Fallen Angels – Chapter 1
Disclaimer: Readers may notice some similarities between a character portrayed here and a principal in a well-known 1973 horror movie. Some physical resemblance to characters from a warrior princess TV show may be noted as well. Any infringement implied here is apologized for and no profit is foreseen. This alternative/uberish tale of the supernatural is probably better off restricted to mature audiences. Make no mistake readers; this is a story of psychological and supernatural horror originally written for Halloween 2004. Surely somewhere, something in here will be somewhat disturbing to someone.
© Hallows 2004 by Phantom Bard
"You were the seal of perfection, full of wisdom and perfect in beauty.¹ You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created, till iniquity was found in you.² How you are fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How you are cut down to the ground. For you have said in your heart: I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God; I will also sit on the mount of the congregation on the farthest side of the north; I will ascend above the heights of the clouds, I will be like the Most High. Yet you shall be brought down to hell…³"
(1. Ezekiel 28:12 2. Ezekiel 28:15 3. Isaiah 14:12-15)
And He said to them, "I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven." (Luke 10:18)
…God did not spare the angels who sinned, but cast them down to hell and delivered them into chains of darkness, to be reserved for judgment… (II Peter 2:4)
For having been given free will in the moment of their creation, the orders of angels had the capacity to make choices. Among these was that of entertaining pride and ambition. It is said that one even went so far as to ascend in aspirations to enter heaven by right of his own will and become the equal of God, to usurp His prerogative of Creation, and to take a station above all other angels. For this, God banished Lucifer from heaven, throwing him down into hell, and with him fully a third of the angels, being those who had followed in the footsteps of his rebellion. These became numbered in latter days as demons under the dominion of Satan. And having lost heaven, what greater misery could follow a fallen angel down the ages?
Chapter 1
The soft footfalls of sensible shoes marked a purposeful stride down a length of gray linoleum tiles, whispering past a background of snuffling, guilty shuffling, nervous giggles, and random mumbling. Beyond reinforced glass panes in heavy, locked doors, someone couldn't stop scratching. Someone ceaselessly rearranged bedding. A catatonic someone was staring past a muted TV. Near the door, someone was masturbating and softly sobbing. And someone very close declaimed in a twitter, "My lices and livers, luncheon…the magpie," followed by a sly, knowing chuckle, ("argh, argh, argh,").
"Such similar white walls," she mused, "though they feel so different here."
Maybe the very same Sherwin-Williams latex that graced the aged sheet rock she was passing had also brightened the interior of Gallerie Francoise. Perhaps the contrast in atmosphere was partially due to the gallery's tungsten spotlights, versus the weak sunlight sifting through wire-reinforced panes under banks of overhead florescent lights. Perhaps it had to do with the contrast between the creative visions and the desperate delusions the two buildings displayed within their white walls, usually with mutual exclusivity.
When Kerry Walsh thought about it, she recognized a superficial symmetry, for in each case individuals had personalized the landscapes their senses reported. In each case reality had been reinterpreted. But beyond that generality, actions diverged through intent. There was either creative synthesis or anxious coping, practiced action or provoked reaction, intentional outreach or disassociative withdrawal, and sometimes, transcendent beauty or stark terror.
Last night's opening for Sharon Crane's show had been impressive, even though Kerry had already seen every painting. What had been the second bedroom in the home they shared had become the abode of palette and brush, stretcher and easel, pigment and vehicle. They'd torn a hole in the ceiling for a skylight and knocked out most of the south wall for windows. Now it was a realm scented with gesso, linseed oil, and turpentine. At home Kerry was the first to see Sharon's images take colors while they listened to Paganini, Bach, and Pachabel as she sipped her wine. Yet somehow there was always something grander about the canvases when they were hung and lit in a gallery while patrons regarded them as they sipped their wine.
Presentation…it's all about presentation. Her lover's signature phrase tickled Kerry's inner ear, coaxing forth a grin despite the dismal hallway. Sharon repeated that litany like an echolalic mantra whenever a show deadline approached. She became focused in a monomaniacal frenzy before an exhibition, much as Kerry had before exams during med school. But presentation was also a clinical term for the exhibition of symptoms, and that was the professional context in which young Dr. Walsh related to the word. On the wards, it was all about presentation.
