Chapter 9: This Mind of Mine
The girl walked through the field of black orchids, whilst the boy walked through a sun-stained cloud. Different paths, they were on. That was clear.
And which would one prefer? The orchids, black, beautiful, and rare? Or the cloud, yellow, filled with joy, and oh, so frequent?
If you chose to walk with the orchids, you might be just as rare as they. However, it is not bad to choose to walk among the clouds, so long as you try not to spread the joy you are obsessed with now as if you were some "born again Christian".
That girl, that lonely girl walking among the black orchids, is content. She is the better of the two in this respect. She does not wish to spread her darkness if they don't want it, but if they do, she is more than willing.
To the blind -not in the eyesight sense of the word- I am contradicting my previous statement, when I say this. I am not, in truth. A word of advice: be like the girl whom walks among the orchids, even if you would rather walk through the clouds. For you can walk through the clouds all you like. But it will do you no good until you learn to love the orchids for what they are, unlike yourself and beautiful in their own way.
~Walk Among the Orchids
Morticia Addams
December 24th, 1986
(Morticia's P.O.V.)
I put up the hood of my cloak.
Most of the bodies the eyes belong to slowly step into the light.
There is a girl, of around five foot seven, with fair white skin. She is skinny, and has sea green eyes with black, curly hair in a bob. She appears to have a beauty mark above her upper lip, to the right. She is skinny, but seems to have a nice figure. She wears a white hospital gown.
I notice a young boy, who looks no more than twenty. He seems no more than an inch taller than I, who stands at five foot nine. He has fair white skin as well, and blue eyes with wavy, brown hair. He is skinny, and wear white hospital pants with a matching shirt.
There is an older man who is very tall and on the tanner side. His eyes are brown, and he has chestnut brown hair, and stubble. He wears the same outfit as the young boy.
"Hello." I speak.
The girl looks at me, questioningly and turns up the flashlight, making the cell brighter. "Hello." She replies.
Good, we're engaging in conversation. "Where am I?" I ask.
The young boy sees me and takes a step back, as if he is afraid.
The older man sighs. "One of the new ones, aye?"
"I'm sorry?" What does he mean by that?
"Damn it all, we just got a new one." The girl grimaces.
"A new what?" I stand.
"Oh, sorry. A new cellmate. You won't be dressed like that for long, missy." The girl explains.
"I see."
"Well, we might as well get introductions out of the way. Let me tell you, I'm real sick of this crap. I'm gonna give that doctor a piece of my mind one of these days."
"Shut up, you aren't going to do shit." The older man says to her.
She goes a bit quiet. "Maybe one of these days, I will." She mumbles. She then turns to me. "That guy over there," she points to the older man. "Is Richard. He's the oldest at thirty-seven. Once you get to know him, you'll understand why his nickname is Dick."
"Hey-"
The girl cuts him off. "That's Ash. He's twenty-two." She points to the timid young boy.
Ash waves at me, and I wave back.
"I'm twenty-seven." She shakes my hand. Well, she gripped it for a few seconds and then let go.
"And what's your name?" I ask.
"I'm Evil."
I pause. "Oh, please, darling. True evil isn't-"
"No, that's my name." Evil cuts me off.
Interesting. "Well, it's very straightforward. It's a lovely name. Might I ask who named their child Evil?"
She gives a small, sarcastic laugh. "Yea, you can ask all you'd like. But I wouldn't know the answer."
The room stares. Perhaps to see how I'll react?
I straighten my back, even though it hurts. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be, I'm not missing anything." Oh, the poor girl. How long has she been here?
"Ash used to be the baby until the new one came. Hey, how old are you?" Richard asks.
Well, then. Isn't he the gentleman? "I'm twenty-nine." I say. "I'm Morticia."
I extend my hand and he shakes it. Not what I'm accustomed to, but fine.
Before anyone can respond, I hear a cry coming from inside the cage. Nobody appears at all phased.
"What was that?" I ask.
Evil rolls her eyes. "Ignore it, it's yesterday's newcomer."
That's right, they called her the baby. "Oh, the poor dear, is she alright?"
"She's fine, Morticia. Don't bother. She's barely talked to anyone, all we can get is her name and her age." Evil seems to be the ring leader.
"I wish you guys would try to help her, I hate it when she cries." Ash says.
I raise my eyebrow. "Well, why don't you?"
"I... it's just hard here, and she won't really talk." Ash tries to explain.
I shake my head. "How old is she?"
"We said don't bother, who-" I cut Evil off.
"How old is she?" I ask again.
"She's nineteen." Evil responds.
"Oh my god." I feel awful for her. Nineteen years old and being subjected to this, not to mention the poor manners and brutality.
I follow the crying and see a wisp of a girl. She is presumably five foot six. She has fair white skin, on the paler side and big, brown eyes. She has small waves of long, dark blonde hair. She looks so young, one can tell she's only nineteen. She is closed in the same hospital gown as Evil.
She is staring up at me, tears falling down her face like the rain Gomez and I used to watch out the window at night. As I look at her face, I can feel his strong arms around me, holding me and whispering those Spanish and Italian terms of endearment in my ear. Reassuring me if I've had a bad day or talking to me if I've had a good one. I have had that, this broken beauty in front of me hasn't seen anything like it.
I get on my knees and sit in front of her. "Hello, dear. I'm Morticia."
She doesn't back away, but I suppose that very well may be because she can't. Something changes in her face, although I cannot quite point it out, and she stops crying.
I take this as a sign to keep going, and I place a gentle hand on the girl's knee, where her elbows rest. "What's your name?"
"E-E... Emily." She manages to say.
She looks like an Emily.
