guests to the seated dinner reception without telling anyone—yes; good for her for drawing boundaries.
The couple who argued about everything, but argued fairly—another yes.
The pregnant couple seems like they’ll be okay. He concedes a sunny nursery is more important than a garage. He mainly wanted one as a workspace. His wife looks at him lovingly as he talks about his plan to build the baby’s crib.
The TV hosts, though—the supposedly happy couple? She bristles whenever he speaks. It’s a safe bet they’re sleeping in separate bedrooms.
Honey and Stephen—you no longer think of them as your parents—did too.
Stephen often traveled for work, but when he was home, Honey complained about his snoring and banished him to the guest room.
He never pushed back. For a man who was so successful and respected in the business world, Stephen was out of his league at home—reduced to a bit player in Honey’s orbit.
Once, back when you were in elementary school and Honey forced you to go to school despite your high fever and cough—“Nothing a lil medicine can’t take care of,” she’d said—Stephen tried to intervene: “Georgia really doesn’t look well.
Shouldn’t she rest?” Honey whirled on him faster than a rattlesnake.
“Do you want to quit your job and take care of the girls and run this household if you think you can do it better than me?” she screeched, launching into a tirade that had Stephen gulping the rest of his coffee and escaping to the office.
Honey was still ranting while the maid cleaned up the breakfast dishes and the nanny drove you to school.
As for Stephen, he got the message loud and clear: If he wanted peace—and he was a man who absolutely did—then he’d keep his mouth shut.
“We’ve found the house you want, but the kitchen needs to be renov—” the male TV host begins.
“ Fully renovated,” the female host cuts her husband off. He smiles without showing any teeth.
You see a slow, approaching movement out of the corner of your eye.
You release your breath when you realize it isn’t Josh.
It’s the new woman with bandages on her wrists. Her watcher accompanies her. She’s also being followed by two other patients. She drifts into the room and stands near your couch.
The other patients—a woman with dark skin and deep hollows under her eyes and a short, heavyset man—do the same.
“I want to watch The Price Is Right ,” the dark-skinned woman declares.
“ Price Is Right ,” the heavyset man echoes.
The watcher looks at you. “Georgia, the rule here is we need a consensus on what to watch. If one can’t be reached, whichever show gets the most votes wins. Do you want to watch The Price Is Right ?”
You shake your head slowly, just once.
“I’m sorry, but we have to change the channel. It’s two votes to one.”
Tears spring to your eyes. It’s such a stupid thing, given everything that’s happening, but this is the only escape available to you.
Your throat begins to thicken. You’re so tired and scared.
And now the only tiny reprieve you’ve been granted from the black hole of your life is about to be yanked away.
Then the new patient speaks up in a voice so soft it’s almost a whisper.
“I vote for HGTV.”
The watcher turns to look at her. A smile breaks across his face. “Patty, I’m so glad you’re expressing your opinion.”
“So we’re not watching my show?” the other woman huffs.
“If it’s a tie, whatever was already on wins,” the watcher says.
“I hate you!” The woman storms off, stomping her feet. Which must hurt since she’s wearing socks. The heavyset man looks after her, then decides to stay. He lowers himself into a chair and begins pulling at his chin whiskers.
“Patty, would you like to sit down and make yourself comfortable?” the watcher asks.
She nods and walks over to the couch. She slowly eases down next to you. She looks so gentle and soft. You wonder what life did to her, to bring her here.
And then you realize something else.
You’re in view of the nurses. And with Patty next to you, her watcher will remain close by. Josh won’t be able to touch you now.
Patty was brought here to be saved.
But right now, she is saving you.