Standard disclaimers apply.
There is nothing but the water, icy fingers stabbing at her skin, liquid seeping into the rough fabric of her dress and washing the color in her cheeks away with it. First comes the shivering, then the numbness. The folded scrap of paper tucked in her painfully-tight braid must be damaged beyond repair now. She's certain her lungs are as she gasps for a breath.
The wind whistles through the vacant hall with a chilling moan, swirling over the droplets on her skin and making her teeth chatter all the harder. Footsteps circle around her, and she can't tell where the next onslaught is going to come from. There's no warning, just the cold. It always catches her by surprise.
Next time you'll take your bath like a good girl, the sneering voices whisper in her ear. If she's lucky, there won't be a next time. This shouldn't happen ever again.
The things she's going to write when she gets out of this. She'll shut the place down for sure. No elaborate coverup, no amount of lies, could possibly erase the fact that this is happening. When she gets out, they're going to wish they'd never heard her name.
If she gets out.
For the first time in years, she wishes for her father.
She thought by now she'd be used to the screaming, but each fresh shriek still sets her teeth on edge and sends goosebumps tingling down the length of her spine. She can't tell if the night nurses are doing something to provoke it or if the poor girls are simply terrified and genuinely insane — she wishes she could see what is going on more clearly. She also wishes she had a pencil, something to record what she hears. But she doesn't. They took it away, first thing.
The shadows on the walls seem lengthened, seem like they're moving, seem darker than should be possible and ringed with light like hellfire. That's probably in her head, though — she's starting to doubt her own sanity, wonder if this place is actually driving her mad too. She's certain it's done so for some of the other girls. Many of the people she's met don't deserve to be here, and none of them deserve to be treated like this.
The door is thick and solid and very securely locked — she's checked several times. There is no way out, no way for her to leave even if she wanted to. She wonders if this is how Jack felt in the Refuge.
At least he knew he would be released sooner or later. She isn't sure anyone's coming for her anymore.
"You know it's dangerous to lock the doors at night," she says seriously, peering at the man with a distasteful expression. "What if there was a fire? The girls would burn."
He sighs, clicking his tongue softly. "Now now, Kitty. Everyone is perfectly safe here. The nurses have been instructed to open the doors at the first sign of danger."
That's what they call her here. Kitty, Kitty Parker. Only her initials are the same, though she can't remember why that was important now. Even if they did realize who she is, they aren't anywhere near competent enough to discover she's actually sane, undercover, a spy. They see what they want to see, and their science is nothing more than dusty files that are never looked at again. She's lost faith in the entire institution, and she didn't have much to begin with.
"What if the nurses don't unlock the doors?"
"They will." His voice carries a note of finality, and she decides not to push her luck. Not when there are hardened, emotionless nurses waiting just beyond the closed door to take her back to her cell. So many doors are closed here. It makes it hard to breathe. "But we're not here to talk about our policies, Kitty. We're here to talk about you."
"I don't want to," she replies, quite honestly. "I find this place so much more fascinating."
"That's unfortunate," he replies calmly, waving the nurse in, and before she's fully aware of what's happening she's been poked and measured and used to fill out another yellowed sheet of notes that proves a lie.
It's easier for her to identify which girls are sane than it is for the doctors to write them all off as crazy. She can't seem to stop herself from defending them, even though she knows deep down it will only make it harder for everyone in the end.
Mary is small and mouselike and holds her arm at a funny angle, because her husband injured her when he came home drunk one evening and the bone was never allowed to set. She was sent to the island as soon as it became clear she meant to speak out about her treatment.
"Men shouldn't treat women any differently than they treat each other!" Katherine exclaims to anyone who will listen when she finds out. Unfortunately she has attracted the attention of the wrong audience, but she keeps going nonetheless. "That's barbaric, it's inhumane, and it's just plain wrong! Why lock someone up for wanting to feel safe?"
She can see enough of the clipboard in front of her to make out some of the scribbles. Her mind fills in the rest: Unable to comprehend a woman's place in society. Insanity inhibits functionality. Critical.
"Of course, look who I'm talking to about humanity," she mutters under her breath, infuriated, but apparently the nurse hears. She doesn't see the fist until it's already connecting with her face. And she'd thought they'd been exaggerating about the beatings.
When she comes to there's a bruise on her cheek and a sick feeling in her stomach, and she lies on the floor with tears dripping down her nose trying to remember why exactly she doesn't want Jack to come and save her right now.
But she's made it this far. She can last.
She has to.
Reviews are confidence boosters!
Much love,
KnightNight7203