author's note:
Oh hi! you've chosen to read this story! thank you. :) but there are several things you need to know before reading. this is fictional and it's a fanfiction, which means I borrow Mr. Murphy's characters and continuing or rewriting what has been written in the show. (I'm sorry i just need to write it down, cus you know... some people just yadda yadda yadda) and in that case, I write a complete ALTERNATE UNIVERSE about the things that happened in the show.
If you don't agree/ not comfortable with the things above, please, do yourself a favor and close this tab. if you're willing to jump in, I do hope you enjoy the ride! x
CHAPTER ONE
BOSTON. AUTUMN, 1964.
Dreary. Boston is dreary that one Monday. It's been raining since this morning and haven't stopped even till nearly dawn. Dark haired man with glasses on is reading a newspaper, sitting on the old and is slightly dusted couch. Nothing in particular really catches his attention, the news is just the same, it's always the same. He brings up the cigarette upon his thin lips— inhaling the nicotine that he obviously knows is bad for his lungs. But poison is always sweet and deadly.
"Excuse me, Dr. Thredson" A voice broke his attention from reading Martin Luther King is awarded the Nobel Prize.
"Yes?" He looks up.
"The Monsignor would like to have a word, before your shift's finished."
"Sure, I'll be there before 7" The Doctor answered the man in a white uniform of the Institute.
Once the inmate's gone, he goes back to his reading but something immediately catches his attention even before he lands his eyes on. It's a tune, softly piano tune that he is so familiar with. He glances up from his newspaper to the person who's sitting few feet across from him, with thin-feminine skillful fingers dancing on the black and white keys. Messy hair, clearly hasn't been combed for a several days, wrinkled cardigan and hospital gown identify the woman must be one of the patients of this mental institution. He never seen her before.
"Chopin" The fingers stop dancing. "That's quite a sad tune," He expects to find the vacant look like most of the patients have he often sees, but never has he stared before at such gentle and warm chocolate orbs from a pair of eyes.
She doesn't smile nor does she shrugs in ignorant, she is just silent, like the rest of the voices in the room. Oliver scoots few inches closer to her and immediately notices the flinching gesture. He licks his lips briefly, approaching her ever so carefully.
"What's your name?" Oliver asks gently, like he always does with every of his patients. "I'm Dr. Thredson," he offers a smile. This trick usually only works for young children he's treated, but where is the harm in trying.
"Lana," she replied. She doesn't know if she ever had done something good, because Sister Jude seemingly doesn't think so. But the smile on Oliver's face gets bigger and it almost wants to make her smile back at him. Almost.
...
Wendy.
The name tastes bitter in her lips. They say when two people are in love, they make each other happy. But what they fail to mention is the two people who are in love also hurt each other. Wendy, the woman whom she loves for the past two years of her life, leaves. Leaves, leaving her in this hell hole of the world. She doesn't care if Sister Jude or Mother Theresa blackmailed her, Lana wouldn't have signed the paper, prisoning the love of her life. But clearly Wendy isn't her. Lana knows Wendy's job as a teacher and reputation are important, but where does the love go? Where does the promise of always be together go? Does it fade away, vanishes into nothing?
Nothing but emptiness.
Like everything in Briarcliff.
"Lana?" Dr. Biggs' voice woke her up from her reverie. "What about Wendy? You still think about her?"
Lana stares at the doctor's piercing blue eyes. To say she doesn't think about Wendy will be a lie. No matter how much she doesn't want to, she can't help the longing in her heart to see the woman once again. Sometimes she sees her in her dreams, but even in dreams, Lana can't reach her. Wendy is just too far away. Lana brings the cigarette upon her lips, drags in the nicotine to fill her lungs, before blowing it out.
"I loathe her." Her once perfectly manicured fingers play with the bud of the deadly thing.
Dr. Biggs moves his pen on the little note he's holding. His scribble is just too messy for her to understand. The first few times she's being treated by him, Lana always tried to understand his thought. But right now, she doesn't even care what another treatment he's going to do to her.
"I'll give a try again for the aversion therapy next week."
