Her hair was the color of tortoiseshell and her nails like a robin's egg blue. She had painted them for Palm Sunday which usually involved her family chatting and coaxing each other to drink more over lamb with mint jelly. This holiday was lain to waste as flies collected in tea cups and little girls in fluffy dresses were stained red like melting candy apples. There was a journal she had kept filled with chicken scratch and only doodles she could understand in the corner of the room that had gone untouched during the massacre. It would go into a box labeled evidence when the little drops of blood were discovered during the investigation which required more yellow tape than she had ever thought possible.
His father knew the names of every pub in the area but he couldn't remember his son's birthday which his mother found problematic. She would wipe her hands on her apron meant for the meal she had failed to cook day in and day out expecting to find dirt but she would come up empty. She blamed the stove and said it was because the flame never went high enough and she didn't have the patience for it but his father called it laziness. Both parents were lazy with words and often their tongues were tied, his tongue however was always flapping and dipped in wit.
Linked by tragedy, heartbreak and abuse…this is their story, this is them, and this is us.
Outside the walls of Allenwood Psychiatric Facility was a metal gate with points at the top to keep trespassers out and patients in. The center was deemed safest in the state and it wasn't built like a prison but they still had to have their regulations and old fashion standards. A few miles down the way was a horse farm that was open for visitors and around Halloween it became a pumpkin patch built for the season. Around that time the walls of the home for the mentally unstable became crowded and loud and young teenagers were seen gawking outside of those same metal gates or as Nurse Milligan called it, loitering. The horse farm was a real treat for those inside of Allenwood. It was a place they could go and be gentle to the animals and munch on fresh fruit, apples ripe from trees that had been there before the asylum was even built. The asylum was built in the late forties and had been renovated over and over again but echoes of the past still remained inside and the old furniture and equipment was kept in the basement, everything that hadn't been burned.
Emily Thorne was no stranger to getting burned, she felt as if her life had been set up to be one cruel joke. The massacre was the final straw though and she knew she had to be locked away forever. She knew they had to throw away the key because she highly doubted the fact that she could possible one day be able to lead a normal life. When they told Emily that she was going to be admitted to Allenwood she was not surprised or hesitant. After watching your family get slaughtered in front of you there seemed to be a lack of options anyway so she packed her suitcase and bought a new journal hoping they would let her write down her thoughts as a way to heal. She knew every place had their processes and experimental ways of getting things done but what seemed to help her was writing and she knew if she had ever gone back to college that she would major in journalism or creative writing. Perhaps she would be able to talk to the tall dark and handsome student named Daniel Grayson who was in her poetry class freshman year.
Sitting in the corner of the room she chose a chair with little design to it but with little design also came little comfort. She half listened to the people around her talking about their problems because she was too wrapped up in her own to care about theirs. She didn't want to hear what they had to say because it only brought her down. When it was her turn to speak she told them about how she was going to Allenwood and her hopes and dreams…only she made them up because she didn't have any real ones. She was pleased enough that she was able to sound convincing. Emily had taken several acting classes in college and hadn't thought they would come in handy but now was time to play a role. She wanted to play roles now before she had to go to Allenwood where every truth would come out.
Behind his eyes he felt a stinging sensation but perhaps that was the medicine. They said it would be a side effect, dry eyes and itchiness. He did have a certain itch and not enough fingers or strength to scratch. His skin was covered in little red dots that looked like chicken pox or acne but the doctor said it was a rash that would heal in a day or two once his body was regulated to the prescription. His hands shook as if he had had too much caffeine but his mind was tired and uneasy. He was sick of therapy and group sessions and wanted someone new to talk to. He needed a distraction.
He remembered feeling a bit like this once before but it was when he was sick as a little boy and somehow he had twisted his mother's arm enough into letting him stay home from school. He had lied that day and ran the thermometer under the water to make it seem as if his fever was higher than it was. He knew staying home sick was going to take some effort but he honestly wanted to lie in bed all day with the house to himself because he never got peace and quiet anymore.
It was the same these days, people always chattering and the walls so paper thin.
