Page 29 of The Locked Ward

You feel Josh’s eyes on you as you pick up your lunch tray. His stare feels like a bug crawling over your skin.

He is sitting at the far end of the table with an empty place next to him.

You consider your options, your mind whirling behind the listless affect you’ve cultivated.

You could sit at the opposite end, next to Patty and as far away from Josh as possible.

You’d be protected physically. But you’d have to endure the violation of his eyes roaming over you.

Josh catches your gaze and pats the chair next to him, inviting you to take it. Your pulse quickens as you berate yourself for allowing that fleeting moment of eye contact. Josh doesn’t need any encouragement.

You walk quickly to the middle of the table and sit down next to a bald man who likes to do endless laps through the hallways.

When you lean a bit backward, Josh’s view of you is blocked.

You eat a bite of bow-tie pasta with bland red sauce. The cafeteria never sends foods that require cutting to this floor; the only utensils provided are dull plastic sporks.

You lean forward to take another bite and see movement out of the corner of your eye. Josh is getting up.

You instantly realize your mistake. There’s an empty seat next to you.

Josh is walking your way. He’s going to change seats. You have a split second to decide what to do.

You stand up and walk to the trash can, letting the contents of your tray slide into the bin. You skipped breakfast and your stomach feels hollow. There won’t be any food for hours, until dinnertime. But what choice do you have?

You can’t go to your room or sit down again. You need to be able to move quickly.

So you stand in front of the nurses’ station, staring out into the courtyard. You’ve never once seen a bird or bee or butterfly winging around there. It’s like other living things know to avoid this place.

You keep watching Josh through the side of your eye. He isn’t moving, either. He’s just standing there, gaping at you.

You pull away your gaze, looking toward the table. That’s when you notice Patty has stopped eating. She’s watching Josh watch you.

“All done with lunch, Georgia?”

You start at the sound of a nurse’s voice close to you.

“It’s your shower day. Would you like to take it now?”

This is the first time you’ve been offered a shower. Suddenly you’re desperate to climb beneath the spray of warm water, to scrub yourself clean. You feel as if you could scour your skin for an hour and still not get rid of the dank, medicinal aroma of this place that has seeped into your pores.

“Come with me,” the nurse instructs you.

You follow her down the hallway and through a doorway. Behind it lies the shower. It’s tiny, barely big enough for a person to turn around in, and the curtain is white plastic.

On the sink counter is a thin folded towel and a paper cup holding a bit of sludgy liquid.

“You can use this to wash your hair and body,” the nurse tells you, handing you the cup. “I’ll be right outside. The door needs to remain two inches open. You have ten minutes.”

You stand there, staring at your hazy reflection in the unbreakable polycarbonate mirror.

Your features are blurred, and your pale skin and light hair give you a ghostly effect.

You lean forward, trying to get a clearer look.

But the woman in the mirror yields nothing; it’s as if she’s in a snow globe.

Even though time seems to stand still in this place, it must be ticking by and you don’t want to miss your chance to feel clean.

You turn on the shower and take off your bright green top and pants and socks.

There’s no hook on the back of the door—you suppose a patient could fashion a way to hang themselves on one—so you balance your things on the sink.

You reach a hand into the shower and test the temperature.

It’s lukewarm. You try to adjust the dial to make it hotter, but the temperature doesn’t budge. Another security measure, probably.

You step into the spray of water, feeling it course down your hair and body. A swell of emotion rises in your throat, but you fight it back. If you start crying, you may not be able to stop.

You scoop the soap up in your fingertips. It doesn’t have much of a scent. You rub it into your scalp, letting the soapy water stream down your skin.

Then you hear the door to the bathroom creak open.

The nurse said she’d stand outside. Why would she be coming in?

Unless it isn’t her.

Your legs weaken, threatening to collapse under you. You’re too petrified to peer out and see who it is. But you have to.

You pull back the thin white curtain a few inches.

Your heartbeat explodes.

Josh is there.

“Hi, pretty baby. Need me to wash your back?” His lips peel back, revealing that horrible yellow smile.

Where is the nurse? How did Josh get rid of her?

You are trapped in the worst possible place.

“I bet you miss having a man around. A girl who looks like you, you’re used to being taken care of. Am I right?”

Josh pulls the bathroom door shut behind him, the one the nurse said needed to be kept two inches open.

He’s just a few steps from you now, filling the bathroom with his menace, sucking out all the air.

You want to scream for help. But you can’t. It’s not because you’re staying in character—right now, the risk of being found out is less than the risk of being at Josh’s mercy—but because your vocal cords are frozen in fear.

The running water will mask any sounds Josh might make.

What will he do to you?

You have no weapons. This place has been designed to eliminate them.

Is it better to try to fight or succumb?

Josh reaches for the curtain and yanks it all the way open.

You cover your breasts and cross your legs and bend down, trying to keep him from seeing your body.

Then, behind Josh, the door flies open.

It isn’t a nurse or aide.

It’s Patty. She takes in the scene—you cowering in the shower, water still beating down on you, Josh holding back the curtain.

She opens her mouth and does the thing you can’t.

She screams, long and loud, the noise sounding an alarm that brings footsteps running.