"You want me to touch a man's genital again next week?" She looks at him like he just told her a joke.
"I need you to finish the treatment, Lana." He sighs, closing the black note book and her medical record. "Or else, you won't be able to get out of here."
Lana slumps and sighs in defeat. If there was another way to get out of this place without doing aversion conversion therapy she'd do it in a heartbeat. But maybe fate tells a different story. She blows the last smoke before putting it away in the ashtray and walks out of her therapist's room.
...
"Penny for your thought," a deep voice greets her in the common room. It's the doctor from few days ago. He smiles at her, he always smiles. Oliver unbuttons his black trimmed suits before sits down on the couch by the piano bench Lana is sitting on.
"You really love playing piano, do you" he flashes a smile again. If they were at a bar instead of mental institution, Lana would have thought the man was flirting with her. But who would flirt with a lunatic, or so they say about the people in here.
"It's the only thing that is nice about this place," she replies flatly.
"Fair enough," he nods. "Why Chopin?"
Lana shrugs, "I like his piece."
Oliver smiles again. There is something in his smile that always makes Lana wonders, but she too can't totally figure it out. A silent draws in between, but the awkwardness doesn't, and oddly that makes the situation rather strange. Lana looks down to her feet, seeing the white tennis shoes are now stained—unwashed. Her burgundy coloured cardigan is also wrinkled, nothing is pretty about her in this place.
"What did you do before Briarcliff, Lana?"
Lana looks up to him, her eyes glance at his. "I think you already know about that."
He smiles. "I know some of it. But I'd prefer to hear it from you."
"I'm a journalist. What else to know?" Lana shrugs her shoulder again.
"What do you write about?"
"Well, fashion." She hesitates. "But I've moved to crime stories, lately." Lana adds more confidently.
"That's intriguing." Oliver pulls out a pack of cigarette from his pocket. He offers her but Lana politely declines.
"That is, until it leads me here." She mumbles to herself. She doesn't know her curiosity will pay a great deal in her life, that is also ends things with Wendy.
"I know you're not like them."
Lana sees those brown eyes stare into hers. "What am I, Doctor"
He's about to say something before cut it off when an inmate walks by, eyeing the both of them closely. Lana and Oliver looks up at the person and watch him until he passes by.
"I know about Biggs's treatment, and I think both of us know it won't work."
Lana tilts her head. "What are you suggesting?"
"Let's just say, I have an alternate way to get you out"
"You'd help me?" Lana blinks in disbelief. "Why? You're not even my Doctor."
"Because I'll need you to do something that is not just for me or you."
Her brain is screaming to shake it off and walks away to her secluded room. But her heart and curiosity thump it over. There's always something strange yet serene about Oliver that makes Lana doesn't know what to expect.
"I don't trust you." She says bluntly.
"I know you don't." He smiles. "And you don't have to. The question is, do you want to jump in or not, that's up to you Ms. Winters."
"How do I know you're not tricking me?"
"You don't because I'm not." He puts away his cigarette. "Just like what I said before, I offer you this because I'll need something from you too."
"So it's like a win-win situation?"
"Quiet so."
Lana has learnt a long time ago to never believe in men. They are player, untrustworthy but she's so desperate to get out of this hell hole that the yellow light is blurred.
"What's the plan?"
Oliver smirks lightly. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Well you need my help, don't you" Lana wants to wipe off the smirks from his face. Ironically, this only makes his smirks bigger. She fights the urge to roll her eyes.
"I'll let you know on Monday." Oliver gets up from the couch and back to button up his suits. "Until then, Lana" He smiles, softly patting her shoulder.
Lana turns around and watches him walks away through the door of the common room. She wonders if she's doing something right by agreeing with his plan. She barely knows the man, she even isn't sure if whatever is this plan is, going to work.
But Lana is aware that his brief touch lingers till they meet again.
I am open to hearing your reviews and constructive criticism. I'd be happy if you'd leave one. :)
by the way, the piece is Nocturne Op. 9, no. 1 in B flat. (in case maybe, you'd like to know...)