Maybe there was less of a mismatch in their relationship, a psychiatric intern and an aspiring artist, than most people outside of it realized. Kerry Walsh had become accustomed to critiquing the products of both art and insanity. She'd come to believe that the difference wasn't so much in the presentation as it was about the nature of the story being told. Sharon could be a nut at times, but she was definitely sane. It was her well-functioning relationship with reality that allowed her to create as she did.
Kerry walked around a nurse's station that stood in the hallway and entered a room with half-height glass walls. She swung the public address microphone aside on its flexible goose-neck and hoisted herself up on the counter next to the room's only occupant. The senior psychiatric nurse was watching a bank of monitors, but she looked up and removed her glasses. She gave Kerry a motherly smile as she watched the young doctor pull back her pale, wavy hair and gather it, the familiar Celtic Knot barrette held between her teeth.
"Kerry, how was your vacation?" The nurse asked once she saw the younger woman settle herself. "It's good to have you back."
"It's good to be back, Janice. I'll call the vacation restful since we stayed home. Sharon was finishing up for that show I mentioned and the opening was last night. They got quite a crowd." She took a quick glance at the monitors out of habit.
"That was the show at Gallerie Francoise, wasn't it? Have you seen the paper?"
"No, not yet…why?" She stopped swinging her feet where they hung down from the counter and focused more closely on what Janice was saying.
"The Post had a critic there last night and he gave the show a 'thumbs up'. Sharon ought to be very happy with the review. I think it'll bring her a lot of attention."
"Was that The Arts Scene…Ackerland Smith's review? I thought I saw him there, but I wasn't sure. Maybe he's got a new toupee?" Both women traded sly, knowing chuckles. The last one had made him look like Larry Fine. "Sharon'll be pleased. She's been hoping for a good critical review since last spring's show."
"He was just shy of glowing with praise. Tell her I've got my fingers crossed for her. Famous artist and all…I guess a review like that couldn't hurt her sales either."
"She sold three pieces at the opening," Kerry confessed, then smiled and revealed, "but I know she's really been hoping for the Getty."
Janice grinned. At $13,000 to $17,000 each, selling three paintings at the opening was a healthy take. "That's good…very good. She'll do fine Kerry. She's what…27? I'll bet by the time she's 30, the Whitney and the Guggenheim will take anything she paints."
They both laughed. Sharon had groused that you didn't get a piece in the Whitney Museum anymore before retirement age. After the break, Kerry became serious again.
"How have things been going here?"
"Not much has changed in the last two weeks," Janice said with a sigh. For a moment, as the smile left her face, she looked her 53 years. "No miracle cures, no brilliant or profound insights…just more pills in cups, mostly." Kerry nodded and Janice continued. "We got three new patients inducted. One's interesting, one's Napoleon…on his good days, and the last is catatonic. We also have a new practitioner, a psychiatrist who probably could've retired a decade ago. He's also a Roman Catholic priest, a Jesuit…very pleasant, but very intense."
"Huh," Kerry murmured. After a pause she said, "I guess I'll meet him today during staff rounds. I should have a look at these new patients then too." She hopped off the counter and headed for the door to the hallway. A quick glance at the wall clock as she left the room showed 7:52 am. "Time for a cup of coffee and then, 'the doctor is in'. See you later, Janice."
Fortified with caffeine, Dr. Walsh joined two other interns, a psychiatric resident, and the head clinician, Dr. McKenzie, for the morning rounds. As Janice had told her, things were mostly unchanged. Two weeks wasn't really a very long time in the course of illnesses that had persisted for years. The hospital wasn't for persons with mild stress-induced disturbances or simple maladaptive behaviors. It catered to those who presented profound and continuing breaks with reality. Most of the ward's patients were on maintenance regimens, confined and medicated, sometimes physically restrained, their prognoses basically unchanged since admission. Therapies that actually provided any hope of improvement were minimal, and cures were almost unheard of.
