Modern Day - Christine
"I have to tell you, Christine, we are really glad to have you with us. We've been so shorthanded lately, I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't shown up when you did."
"I am happy to be here. Everyone has been so friendly… and, if you don't mind me saying so, the pay is fantastic."
Dr. Richard chuckled a bit. "Well, you say that now… but give it a week or so. This is not exactly the most glamorous job."
I had to smile. Dr. Richard is a really sweet man… sort of the grandfatherly type. "That is rather… blunt… of you, sir. It's a miracle you got anyone to even apply with a speech like that."
"I think honesty is the best policy in this line of work."
"Good point," I admitted. "But don't worry, sir. 'Glamorous' is not what I was looking for."
"We'll work out just fine, then. But might I ask, Miss Daae… what is it you were looking for? I read through your résumé… college junior, music major… internships and volunteer work at local operas and theaters. All in all, I'd say it's all rather impressive. What I don't understand is what prompted you to take a job changing sheets and mopping floors in our hospital's psych ward."
"To be honest, sir, I think I was just looking for a change of pace for a few months."
There. I figured that was an ambiguous answer. I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth--that, when my father died, my career in music died with him--that I was going through a mid-mid-midlife crisis and just couldn't bring myself to sing anymore--that I wanted to run as far away from my life as possible instead of facing my problems. Nope. Dr. Richard was a nice enough guy, but he was a shrink, first and foremost, and I did not want him analyzing me or doing whatever it is they do when you'd rather just be left alone.
"Anyway," I continued, "I mentioned to Mrs. Giry that I was looking for a summer job and---"
"Oh, Marie Giry? I didn't know she was the one who recommended you! She's been with us for ages… best secretary I've ever had. Actually, I was just about to introduce you to her daughter, Meg, since you'll be working together. But I suppose that's not necessary anymore, now is it?"
"No, sir. Meg and I have known each other for as long as I can remember."
"Hey, Christine!" I heard a voice call. Meg has the amusing habit of popping up whenever her name is spoken. I sometimes wonder how she does it… like… does she have microphones everywhere or something, just in case someone is talking about her? It's really weird… but really funny.
"Ah. Miss Giry, we were just talking about you. Perhaps you'd like to walk with us?"
"Sure."
"As you are aware, the Snowdrop Garden Institute is a subsidiary of the main hospital, which is located a good two miles away. That gives us a certain amount of privacy, which helps keep the patients calm. Unfortunately it means that, as I generally split my time between the two campuses, I am not always available to come running whenever there is a problem. Therefore my colleague, Dr. Moncharmin, will be handling the day to day emergencies."
"Emergencies? Do you have a lot of them?" I asked, slightly nervous. So far, I was getting some pretty strange mental images of this place. I have seen too many movies.
He just laughed. "Just as many as can be expected. But that's nothing you need to concern yourself with. For the most part, your duties will be limited to general housekeeping--mopping the floors of the common rooms, changing bed sheets while the patients are out… that sort of thing--and also assisting the kitchen staff and delivering meals when necessary. I just want you to be familiar with everything that happens here, just in case."
I took a little sigh of relief. I had taken the job because I was sick of dealing with people. Standing about in a laundry room, folding pillowcases, seemed like the most perfect thing I could think of.
The full tour lasted about an hour as Dr. Richard prattled on about… well… more than I ever cared to know. He was a researcher at heart, I believe, and couldn't stop straying to the various things he was learning about particular syndromes and which patient was responding to which treatments.
More than once I have wondered about doctor-patient confidentiality and how that holds up with Dr. Richard's enthusiasm for chatter. But I am not a challenging personality by nature, and I don't tend to ask many questions--which, it turns out, is why they hired me. I decided to stay silent and just be thankful that he was not my doctor.
While it was mildly interesting--I guess you could call it that--I found my mind drifting during his speech. Thankfully, Meg continued to tag along and make whispered comments and silly faces when the doctor wasn't listening. I made little noises of acknowledgement at regular intervals as I tried to memorize all the wings and corridors we passed through.
Eventually we came upon a hallway that was unlike the rest. I can't describe it, really… it was just less friendly looking, and more secure. A burly looking orderly leaned against the wall, reading one of those conspiracy newspapers (you know, the one with the three hundred pound baby or the eyewitness account of Elvis eating at a local Denny's) with a bored expression on his face.
His eyes lit up, though, when he caught sight of Meg.
"Little Giry," he said cheerfully, "How's my favorite girl?"
I over at the girl in question, who was practically beet red.
