A Child in Love

-Chapter one- Welcome to Briarcliff: New arrivals.

Authors Note: This is just something that has been bouncing around in my head for a while.

I hope you enjoy!


Its chilly today, the wind is vicious and bordering on uncomfortable. I have to wrap my hands up in the material of my sweater to keep the cool air from damaging the soft, sensitive, skin. Pepper is spinning again; she loves to feel free, like she is flying, the skirt of her gown billows out in a confined bell shape. The people here think that she's crazy, but in their defense, they think we're all crazy, most of us are, some more so than others.

I close my eyes as cool air drift across my face.

A few of us are sane, but not by society's standards. A few of us are criminals with crimes so heinous that they would have to be crazy to commit them, right? A few of us are allowed outside, like Pepper and myself, we aren't what the orderlies refer to as 'runners'. Pepper and I are, in fact, the least likely to cause any kind of commotion, aside from Pepper's occasional food sneaking incidents. Some habits are hard to break, before becoming a resident of the lovely Briarcliff Manor, the only food Pepper ever got was the food she could successfully sneak. I'm not Pepper is one of the sane ones, she's done some horrible things, but horrible things have been done to her as well. People always try to justify maltreatment of the people that have mental problems, sang that they are not human enough to worry about, that they don't care. That is simply not true. Just because a person doesn't share their pain with the world, doesn't meant that it is absent.

Most people see this place as some kind of a horror house, and it is to most, but when you come from a place that is unbearable in every sense, this place isn't so bad. We're fed, we're clothed, we're allowed to bathe, we're even allowed to smoke if we're so inclined. But, of course, everyone is treated accordingly. If you misbehave, you are punished. That's not so abnormal.

Most of my memories of life outside of this fence are all blurred, distorted in ways I don't fully understand and hidden just beyond my reach. Perhaps I don't remember because I don't want to. Or it could be that I've had one too many rounds of electro shock therapy, maybe. But I can't recall ever having that particular treatment done to me, then again, my memory is faulty.

I was young when I arrived I know that as much. Not too young, not a child, old enough for Sister Jude to take me in, Briarcliff Manor does not have a children's ward, after all. I remember my mother and father, cruel and spiteful. The kind of people that should never be allowed to procreate. I was never hugged as a child, no bedtime stories reached my ears and the concept of a kiss goodnight is strange to me still. My parents were abusive; I would often find myself locked within a closet for days on end for the smallest of things, the most common was my appearance.

I was born on June 12, 1947 in Salem, Massachusetts. My parents, expecting a son, had chosen Gabriel and after my birth, they were too stunned to think of anything else. I was born with Albinism and Alexandria's Genesis. When I was around six months old my pale blue eyes shifted into a rich purple they've been that way ever since. My unique physicality only stood to reinforce what my parents already knew, I was different, and being different in a town like Salem meant that you were unacceptable.

I never went to school; I learned all that I know from the books that were left after the old Library burned down. I could go there and read for hours, my parents didn't care where I was and if I wasn't home by the time they locked the door, I could stay wherever I ended up at until the next morning when the doors would be unlocked again.

When my father was killed one winter, my mother lasted a few weeks before claiming that she could no longer handle me and after being told that she couldn't put me up for adoption because of my age and her multiple attempts on my life, the last of which involved me waking to her holding me beneath the water in our old claw footed bathtub, she decided that Briarcliff was the last option.

Sister Jude had, as politely as the woman is able, denied her first request for my Admission. I was too young then, she was told to bring me back after I was of age if she was unable to be a mother. A week later, after my birthday, I admitted to Briarcliff Manor where I have remained ever since.

Patients come and go, some die, some are 'cured', and some are, just simply, never seen again. Today we have a new arrival, Kit Walker "Bloody Face", who is being committed to Briarcliff today after being accused of murdering his wife and two other women.

Our last addition before Mr. Walker, Grace Bertrand, was committed to Briarcliff after murdering her step-mother and sexually abusive father, with an axe, she's our own personal Lizzie Borden. And before Grace, there was Shelley. Shelley is our resident Nymphomaniac, and according to her file, she began masturbating at the age of five. Her mother tried to curb this behavior by forcing her to wear mittens. She felt so happy touching herself that she couldn't stop. Eventually, she ran away to live a fast jazz-filled life and met a bass player whom she eventually married. However, after their happiness died down, her husband expected her to stay at home and be a doting wife while he openly cheated on her with other women. One day, her husband came home to find Shelley in bed with two Navy sailors. In retaliation, he reported her alleged "nymphomania" to the authorities and signed to have her locked up in Briarcliff.

I am convinced that Shelley's goal while she is forced to remain here is to torment me. Her sporadic hurling of insults at me, days could go by without interruption form her and then she would pounce, the taunts alone are enough to make a grown man cry and if I had not been raised as I had, that could have been enough to make me cry as well. I try to be sympathetic. Shelley is one of the normal ones, after all. Or as normal as Shelley can be, I suppose. Shunned and scorned for things that men are openly praised for. But it is exceedingly difficult not to loathe her. We all make choices every day; we choose to be cruel or kind.

On a good day, Sister Mary Eunice will wrap her arm around my slight shoulders and tell me that, "The words of a whore cannot harm the heart of the righteous." It is an odd statement, but I don't mind, I revel in the warmth her embrace brings.

The sound of tires rolling up the path reaches my ears, I allow this to pull me from my inner musing and open my eyes. A baby blue convertible car comes to a stop a few feet from the first set of stairs, the driver is a woman, I lean forward in my place on the entrance stairs to observe her. She's tall and thin, with short brown hair and angular features, she's dressed in a olive toned colored skirt and jacket suit. She drops a cigarette onto the pavement and makes her way towards the entrance, I can't help but scowl. She has no respect for this place, I wonder how she would like it if a stranger dropped their trash on her driveway.

