Page 55 of The Locked Ward
“I know you’re faking.”
Opal, the new aide, stands in your bedroom, speaking so softly no one passing by will be able to overhear.
“Lying is a sin against God and man.”
You remain perfectly still, sitting on the edge of your bed, staring down at the bony curves of your kneecaps.
“You’re used to faking, aren’t you? You act like you’re gabbing on your phone so you can ignore the homeless guy begging you for a dollar. You flirt with men, then pretend you have a boyfriend and leave them all hot and horny. Not such a pretty girl now, though, are you? Looking a little rough.”
Opal’s voice is a venomous hiss. Her eyes are flinty and hard.
“Things are so soft in here for you people. Pick what you want to eat. Take a nap or paint a picture, whatever you feel like. Don’t clean up after yourselves, just sit back and let us do it for you. And you get all this because you’ve sinned.”
You’ve read about this particular kind of health care worker. They’re drawn to the vulnerable, but not to help. They disguise their need to hurt and dominate. At their most extreme, they’re called Angels of Death.
She approaches with a small paper cup, the kind that holds the sludgy liquid you use to wash yourself. But it isn’t your shower day; you won’t have another one until tomorrow.
“Prove you’re not pretending, then. Take these.”
Terror spikes through your veins as you look down at the pink and gray pills.
Because of the wire they found by your bed, you’re back on a one-to-one.
Opal is your watcher. The security camera is above, capturing the scene and transmitting it to a screen in the nurses’ station.
But there are dozens of cameras on this floor, all feeding to the screens.
The nurses and aides are busy. How closely do they really monitor those cameras?
“You’re going to swallow these now. If you don’t, I might inject you tonight while you sleep. Maybe I’ll even give you a little something extra.”
If you take the pills, how many hours or days will it be until your mind is irrevocably altered?
Your chest is so tight it’s hard to breathe.
The crushing stress and constant fear have worn away your outer layers, leaving you raw and exposed. You are an inch away from screaming.
“Look at your fancy painted fingernails. Probably cost more than I make in a whole day here.” Opal rattles the pills in the cup. “Ten seconds. Then I’ll do it for you.”
Opal may be as off-kilter as any of the patients.
You could pretend to swallow but keep the pills tucked against your upper gums, way in the back of your mouth. But you’ve seen how the nurses check mouths, instructing patients to stick out their tongues and tilt back their heads.
“Nine.”
Opal has just reached four when Peter walks into your room.
Your body goes limp with relief.
“Hey, just wanted to— What’s this?” He’s staring at the paper cup.
“Isn’t it time for her medicine?” Opal’s voice is flat with disappointment.
“She isn’t on meds yet,” Peter says. “Her competence hearing was just scheduled.” He flicks his eyes to you. “That’s what I was coming in to say. Her lawyer’s on his way in to talk about it.”
“So no meds for her yet?” Opal puts the slightest emphasis on the word yet .
“No.”
Peter frowns, and you can see the flicker of worry dart through his mind.
His subconscious is telling him there’s something off about this encounter.
But he won’t let himself realize it until further down the line—when a few patients are hurt or injured.
Even then, with the potential threat of lawsuits, Opal may just be let go instead of punished, free to float to another hospital or nursing home.
“When is her lawyer coming?” Opal asks. It’s as if she’s trying to find out how much time she has to terrorize you.
“He’s on his way in now. So Georgia, you get to eat lunch early. Why don’t you come into the dining room?”
Your legs feel too wobbly to stand up, but after a moment, you steady yourself and rise. Opal follows you as you walk to the dining area, her footsteps echoing behind you like an executioner’s.