The bulk of the cases were withdrawn, in degrees ranging from cripplingly shy and timid to catatonic. Some, like Brian L., came up and nervously glanced at Kerry, actually seeming to have noticed her absence. Others, like Marion M., (who still sat in the same place on the sofa staring past the TV), hadn't moved noticeably in two weeks.
A smaller percentage presented bizarre delusional constructs that spoke of profound breaks with the external world. They roamed the ward, picking at imaginary spots on the walls, whispering secrets to imaginary friends, and reacting to imaginary stimuli. They were generally harmless, but completely unable to cope in the outside world. Most had been committed for years, and some for decades.
Septuagenarian Billy R. for example, had been on the ward for over 55 years, far longer than any of the staff, and he wasn't going anywhere outside of his own head. He walked a little, chuckled a little, and spent hours talking with his family despite having been confined at 17 and having never been married. There were records of his last visitor from the outside world, a sister who had come to see him in 1970, over 30 years ago. He hadn't recognized her at all. She had barely recognized him. They hadn't talked.
Following the rounds in the ward's common room, Dr. McKenzie led his brood into the R Wing. Located on the uppermost floor, the restricted wing housed those patients who had to be confined individually. Unlike those on the closed ward who required monitoring and protection, these cases demanded isolation for the protection of others. They were people whose psychoses manifested violently, and though not necessarily criminal in intent, they posed a definite hazard. Confinement was strongly indicated.
From past exposure to the hospital's protocols, Kerry barely noticed the security man who joined them after unlocking the gate at the hall's entrance. The big guard had rolled the bars back on their floor and ceiling tracks, and then hauled them closed after they'd entered, relocking them behind him. He paced along following the doctors, silent and vigilant, a 22" baton hanging from his duty belt and a ring of keys in his hand.
The rooms of the R Wing were secured with heavy steel doors set with massive locks, and each bore a small window of reinforced glass for observation. The interior walls of the odd numbered rooms were padded. All the furniture was bolted to the floor and the beds were equipped with restraints. Most of these patients were kept heavily medicated for the safety of all involved. Even so, there were incidents, predictably during the full moon, at a rate of about once every two or three months.
When they first entered the hall, Kerry noticed that a tall, stoop-shouldered man was standing outside the door to room 13. He wore a black shirt and slacks, and a black sport coat that hung from his frame. Though she couldn't see the Roman collar, she had no doubt that this was the priest/psychiatrist that Janice had mentioned.
His hands were clasped behind his back and he was motionless, staring through the window in the door. He took no notice of the group of doctors as they approached on their rounds. Kerry caught herself repeatedly glancing towards him, but he never appeared to have moved. She found him subtly unnerving.
Dr. McKenzie led them past the eleven cases in the wing. Kerry was familiar with all of them. There had been no significant change in any of them. She hadn't missed a thing. Room 12 was empty, as it had been two weeks before, and Dr. McKenzie passed it by. Kerry sensed the barest hint of excitement being projected by her fellow practitioners. They hid it well, but many of their closed ward schizophrenics would have read them like a book. She'd noticed that somehow the insane could judge the emotions of others with a clarity that the sane could only envy.
Kerry wondered whether the new patient's novelty was simply from being unfamiliar, or whether there was something truly unusual about the case. She found her anticipation growing like that of her colleagues, even though she didn't know what to expect. They stopped in a group a half-dozen feet from room 13, congregating in a loose semi-circle behind the priest. Finally the man at the door tore his eyes from the window and looked over at them. His gaze immediately fell on Kerry, the only person there he hadn't met. Christ, he must be at least 80, she thought, and then she was trapped by an almost hypnotic regard, as they looked each other over forming their mutual first impressions.
Those eyes, so pale, as if they'd been bleached by years of sun and suffering, still had the power to bore into her with an auger's sharpness and an unerring aim that struck straight into her heart. Intense, Janice had said. It was the understatement of the century. Kerry felt as if every sin she'd ever committed was being laid bare, that every trespass was cataloged, as if God himself were weighing her with His omniscient vision. For a brief instant, she felt sorry for his patients. A 40-minute session under that unwavering attention would melt anyone's resistance into confession. The priest made her feel guilty.