I see Pepper approaching from the side slowly with a white flower in her hand. I cannot help but laugh when Pepper grabs her shoulder, the expression on her face was hilarious, and shouts, "Play with me!" the woman smiles a fake and frightened smile and takes the flower. This obviously pleases Pepper and she spins again as she repeats, "Play with me!" The ribbon I tied in her hair is coming loose and I stand from my seated position, "Ow." The sound comes from the woman and Sister Mary Eunice joins the pair, telling Pepper to "leave the lady alone".

I giggle again when I hear the woman say to Sister Mary Eunice that, "It's fine, she was only trying to make friends." The laughter I was holding in is expelled when she adds, "It was harmless." And Sister Mary Eunice tells the woman what Pepper had done. This draws yet another frightened look from the woman and Pepper looks a little sad. I stop laughing and call out to Pepper, reaching for her before she is close enough to touch and draw her up to the edge of the steps as the woman and Sister Mary Eunice walk by so that I can reach her head and re-tie her bow. Pepper smiles at me and I curl her small amount of hair around my fingers, forcing the hair to loop as well.

When Sister Mary Eunice opens the door I hear the once muffled sounds of the madness inside and sigh, I reach down, grip Pepper's hand, and pull her towards the door that Sister Mary Eunice is holding open for us, "What about that one, is that one safe?" The woman asks, pointing to me as I pull pepper past her and down the hall, "Gabriel? Well, she's as safe as they come, I suppose." I open the door to the common room and allow Pepper to go before me as I pull the door shut, cutting off Sister Mary Eunice telling the woman about Sister Jude's stairway to heaven.

Pepper has gone off and found herself a picture book to flip through, I leave her be and make my way towards my favorite chair. It's soft and red, enough sun hits it so it is almost always warm, and if I concentrate very hard I can almost imagine I'm being held. I look around and notice that Shelley is absent, this is odd but not unheard of, I wonder if she was caught doing something naughty again. She's one of the one's that can't seem to follow the rules.

I let my mind wander, and sink back into the softness of the chair, the repetitive French lulling me softly and Pepper's occasional giggles bringing a smile to my face.

The sound of the doors being thrown opened rouses me. Shelley walks through, the side of her head now shaved. I smile internally and look away to where Grace is seated a few feet away, she openly giggles and hides it behind her hand.

"Whatever did you do this time, Shelley?" Grace asks.

Shelley scoffs and stands by the window on the other side of the room.

I hear a commotion out in the hall as I see figures rush by.

I stand, make my way to the doors, and step out into the hall. I come to a stop beside the stars and curl my fingers around the bars of the rail just as the doors open and a man, Kit Walker, is lead inside by two large officers. I stare at him inquisitively, he meets my eyes and I see fear there. My eyebrows furrow in confusion. This is not that man I had envisioned, this man is weak. He's frightened and looks like he might cry at any moment, this terrified man is not what I have envisioned. They drag him off and I return to the common room. I sink into the cushion of the chair. I think back to the many books I've read, the medical ones, the amount upper body strength that one would need to lift grown women is substantial, Kit Walker lacks this strength. Not to mention the force that would be required to cleave through bone. Pondering this new information, I allow my eyes to wander around the room, before shutting my eyes and humming along with the song.

A few hours later, Kit stumbles through the door, still in his gown and looking very disoriented. I'm curled up beside Pepper as she chews on a wad of rope, my hands buried deep within the pockets of my sweater. I watch Shelley move towards Kit.

"Ooh, Sister Jude is on the warpath!" She exclaims as she reaches out and touches his backside.

" Hey, stop it!" Kit shouts and smacks at her hand.

"Can't make the welts go away, but I can make you forget you had 'em." Shelley replies in what she thinks is a seductive voice as she strokes her hand down his back. I roll my eyes at her antics.

"The nurse already gave me a salve." Kit says, I snicker and bring one of my hands out of my sweater and place the tip of my thumb into my mouth. As Shelley scurries in front of Kit.

"A salve can't cure you like I can in your session in the hydrotherapy room with me." Shelley says, walking backwards a few steps before turning around and sticking her rear out. "I speak French and Greek."

"Will you beat it?!" Kit shouts as he pushes her away.

"He's mine." I hear Shelley say as I focus my attention on Pepper, she has somehow managed to tie a few of her fingers into the rope; I busy myself with untying her flanges. I allow myself to wonder as I work the knots. I sigh, he's not what I imagined at all. I am disappointed in my discovery, I was looking forward to observing this so called mad man, now I'll have to find something else to bide my time with.

Pepper leaps from the couch and joins the other gathered around, what I'm assuming to be, a fight. I sigh and look down to where my fingers have reddened with minor rope burn. I hear the clicking of Sister Jude's heels and jump up to retrieve Pepper. I wrap my fingers around her upper arm and quickly pull her away and arrange us into a position that looks like I'm playing in her hair again. She's seated on the floor in front of me and I'm in my chair, I untie the bow from her hair just as Sister Jude glides into the room and blows her whistle, causing all the patents to scurry. I keep my attention on the small amount of hair atop pepper's head until the commotion is over and the patients resume their activities.


When lockdown comes, I lay in my bed and stare up at the small amount of moon light coming into my room until I fall asleep.


The next day passes uneventfully, there is a new voice screaming through the halls, but I've yet to see the face that goes along with it. I go through my day as I normally would, most of my time is spent in the bakery, and when I'm not there I'm with Pepper, but her increasing agitation is causing me some trouble. I will admit that my reasons are selfish. I crave the tactile contact; I am slightly ashamed by my impulsive need. When lockdown comes that night, I fall into a restless sleep, with dreams of warm embraces and cold, empty rooms.