Chapter Nineteen
Tuesday
Ward One was where the majority of patients resided, the “low risk” ones allowed to walk around common areas with low supervision.
General population was supposed to be more favorable for our residents, but the conditions here were deplorable.
It was upsetting, yet my jaw didn’t drop in surprise either.
Rook's prerogative, whatever it was, sure as shit wasn't the patient's health and well-being.
Here, it was overcrowded, packed in like sardines in many rooms. The smell was awful, like piss and that unique scent of a patient covered in bed sores in need of turning over.
The halls and rooms were noisy, and the patient-to-staff ratio was dangerously out of proportion.
Patients were clearly divided into two groups—those who appeared to dictate the pecking order, and those who didn't. Predators and prey all mixed into one cage. General pop was co-ed, but there weren’t many women. My heart ached for the few here. They looked so defeated and exhausted.
My stomach churned.
Rook had insisted I enter general pop with at least three orderlies with me at all times. Odd that he suddenly cared so much about my protection after threatening to lock me in the basement with a predator.
As I walked through the ward, the sea of inmates parted, eyeing us with fear as we passed.
The pit in my gut dug deeper as the orderlies led me through a doorway with a faded sign reading “red room.”
There weren't enough chairs or tables for patients to sit. A pair of men fought over a ratty cardboard chessboard, sending chess pieces flying. A Victrola played a worn record that was so damaged I couldn’t pick out the words among the fuzzy notes that filled the room.
The orderlies stopped abruptly, and all three pointed to a young woman in a lone corner.
“That’s not Barbara Reed,” I told them, remembering the birthdate in the woman’s file. “We’re looking for Patient Forty-Two.
“That’s her,” one confirmed gruffly.
I veered my bewildered gaze back to the girl in the corner. She sat hunched over a doll that had seen better days. The toy was wrapped in a filthy rag made to look like a hospital gown, just like her owner wore.
This couldn’t be her. She didn’t look much older than eighteen, nineteen tops.
“Barbara Reed was admitted in 1969 at eighteen years old. She should be in her seventies by now.”
When the orderlies said nothing, I bridled my frown and approached the girl. She didn’t look up as I crouched beside her.
“Barbara?” No response. Probably because that wasn’t her name. Then I remembered that Seventeen had said that she preferred her nickname. “Bunny?”
The girl’s eyes lifted from her doll to lock with mine. “Am I in trouble?”
It was then that I spotted the bald patch on the side of her head, revealing a gnarly scar.
Unease slithered over my skin. “Bunny, what happened to your head?”
The girl’s whisper came out so thin, I had to read her lips to understand. “They tried to fix me.”
“Who tried to fix you?”
The girl’s mouth opened, but instead of a proper answer, a shrill laugh tumbled forth. She appeared to be in a strange state of psychosis, likely brought on by physical trauma. Maybe her old head wound was connected.
Her laughter echoed through the recreation hall, but the patients seemed used to it. Hysteria was the norm here.
“Tell me your dolly’s name.” I spoke louder to be heard over her laughter.
Like that, she stopped, blinking up at me. “Joanie.”
“I have a plant named Joanie. It’s a good name, isn’t it?” I smiled gently while examining her head wound now that I was closer. The accident hadn’t been in her file. Not that I trusted the patient files here. They couldn’t even get her birth date right.
“Who are you?” Bunny asked with guarded curiosity.
“My name is Dr. Beckett. I’m a new psychiatrist here. Would you like to go on a walk with me?”
The young woman swept her overgrown blonde locks from her eyes to pin me with a skeptical look. “Can Joanie come?
“Of course she can.”
Bunny’s demeanor shifted in a blink with an ear-to-ear grin. “Yes! Joanie loves walks!”
I stood up and held my hand out for her to take. Bunny gave it a blank stare, as though she wasn't sure what to do with it. Her blue eyes flicked nervously in the direction of my escort.
My heart ached for her. She'd been taught not to trust any of the staff here.
“It’s okay, Bunny. I’m here to help you, as best I can." I dropped my voice to a low whisper that only she could hear. "Patient Seventeen thinks you can help me, too."
At the mention of Seventeen, her eyes rounded with recognition, and her guard lowered enough to take my offered hand.
I pulled her up, and she didn't let go, threading her fingers tightly through mine.
Shuffling closer to my side, Bunny flung the orderlies a glare. "Are they coming on our walk too?"
From her tone, if I said yes, she wouldn't be as open with me. If she could show me Rook’s old office, as Seventeen said, I had a feeling he wouldn't be happy about it. And the orderlies would most certainly pass on what we said and did to Rook.
"No, they'll stay here."
The men exchanged a bewildered expression between them. “Rook won’t like it. You ought to allow us to escort you,” one protested.
I scoffed. “I don’t take orders from you. I’m the doctor here, and I just gave you instructions. You'd better listen to them, or there will be hell to pay.”
With Bunny's hand clasped in mine, I led her out of Ward One, leaving the speechless men behind.
For the first time since coming to Saint Bart's, I felt a sense of power rippling through me.
Was it the Treatment making me stronger in more ways than one?
Or was something else happening inside me that was entirely my own?
The sensation didn't last long because, no sooner had we rounded the corner than Bunny wrenched her hand from mine and took off down the hallway in a fit of manic giggles. “Catch me if you can, Dr. Beckett!”
"Hey! Come back!"
It was no use. She was already gone.
Well, fuck.