Stopping at the nurses’ station, Nurse Kline threw one arm to the right, “The right side of the hall is for male patients,” her left arm flung to the left, “the left side is for our female patients. All patient doors must be open during the day at all times. You are not allowed to go into other patients’ rooms without their permission.” Nurse Kline stressed the last part. “If you are given permission to do so, you are not to touch anything inside of their room unless they tell you it is okay to do so. Personal space is very important around here, as you’ll soon come to find out.”
Okay. That seemed fair. I liked my personal space as much as the next person. My gaze shifted to the massive dry erase board nailed into the wall behind her. There were twenty-four numbers in numerical order, with dates and yellow stars in square boxes. I held back a snort, “What is that for?” I had an idea, but needed confirmation that I was about to be treated and rewarded like a five-year-old.
Nurse Kline glanced over her shoulder. “Oh that? That is the HP board.” She looked back at me, “Every day, should you behave and participate, you will be awarded a star.”
“Just like kindergarten…” I mused.
“Somewhat. But kindergarteners don’t get to go home after a month of straight stars,” She nodded at the HP board, “they do.”
Home? I had been close to yawning, but was now suddenly intrigued with the childish yellow stars. Seeing the hope enter my eyes, Nurse Kline let out a heavy sigh. “You would only be allowed to get out for the weekend.” she answered. “You would be allotted a two day pass to spend with your family.”
Family…spend a weekend with the same family that had put me in here in the first place? Spend the weekend with Joe? Those stars represented freedom, but at what cost? My sanity? That was why I was in here in the first place, because everyone thought I had lost my mind…and the reward for gaining my mind would be losing it all over again? Seemed a little messed up from where I was standing.
The only good that would come from it would be getting to investigate, something I had wanted to do for six months, but hadn’t been given the opportunity. After the murder Joe had put a dead-bolt on Elizabeth’s bedroom door, preventing everyone, even my mother, from going inside. He claimed it was to make the transition easier, but I knew better. There was something in Elizabeth’s old room that he didn’t want anyone to see, or find. I just didn’t know what.
Nurse Kline pointed at Patient #18 on the HP board. “That’s you, Evans. #18. You can start collecting stars tomorrow.”
You need to get in that room. I clenched my fists and nodded, my eyes falling to the floor beneath me. All I needed was one pass, one chance to rummage through Elizabeth’s things for something the police might’ve missed.
And I was going to get it.
Oh yes…
And then Joe would get his.
“Alright.” Nurse Kline clapped once, dragging me out of my thoughts. “I’ll take you to your room and you can get settled in. I’m sure you want to get a little rest before your first day tomorrow.”
My room was at the very end of the hallway—directly across from Hannibal Sketcher’s. Of course… the fates weren’t satisfied with my public humiliation from the previous day, so they’d made it their mission to remind me of said humiliation every day.
Rolling my eyes, I dragged my feet behind Nurse Kline, shaking my head at the irony of it all. I could’ve been #13 or #2, but no…
My room was small, around eight by ten feet, with white walls and one twin bed.
There were a few shelves nailed into the wall closest to the door to put my things in.
Whatever they allowed me to keep.
“Before I forget,” Nurse Kline patted down her scrub top and pulled out a folded up note, “Here is your daily schedule. Part of your therapy requires getting in a routine. If you have any questions, come by the nurses’ station.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
As per the rules, the door to my room was still open long after Nurse Kline had fled. I spent most of my first night pacing back and forth, getting used to my new surroundings. The true extent of Judge Wexler’s punishment didn’t come until they called lights out over the intercom and seconds later my door slammed shut. Anxious, I crawled into bed and briefly closed my eyes and attempted to relax, but the feeling was fleeting when my finger brushed across a piece of paper tucked underneath my pillow Alright…remember to be calm, Evans.
Yes. Be cool.
For all you know it could be trash.
Right.
Maybe the janitor had forgotten to toss it after the last patient was released. Yanking the piece of paper out from my pillow, I walked over to my door and squatted down.
There was a small crack of light, not a lot, but just enough to see what was on it.
Shit.
It wasn’t trash.
But it sure as hell felt like it.
What I had originally thought was paper turned out to be a thick piece of parchment.
Sketch paper.
All of the wind was knocked out of me.
The strokes were so precise and drawn with a purpose. A girl, who bore a striking resemblance to me, was lying in front of a door, a sword shoved right through her chest. My hands began to shake.
Her mouth was barely open, blood spilling through the corners and down her neck. She was clothed—thank God—but that didn’t make me feel any better. Her outstretched arms were reaching out to someone, something, which had obviously failed to help her. A lump formed in my throat and I tried to swallow it but couldn’t. I felt cold and numb, laid bare for the entire world to see… and above all else, I felt weak.
Four
Laces
“We’ve spoken of this in the past, you and I, about how your good deeds might not be perceived in the same light as someone else’s good deeds. I don’t know why you gave her that sketch,” Dr. Young said, pursing his lips, “and I’m not judging you the least bit for doing it, all I’m going to say is the next time you feel compelled to give a gift…don’t.”
Oh Gambrielle…she had been at Hawthorne for less than forty-eight hours and had already violated our most sacred law: keep your mouth shut. You wouldn’t rat out your supply source if you were busted for, say, cocaine, or tell the cops which bank you robbed. So why the hell Gambrielle felt it was necessary to show-off the masterpiece that I’d devoted a full hour to in solitary, only God knows. What was meant to be a kind gesture, a welcome gift—had turned into the Salem Witch Trials with yours truly at the center of it all. Dr. Young acted as though I had sacrificed a chicken to a wildfire and danced around with my bare ass out.
Dr. Young looked over his desk to where I sat slumped down in the seat reserved for his clients—my legs crossed, shoes propped on the edge of his desk. He shook his head in dismay and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Do you like solitary, Laces, is that it? Because I can designate a room specifically for you—three meals a day, no TV, no pretty little girls to flirt with.”
“Are you serious…all because of a sketch?” I uncrossed my legs and quickly leaned forward, “You’re the one always telling us to go the extra mile to make a newbie feel welcome, and the one time I do it you bitch because it doesn’t meet your standards?”