When he first saw her he was in the day room and it smelled of paint because a patient on the verge of an internal revolution was drawing horses in a field of daisies. This was a picture imprinted in their memory from a day or two ago when they went to the farm to get tiny pumpkins for their rooms. Time blended together in Allenwood so he couldn't remember which day it was exactly that they had gone outside and smelled fresh autumn air. He would however remember seeing this girl who was new in the corner of his eye, her hair dyed black like she was trying to hide something underneath. He heard an orderly check her into the facility and he saw the swing of her retro Pan Am suitcase before looking outside the window to see a rusted car pull away and through the gates down a strip of sand.
It would be two days before he would get a chance to speak with her and properly introduce himself.
She sat by the window which was barred but still visible enough that you could see the outside and noticed the weather. Winter was going to be rolling in soon and she couldn't wait for the first snow fall as it reminded her of her family before everything happened. She remembered being bundled up by her parents and going down hills of snow on sleds together and all the smiles and hot cocoa and warmth by the fire when the day was said and done. She remembered the comfort and wanted it back. Now even a hug couldn't warm her aching bones because it was just skin on skin and did nothing for her. It was so easily given away. She fingered her hospital bracelets and waited for the season to change right then and there but she knew she would be waiting a long time. When she turned her head from the window she was face to face with a man probably in his later twenties. He was a bit worn around the eyes and his lanky frame and pale complexion didn't do wonders for him. His hair was a light brown with parts that had more of a blonde tone to it and she wondered if that color would be a better fit for him. He was sitting in a chair close to her and he was making eye contact.
She wondered if he was crazy but remembered where they were. Everyone here was crazy, but what was crazy anyway?
Nolan watched the young girl who was probably college age glare at him but he just couldn't look away. She seemed different than the others who were in their own worlds. She seemed like she wanted to be in theirs. Standing up he approached her as he would a frightened puppy. He lingered so she knew he was not going to hurt her and when she gave a head nod for him to join her he sat down in the chair directly across from her, a small coffee table between them without coffee or magazines piled high on top. The day room was surprisingly empty this morning; perhaps things were being restocked and cleaned.
"Hello," he stated simply, not very good at making a succinct introduction of himself.
"Hi," she murmured back feeling just the same. She was a little out of if due to her meds and being new to the place but she didn't want to deny the chance to talk to someone other than therapists or nurses.
"I see you're taking to this place pretty well, better than some of the others," Nolan stated as he moved a hand through his hair realizing it was probably greasy and unkempt.
"Are you kidding me? I'm practically a walking corpse," she told him as she focused on his dialogue.
"I think the correct term is zombie," he told her like he was teaching an important lesson to an eager student.
"Well that's what I feel like right about now," she said as she mirrored his action, her hand ruffling her own hair like she was made of feathers.
"I'm Nolan, Nolan Ross," he stated as he contemplated putting his hand out for a handshake. Afraid she wouldn't take it he kept his hands to himself.
"Emily," she told him, not feeling her last name was necessary. She didn't want him to recognize her as the girl from all the newspapers, the girl whose family was killed in front of her, the remaining survivor, the only one left.
"Pretty name," he told her as he sat Indian style, making the chair he was in creak as if it wasn't made for his weight or the position. Most things were just old in this place even though the walls and floors were updated.
Noticing her journal that was in her lap he was surprised they allowed her to have a pencil but he just knew it meant they were keeping a very close eye on her, that or she was trust worthy and not on the edge of taking her own life. Maybe she was responsible.
"I see you have a journal there," he purred wishing he had one of his own.
"Yes," she said flatly. "I do a lot of writing…"
"Kudos," he said as he stretched out a bit, showing he was casual and open to conversation instead of showing off his introverted side. Truth was, he needed a friend in here. It would make the days go faster.
"It helps me think," she shared before setting it down on the cushion beside her, her eyes transfixed on the marble cover.
"What are you going to write about me?" he asked as he raised a brow, curious to see what she would say.
"That you're tall," she said in a sarcastic tone which made him chuckle out loud, the other patients looking at him because they weren't used to hearing laughter that was maniacal. Usually people weren't very gleeful here. The setting wasn't one of rainbows and unicorns.
"Good answer," he retorted as he crossed his legs at the ankles, his slip on shoes a bit dirty from being outside the other day and walking in mud. "I wish I had one myself."
Emily sat up a bit and looked to the nurse's station. "Oh, why don't you ask the nurses for one then, I'm sure they'd be happy to give it to you."
Nolan looked over to the station and shook his head sadly, his body almost clamping up from tension. "I'm not supposed to have anything sharp," he said and immediately she knew why.