"I'm fine Joe," she said with more bashfulness than I have ever seen Meg project. "Joe this is my friend Christine. She's new here."
Before my blushing friend could continue the introduction, the man called 'Joe' stuck his massive, hairy hand out for me to shake.
"Nice ta meetcha Chrissy! The name's Joseph. Joseph Buquet. But you can call me Joe… Little Giry does."
Ah. So this was the infamous Joseph Buquet. Meg has had a crush on him since the third grade. I doubt he had any clue, though. Why would he? He was like fifteen years older than her. For crying out loud… she used to bring him Play-Doh sculptures when she came to visit her mom at work!
I shook the man's hand and leaned over to Meg and whispered, "What do you see in him?"
She gave me a starry-eyed smile and said, "He tells the best stories."
Well. Whatever. To each his own, I suppose.
"Thanks… ah… Joe. It is a pleasure to meet you as well. Meg says you tell great stories--I'd love to hear one sometime."
Meg took that opportunity to punch me in the shoulder and bury her face in her hands.
"Oh, you betcha! You're new here… I bet you've never heard of what they keep hidden in the---"
"Mr. Buquet," Dr. Richard interrupted, "don't go scaring the poor girl with your ghost stories. It is her first day."
He shrugged. "Alrighty. Maybe later. I'll see you around, then."
He smiled and flicked Meg on the forehead before going back to his reading. I looked down the unfriendly hallway that he appeared to be guarding saw another man--a doctor, by the looks of it--walking toward us.
"Dr. Moncharmin," Dr. Richard said genially, "I was hoping you'd pop up. I'd like you to meet Miss Daae."
I shook the new doctor's hand. He was polite enough, but he seemed to miss that sense of warmth that I got from Dr. Richard. Not that there's anything wrong with that--if you want to be cold and professional, who am I to argue? I only meant to say that I didn't get that same sort of friendliness I did from everyone else.
"Good to finally meet you, Miss Daae. I knew when I read your résumé that you would be perfect for this job."
That was a rather odd comment, I thought. I mean… didn't Dr. Richard say the exact opposite an hour ago?
"We were just giving Miss Daae the ten cent tour. Care to join us?"
"Actually, Dr. Richard, I just came to remind you of the board meeting you are five minutes late for at the hospital."
Dr. Richard got a panicked look. "Oh no! I absolutely forgot!" Apparently that happens often. "Dr. Moncharmin, would you be so kind as to finish up here?"
"I would be delighted. Miss Daae, if you would follow me…"
Meg and I went to follow him down the hallway from which he came but he stopped us and turned around. "Miss Giry, I believe they needed some extra help in the kitchen. Run along and see if you can lend a hand."
She looked slightly annoyed. "But I wanted--"
"Now, Miss Giry," he commanded. With a huff, she trotted off, leaving me feeling rather awkward that the doctor had dispatched both my companions in under a minute.
I followed him down the long passage until we reached a dark, metal door that was locked with a keypad and one of those hand-scanner things I thought only existed in movies. When he turned to me next, he had lost his polite tone and his face was very grim.
"Miss Daae, before we start I would like to remind you of the confidentiality contract you signed when you were first hired."
"Yes, sir."
"You are to reveal none of what you see here to anyone. Do you understand?"
I was a little confused about why he chose to remind me of this now… but I still confirmed that I understood. Somehow I had a feeling that this wouldn't have been a part of Dr. Richard's tour.
After a suspicious look, he nodded and unlocked the heavy steel door. I have to admit it was all rather dark and ominous seeming. I wondered if Dr. Moncharmin had a penchant for melodrama.
Turns out he doesn't. He is absolutely serious when a situation demands it.
"In this ward, we keep the most dangerous of our patients. We have thirteen currently. Once a month, they are escorted to down the hall for showers, medical and psychological evaluations, and the like. You will do your best to clean and inspect each empty room as this is happening. In the meantime, you will deliver meals on specialized trays from the kitchens."
I was… rather flabbergasted. This was making less and less sense to me.
"Once a month? But what about the counseling sessions… or group therapy? How can they--"
He interrupted me. "Let me put it this way: these patients will not--they cannot--be rehabilitated. They will never leave this place. Our job is merely to house them--keep them fed and alive and, most importantly, away from the rest of society."
"Is that… is that even legal?"
He sighed. "The law does not reach to this ward. I am not happy about it, either… but the hospital gets a lot of money to make these people go away. We just… we deal with it the best we can."
I started to interject again, but he surprised me by taking on of my hands in both of his.