"Father Lancaster Merrik," Dr. McKenzie said to her, opening their introduction. His voice broke her paralysis and she flicked her eyes to him in acknowledgement. Then her superior turned his glance to the elderly priest and indicated her with a hand gesture, "Dr. Kerry Walsh."
The priest gave her a small smile and a slight nod. It was a minimal movement, really, but it changed the entire personality he projected. In an instant, he went from an intimidating patriarch to a benevolent grandfather. Kerry felt a bit lost and could only smile to hide her surprise.
"Pleased to meet you, Father Merrik." She offered her hand by social reflex.
The Father took it in a gentle shake and held it for a moment as he returned her greeting.
"Pleased to meet you, Dr. Walsh. I understand that you've been on holiday. I hope you found it relaxing. Welcome back," he offered, projecting sincere warmth.
Momentarily taken off guard again, Kerry could only reply with, "Thank you."
Dr. McKenzie rescued her from appearing tongue-tied by returning their focus to the rounds and the new patient.
"Perhaps Father Merrik would be kind enough to summarize this patient. He's already been working with her for several months…since shortly after her initial presentation, and she exhibits an unusual constellation of symptoms."
Kerry realized that the request was primarily for her benefit, because the other doctors would have already heard this information during her vacation. Encountering a variety of case histories was part of her training during her internship. She wasn't sure of Father Merrik's position at the hospital, but her training was probably not a part of his duties. As one colleague to another though, Dr. McKenzie could request that she be briefed by the patient's attending psychiatrist. She was thankful to her superior since it was hardly her place to seek such information simply to satisfy her curiosity. His request had removed the awkwardness from the situation.
The elderly priest gave Dr. McKenzie a quick nod and then swept a glance across the group. His gaze came to rest on Kerry again as he prepared to brief her on his patient. Father Merrik took a deep breath, exhaled, and collected his thoughts. When he spoke his voice was warm and slightly rough, displaying the flat, non-accent of the American mid-west. He spoke as a veteran clinician, long accustomed to the pathos of the ward, but his voice also hinted at a depth of insight and compassion that marked the best therapists. Kerry felt herself swept up in the recitation, responding to the man's voice as well as the revelations he presented. The patient truly was an unusual case.
"The patient, Angela D., is an unmarried 27 year old Caucasian female who was employed as a university level lecturer in English composition for four years. She was also an aspiring writer and had manifested no prior symptoms. Up until 8 months ago, her life was, for all practical purposes, 'normal'." He'd used the word normal with audible reservation, acknowledging that the label was fairly fluid. "Ms. D. holds a master's degree in English. She performed at an above-average level in her classes and has published several short stories and essays. She enjoyed a moderate level of success within her field and had the respect of her colleagues up until the time of her break.
Eight months ago, Ms. D. was delivered from her home to an emergency room in a hysterical state. Police and EMTs had responded to complaints by neighbors of a violent assault in progress. Upon admission, she was making incoherent statements and struggling vigorously. Her frenzy was not directed as resistance against those restraining her, but rather at the unseen entity which had precipitated her psychotic episode. The emergency room administered a sedative and restrained the patient. They could find no gross underlying trauma or other physical cause for her behavior. Blood tests reported no anomalies or foreign toxicological presences. A MRI was ordered, but no evidence of structural abnormalities in the brain was discerned. Additionally, no pathologies were present in the brain, as confirmed through intracranial dye x-rays. Brain activity was mapped but found to be normal. This finding was consistent with EEG records."
Father Merrik heaved a restrained sigh and paused to allow Kerry to digest the medical background information before he proceeded further. Next, he would speak of the progression of the case after Ms. D.'s first onset of psychosis. Kerry nodded, unconsciously prompting him to continue.
