Chapter 10
CHAPTER TEN
RAVEN
D rumming my fingers on the steering wheel, my leg bounces. The facade of the building is exactly how I remember it. They’ve added a few more hedges, but other than that, nothing has changed.
The five-story building is set back about fifty yards from the road, giving a sense of wealth from all the greenery between it and the road.
Umber-colored bricks make up the exterior walls.
Pointed arches surround the entrance. The steep roof creates a vertical emphasis.
Long lancet windows covered with bars give a peep into every room.
Rooms that I’m all too familiar with…
Mystic River Psychiatric Hospital is just as harrowing as ever.
After running into Dr. Whitlock the other day, the urge to drive by the hospital clogged my throat. The plan was to drive by, make a U-turn, and head home. But I’ve been parked across the street for an hour now, and I can’t seem to shift my car into drive.
I don’t know how I’m going to get what I need when I can’t make myself step foot inside.
The thought of being trapped in there again short circuits my brain.
I contemplated posing as a volunteer, but the risk of being identified is too great.
People in town won’t know me because I’m not from here.
But in there? Chances are much higher. If there weren’t patients in there, I’d set the whole place on fire.
I’ll just have to dig up the dirt the old-fashioned way.
Dropping my head back against the seat, I massage my temples with my fingers.
Moving the black round tile diagonally, I stare blankly at the checkerboard in front of me. I’m not even sure I know all the rules of checkers, but it beats the game of cricket some of the other patients are trying to play outside. It’s too hot out today.
“Your move,” my opponent, Riley, informs me, but I have no idea what piece he moved. He could’ve moved one of my own, and I wouldn’t notice.
That’s how invested I am in this game.
Riley tried explaining the game once, and I pretended to understand. I think he can tell I have no idea what I’m doing but he doesn’t care.
“Is that a shiv, Hoyt?”
My hand drops the piece I was about to play as my attention is drawn to the commotion on the other side of the rec room. My mouth forms into an unpleasant twist.
Leonard, an orderly who’s always on a power trip, yanks Hoyt out of his chair as an unsharpened plastic spoon falls out of Hoyt’s lap. Hoyt is in his eighties and has been diagnosed with PTSD from his time serving in Vietnam.
On the table in front of his chair is a half-eaten cup of red Jello. Leonard grabs the front of Hoyt’s shirt with both hands and pulls. Hoyt cries out in pain.
Leonard is always stirring up trouble. He enjoys dishing out our punishments.
The breath in my lungs grows thin and ragged.
“Don’t,” Riley warns.
But it’s too late.
I’m up and out of my seat, barging right for them.
With his back to me, Leonard isn’t aware of my approach, and I use his heedlessness to my advantage.
Jumping on his back, I circle on arm around his neck and use my other hand to rapidly hit him in the head.
Hoyt scrambles away, leaving his snack behind.
Leonard flips me over his shoulder, dropping me onto the hard tile flat on my back.
Staring up at the empty white ceiling, I wheeze in an attempt to get air back in my lungs.
Leonard looms over me with a vicious grin on his face. “Dr. Whitlock is going to have so much fun with you.”
Cold sweat bathes my skin in foreboding disquiet.
My hand reaches to turn my key in the ignition, when a candy red Ferrari California comes zooming down the road. The windows are tinted, preventing me from being able to see who’s in there. I duck my head down as the driver passes me and barely slows as it turns onto the drive of the hospital.
I peek my head up just enough for me to see the car screech to a stop in front of the entrance. Dr. Whitlock comes charging out the doors while the man from the grocery store exits the sports car.
Scrambling, I grab my phone, open the camera app, zoom in, and start recording. I keep my head low in the hope that they don’t see me or my phone.
Lewis Whitlock marches right up to the man and slams his palms into the man’s chest, pushing him backward. The man stumbles back a few steps, holding his hands out at his side. Dr. Whitlock gets in the man’s face, pointing a finger and turning red with anger.
I wish I was closer so I could hear what they’re saying. Whatever they’re discussing, the good doctor isn’t happy about it, but the other man looks like he doesn’t have a single worry in the world.
The man pulls out a stack of folded cash from his pocket, calming Dr. Whitlock.
His face is still flushed, but he stops yelling.
Whitlock fishes out a small bag from his own pocket and tosses it at the man.
The bag hits the man in the chest as Whitlock snatches the cash.
He gives the mystery man another yell and storms back into the hospital.
After Dr. Whitlock marches up the few steps leading to the door, he looks back at the man, telling him something else I still can’t hear.
Before he goes back inside, he looks directly at my car.
My heart pounds, the rhythm echoing in my ears.
There’s no way he can see me in here, but it’s as if he can see me through my phone. It’s as if he knows it’s me in the car.
He once told me I was his favorite as he held me down. He said he liked my struggle. He liked how I fought back.
Dr. Whitlock finally goes inside, leaving me with the memories I never asked for. The ones I wish would leave me alone.
I focus back on the man as he opens the small clear bag, grabs something out, and pops it in his mouth. Then he hops in his car and peels back the way he came.
Ending the recording, I replay it a few times, hoping I will suddenly learn how to read lips, but that wish doesn’t come true.
This isn’t exactly the proof I was looking for, but it’s a start.