"Try to understand. I know this sounds cruel, Miss Daae. I thought so too, once. But, trust me, these are not the kind of people you want running loose in the streets."
The look in his eyes was… just so pained. I was not reassured in the slightest… but it was enough for me to keep quiet for the time being.
Not that I would have had much to say. I was rendered rather speechless as we walked slowly down the corridor. Each room was marked with a number. At the top of each door was a window, about the size of my head, and at the bottom was a little slot, I assume through which the food would be delivered. I peeked in one of the windows and saw that the cells were equipped with a bed, sink, and toilet--the basic components of a room that one would not be able to leave--and no more.
"Go ahead and look," the doctor prompted. I suppose I had not done a very good job of looking without looking like I was looking. I wasn't sure if it was rude or not. Dr. Moncharmin beckoned me over and tapped lightly on the glass of one of the windows. "Two-way mirrors," he explained. "You can see in, but they can't see you." Then he gestured to one of the individual speakers. "We use these to communicate with the patients inside. Otherwise they cannot hear us, either."
I'll have to admit, I was becoming quickly fascinated with everything I was seeing--the sick sort of fascination that makes you keep staring at a horror flick, even though you know it is way too gory and you're going to get nightmares later. Anyway, I cautiously wandered the corridor, peering into each cell and observing the people inside.
"They don't look very dangerous," I observed.
"Looks can deceive, which I am sure you know." Tapping on the glass, he pressed the intercom button on one of the cell doors and said a few words. I nearly fell back in surprise when the man inside began raving and clawing at the door.
"Why am I down here?" I asked. "Are you sure this is safe?" I was having second thoughts about this job. And I could speculate why it paid so well.
"I assure you it is quite safe as long as you keep to yourself and stay in this corridor. Not even the most clever escape artist could open one of these doors."
I was not overly convinced, but I nodded anyway. Sometimes I look back on this and I wonder what on earth was wrong with me. Have I always been so stupid? I should have run before I reached the end of the hallway. Because as soon as I arrived at Cell 13, I was lost. There would be no turning back for me. Ever.
Inside I saw the figure of a man, sitting on his bed and scribbling furiously on bits of paper. I could not keep my eyes away. But then, suddenly, he stopped. He appeared to--I don't know if this is the right description--sniff the air and look suspiciously around the room. Every ounce of breath left my lungs in a surprised burst as he turned and looked right at me with glowing, yellow eyes.
"Are you sure they can't see us?" I asked, rather unnerved.
"Quite sure," the doctor assured me.
It was hard to be assured, though, when his eyes seemed to be meeting mine with intensity. It seemed to be so… on purpose. But the doctor had no reason to lie. If he said they were two-way mirrors, they probably were.
Dr. Moncharmin seemed to notice what had spooked me and spoke up. "That is Erik," he explained. "He would tell us nothing more about himself than that. We do not even know a last name. But don't worry, you won't be having anything to do with him whatsoever. I'll have Mr. Buquet bring his food once every day or two. That is a task in itself. Thankfully, he doesn't choose to eat very often."
"But I thought you let them out once a month? What then?"
"Not him. Not under any circumstances," he said firmly. "Erik has not left that room for over twenty years."
"But what about--"
"It is simply too risky. He is unlike anyone else I have ever encountered. To open that door would mean putting this entire hospital in jeopardy. Possibly even more than that, if he were to get loose."
Even then I was feeling his draw. Throughout his explanation I could not seem to break my stare with the yellow eyed man. It is the oddest thing to have a staring contest with someone who supposedly can't even see you, by the way.
"Why does he wear a mask?" I asked, a moment later.
Dr. Moncharmin shook his head and took hold of my arm, steering me back out toward the exit. "No more questions, Miss Daae. I believe we have seen enough for one afternoon. Let's go back to the front office, shall we? It is almost time for lunch. I will introduce you to the kitchen staff."
I don't really remember the rest of the day. I am sure I learned all sorts of important things. But I could not seem to stop thinking about the man they call Erik. And the other patients, of course… but mostly Erik. It is like I was terrified and enthralled with him at the same time.
Why me? It did not make any sense. Why would they hire someone brand new, who has yet to prove themselves, to take on such a sensitive task? That is the kind of thing you entrust a senior member of the staff with. I was only a summer-hire! I should not have even be allowed to see that area of the hospital--much less work there.
Why would the managers do that?
As it would turn out--they wouldn't. Normally. But this was a special case.
For better or for worse, Fate had intervened.
The rules of reality no longer applied.