"Because no physical causation could be discerned, her attending physician ordered psychiatric observation while continuing to administer sedatives. The next morning a consulting psychiatrist ordered her medication reduced for the purposes of assessing the symptoms. The provisional diagnosis was schizophrenia with a persecution component. Having confirmed the elimination of both physical and chemical origins, the psychiatric consultant then proceeded with therapeutic intervention. Although the initial analysis was hampered by the patient's continued agitation, it became apparent that the patient believed that she had been invaded by a non-corporeal entity."
So far the presentation of symptoms supported the provisional diagnosis. The violence and sudden onset of the symptoms were troubling, but young Dr. Walsh suspected that Ms. D. had been deteriorating for some time beforehand. Her increasingly bizarre behavior simply hadn't been reported. Perhaps the English lecturer hadn't had any contacts close enough to have discerned her fall into psychosis. It was sad to be so alone.
"No prior symptoms had manifested, and in fact, Ms. D. had lectured earlier in the day. Her appearance and behavior had been unremarkable as late as two hours before she was forcibly removed from her residence. Her fiancé reported no personality aberrations during a dinner date that evening. The break appears to have been spontaneous."
Kerry was horrified. It was as if Father Merrik was claiming that his patient had been struck down by insanity much as one would be hit by a car; an unexpected life changing impact from an incident of random violence. But without a chemical or physical etiology, Kerry Walsh wasn't convinced that mental illness happened that way. Although some practitioners believed that psychotic breaks could occur due to presently indiscernible factors that only made the onset appear spontaneous, she'd never believed it. In her experience psychosis was a reaction to stimuli beyond a psyche's ability to cope in a rational manner. As a behavioral alternative, a person learned to be insane.
Had the cause been believable, Ms. D.'s reaction would almost qualify as a post-traumatic stress disorder with a highly agitated expression. But the symptoms were far more extreme and consuming, and "invasion by a non-corporeal entity"was not a reality-based cause of trauma. It was delusional ideation and response…in other words, psychosis. Dr. Walsh was baffled now, and she hadn't even noticed that Father Merrik's comments had addressed her own thoughts as though he had read her mind. She still didn't notice as he proceeded, again answering her concerns.
"The sudden onset of symptoms was highly unusual, but even as the consulting psychiatrist was interviewing the patient's acquaintances, Ms. D.'s symptoms shifted radically. On her fifth day under observation, her symptoms abated to such an extent that she was able to engage in rational conversation with the psychiatrist. She was still presenting symptoms, but these were more consistent of a diagnosis of PTSD. She exhibited components of fear, agitation, and helplessness. She expressed the conviction that she expected subsequent breaks and remained convinced that she was possessed. She had no faith in therapy or medication. Her orientation was to hopelessness. She was profoundly depressed and remained so for two days.
On the third day after the cessation of her original symptoms, she had another break. She manifested a completely unfamiliar constellation of symptoms. Her demeanor was sullen, threatening, and directed maliciously at anyone in her presence. She made no distinction between those she'd previously interacted with or complete strangers, cursing and intimidating indiscriminately with vehement verbal and physical violence. At this time, she managed to tear free of her restraints. She broke the arm of a nurse, bodily lifted and flung a male orderly against a wall, and overturned her bed though it was bolted to the floor and weighed over 200 lbs. At times she spoke unintelligibly, made abiotic gestures, and assumed curious postures. She spattered the room by ejecting ballistic vomit and feces. She was finally controlled by hospital security, restrained in a straightjacket, and lashed to her bed. Sedatives were administered and the episode was controlled."
Kerry didn't know what to say. She very nearly didn't know what to think. Only the most violent psychotics were capable of such destructive episodes. The manifestation of super-human strength coupled with virulent malice was the province of very rare cases. She realized that on the other side of room 13's door was a person who would maim or kill indiscriminately if given a chance. Such patients were almost impossible to make progress with and usually only a regime of restraint and heavy medication was indicated.
"After the patient was physically controlled she continued to speak. The dosages administered to her should have reduced her to unconsciousness. Nevertheless, Ms. D. verbalized with uncanny insight, and over the course of the next few hours, succeeded in reducing her therapist to tears by revisiting the psychiatrist's personal traumas. She unmercifully and unerringly attacked the practitioner's residual senses of guilt, unworthiness, and victimization that had resulted from a number of events about which she could not have known. Somehow, Ms. D. comprehended and utilized the therapist's lingering unresolved issues in a psychological assault that finally resulted in the practitioner's breakdown and subsequent suicide."
What the hell? A psychopath had driven her psychiatrist to suicide by assaulting the therapist with the doctor's own past traumas? Kerry had never heard of such a thing. It sounded like something out of a nightmare story by Thomas Harris…Red Dragon, Silence of the Lambs, or Hannibal perhaps? Things like this just didn't happen in real life. It was impossible. Had Father Merrik just claimed that the patient spoke of incidents she couldn't have known about? And using this information, she'd succeeded in causing such an intolerable level of stress that the psychiatrist had only been able to cope by committing suicide? Kerry was beginning to think that the priest was exaggerating.
"Following the discovery of the suicide, the patient's behavior shifted yet again. She began to manifest the mannerisms and voice of her therapist, but with a twisted orientation based on anger over past events and consumption with vengeful fantasies. The emotional landscape seemed to indicate that the practitioner had long carried an array of fulminating resentments and hatreds, and now this id centered emotional content was being expressed without regulation by the ego or superego. In addition to the virulent hatred of personal associates there were a plethora of inappropriate sexual urges, horrifyingly violent intentions, and even murderous tendencies, all of which had been thinly constrained during life. Of course, these claims were the patient's interpretations, not the statements of the deceased, however I have studied them and have found them to be both plausible, and uncannily perceptive.
Over the subsequent months, Ms. D.'s original personality has periodically resurfaced. At these times she stated that she was no longer in control of her body, and that the invading entity was predominant. She claimed to be subsumed most of the time and was unaware of her body's actions. This approximates a fugue state, from which she'd awaken with no memories of the intervening time whatsoever. When informed, she was horrified by her unconscious actions. She expressed sorrow and remorse, but refused to accept culpability.
Because of her claims and behavior, her diagnosis was revised. It seems that Ms. D. is one of those few documented patients who exhibit clearly distinct personalities. These are related to traumatic events and have been assimilated into a collection of psyches that is still developing. Thus I have endured the unprecedented opportunity to reevaluate the mechanism and progression of a rare case of Multiple Personality Disorder/Dissociative Identity Disorder. The patient has been moved to this facility because it can provide long-term secure incarceration coupled with the necessary psychiatric support."
Father Merrik concluded his remarks with a sigh and looked down, away from her eyes. She realized that he'd been speaking exclusively to her despite the presence of the others.
"Thank you, Father Merrik," Dr. McKenzie said. "Ms. D. is certainly a highly unusual case. Any insights you are willing to share with us in the future will be appreciated."
The priest nodded, and Kerry thought that he seemed even older now. She had a thousand questions, but in the middle of Dr. McKenzie's rounds, it would have been inappropriate to ask them or get into a discussion with the priest. She assumed that her superior would make some comments on the case; perhaps add some educational perspective for their instruction on the disorder. Instead he only stated a little information, again, for her benefit due to her recent absence.
"Father Merrik is this patient's sole psychiatric practitioner and any assistance we offer will be at his request. The patient is highly unstable and contact with her is strongly discouraged. She has proven to be very dangerous, being both physically violent and maliciously hurtful. Under no circumstances is anyone to engage in non-therapeutic interactions." Dr. McKenzie let a silence fall to emphasize his words as his eyes swept the group. For a moment, they held Kerry's as if the message were for her in particular.
At that moment a voice came from inside room 13, unmistakably female, but carrying an almost inhuman coldness, and it dripped with condescension.
"Listen to your doctor, little girl."
That voice and the heartless chuckle that followed the phrase froze Kerry's heart. She had no doubt at all that the comment had been directed at her. How on earth had the patient known anything about what was going on out in the hall? But worse, why had she chosen those particular words? Kerry Walsh's mind whirled back to the doctor's visits of her childhood and the nurse that she'd been so terrified of all those years ago. Back to when she'd heard that voice speak those very same words.
The shock must have shown on her face. Father Merrik looked closely at her, then turned and stared through the small window in the door. Ms. D. was lying motionless in her straight jacket, lashed to her bed, her head turned away. He could see that her eyes were still closed, and from all appearances, she remained stupefied by her medication, but she'd just spoken in an unfamiliar voice. That hadn't happened in a while. As he watched, the patient, otherwise catatonic, spoke again in the same cold woman's voice.
"You'll be lying on the table with things stuck in your woman parts soon enough. He'll have to examine all the way up inside you, little girl."
Standing in the hall, Kerry gasped. Her eyes watered and she had to blink and swallow. It would be all too easy to feel like that little girl again. For years the threat of her first pelvic exam had terrified her. By the time she'd turned 11, the nurse's threats always left her shaking with fear before she ever saw her doctor. Even though she had only a vague idea of what the exam actually entailed, her imagination had manufactured a horrific scenario of molestation and mutilation. And she'd had no idea whether it would come with this visit or the next. She'd been in terror of it from age 9 to 15. The dread had gotten worse with each visit that it didn't happen. She'd felt that surely it would be next time. During her early teens she'd taken to nervously marking her calendar for months as a visit drew nearer and the night before was always sleepless.
That the doctor was an urban professional, harried and impersonal, only made things worse. Kerry knew he didn't have time to care about her. She expected to be violated horribly, with all the compassion of a butcher at the supermarket. Perhaps the harsh nurse would assist, pinioning her and looking down at her with that sly, taunting grin on her face.
By the time the exam had actually occurred, her family had moved from the city to a small town and she was seeing a different doctor. "Dr. Ann" was a friendly woman who had taken Kerry aside on her first visit and delved into the reasons why her new patient was quaking in terror before she'd even sat down. Her new doctor had spent another hour demystifying the procedures and reassuring her as they discussed everything. What had been a source of nightmares eventually became a rite of passage and finally a routine part of her health care program.
Dr. Ann was liked and trusted by everyone in the town and she was a compassionate practitioner. Her office was worlds apart from the city clinic Kerry had known.
Over the next couple years the teen had come to idolize her new friend, a learned woman who answered her questions, took her seriously, and even made herself available for non-medical "chats". By the time she'd entered college, Kerry had decided to study medicine. Later, still wondering about her ordeal and the contrast between the old and new members of the same profession, she'd chosen to specialize in psychiatry.
The memories flashed by in an instant, leaving Dr. Walsh back in the hall of the R Wing. So how the hell could the patient in room 13 have known about any of it? Kerry had never spoken of this aspect of her past to anyone at the hospital. How could this psychotic have possibly known the best place to sink her knife?
Kerry was deeply shocked, but at the same time, her basic urge to seek self-affirmation through understanding asserted itself. The need to understand how and why the city nurse and doctor had left her in terror for 6 years had prompted her to study psychiatry. By understanding them, she'd come to understand how her own ignorance and imagination had left her prone to fabricating horrors from the nurse's cruel innuendoes and the doctor's disinterested manner. Now she desperately wanted to confront the woman in room 13. If she'd had a thousand questions before, she had a million now.
At the same time an additional feeling had appeared within her. Kerry felt resentment. How dare this person she didn't know, and had never even seen, dredge up that voice and those words? How dare she torment Kerry with memories from the worst parts of her past? She didn't deserve such treatment. It reeked of bullying malice and she despised it.
All these feelings churned through Kerry but this was not the time for satisfying them. Father Merrik turned from the window and looked at her with curiosity. She couldn't help but shrink from his gaze. Dr. McKenzie turned and gestured for them to follow him back out of the R Wing. She swallowed her feelings and set her questions aside for later. As she turned to go, the priest spoke softly to her.
"Those were very unsettling statements which I have no doubt were directed at you, Dr. Walsh. Please, I would like to speak with you when you have some time."
Kerry gulped and nodded before following Dr. McKenzie and the others down the hall, ignoring the speculative looks her colleagues gave her.
To Be Continued