I give a small smile. "I do not know what you have been subjected to. But whatever it was, it was enough to put you at such a state as this. And-"
"Morticia, -"
"Shh!" I cut Richard off. I continue. "And for that, my dear girl, I am truly sorry." I take my hand off of her knee. "If there is anything you need, please-"
A fresh flood of tears come and the girl embraces me. I had no idea a girl of such a petite stature could possess such strength.
Although she is only ten years younger than I, I feel almost like a surrogate mother to this girl. I stroke her hair and she buries her head in my cloak.
Am I using this Emily to fill a void because I miss my Wednesday? No. I do not do that to people. But, does Emily remind me of consoling my own children? Oh, yes.
I can feel all eyes on me. I wonder why? Perhaps, it is because I am the only one who has attempted to help this poor girl.
I rub her back and she continues to cry.
"Will you help me?" Emily asks. She sounds like a young, intelligent girl who was going places in life until... this happened.
"Yes, of course, I'll help you dear. I'll try not to leave your side."
"Thank you." She smiles, relieved and grasps onto me for dear life. "They cover this cage at night or sometimes during the day." She whispers. "I can't stand it, being alone in dark terrifies me."
"Alright, dear. Alright, now, listen to yourself. Why would being alone in the dark scare you? You have much more to fear from the people around you in the dark than yourself."
She seems to ponder this. "Yes, I... I suppose I do." She sits down and leans against the bars.
I sit next to her and do the same.
"What..." Emily gulps. "What did they do to you, why... why are you here?"
"They took me from my backyard. I was walking through our cemetery and they kidnapped me. That was about a week ago, now. It took five days to get here. Today would be my..." I control my emotions as I realize it is my seventh day missing. "My seventh day missing. And I don't really know why I'm here, dear."
She shakes her head, hyperventilating. "Oh my God. Oh my god, what if... what if they took Bryan?" She puts her head in her hands and cries again.
I put a hand on her shoulder, and give a cold stare to those watching and refusing to help.
"Who's Bryan?" I ask.
"My brother, he's only ten years old. He can't survive here, neither can I but he... he's going to die." She shakes her head, psyching herself out.
"Now, don't do that, Emily." I have my arm around her and I pat her hand. "Do you see him anywhere? No, if they took him, he'd be in the cage with us."
Evil gives a bitter laugh. "No, he wouldn't."
"Evil, don't say anything." Ash tries to stop her.
"No, they should know the truth." Evil holds a hand in his face. "He could easily be in any one of these cages."
I look up at her. "There's more?" I ask.
Richard nods, standing and leaning against the bars. "Yep."
Emily shakily lifts her head to look at Evil, and I can tell she is easily intimidated. "How... how many of us are there?" She asks.
"How many of us?" Evil sighs. "Two hundred fifty, and counting."
Emily sobs again.
"There, there, darling. We won't be here forever." I say to her.
Richard laughs, loudly. "Now, that's a load of shit if I've ever heard it! I've been here for ten years. Evil's been here-"
"Shut up." Evil commands.
"A long time, too." Richard rephrases internally.
"Yes, and I have been here two days. What does that have to with the price of cyanide in the drug store?"
Richard seems confused. "What?"
"What?"
Richard resumes what he was saying. "We aren't leaving. We're either getting released or staying, and no one gets released."
"Well..." Evil smiles. "Not in the we're gonna let you go sense."
Emily is shaking with fear and leans into me. I stroke her hair and give all three of them death glares. The poor girl is worried enough as it is.
"Alright, alright, Emily. Everything's going to be fine. Would it help to think about your family?"
"I take... I take care of my brother, my mom was... was taken to the hospital last year. My dad... he died in Afghanistan. He was in... he was in the Marines."
I nod. "I'm so sorry, dear. My father passed away when I was a little younger than you were. Perhaps I can invite you over and we can séance him sometime, hmm?" I squeeze her shoulder.
Emily cracks a slight smile and closes her eyes. "What am I going to do?" She asks.
I run my hand down her shoulder. "Rest, dear. Alright? Rest and be strong. We'll get through whatever this is, I promise." I turn to Evil and Richard. "Won't we?"
"I mean, -"
All it takes is one look and Evil stops dead in her tracks.
"Sure."
I then watch her close her eyes and I begin to sing mine and Gomez's song, Goodbye Sweet Sanity.
I do not even get through the second chorus when the cover comes off of the cell and light invades the cage.
As if on cue, Evil shuts off the flashlight.
My cellmates spread out to all ends of our cage.
I turn my head to see Dr. Nightshade, carrying a clipboard.
"Hello, inmates." She greets us, coldly. "You can relax, I'm here for Morticia. Your schedule for your shower has been changed, so Dr. Ankerstein will be here to escort you in ten minutes."
Evil shakes her head. "This is the fourth time it's been rescheduled."
Dr. Nightshade raises an eyebrow. "Evil, if you talk back to me one more time, your sleeping with the crazies tonight."
Whatever the hell that means, is enough to make Evil shut up.
"What do you say?" Dimentia presses.
"I'm sorry, doctor." Evil mumbles.
"We have an open slot, actually. You haven't seen Archie in years-"
"I'm sorry, doctor." Evil says, loudly. One would think she is talking to a colonel or sergeant.
"Better. You're making progress, Evil." Dr. Nightshade opens the cage door and turns her attention to me. "Morticia, over here."
Emily latches onto me like a leech, shaking her head.
I gently take her hands off of me and set them in her lap. "Emily, dear, I will be back."
She is still shaking her head and crying.
"Control her, Morticia and come here." Dr. Nightshade orders. "Or I will."
I do as I am told, for Emily's sake. "I will be right back, be a good girl while I'm gone, dear, alright?" I bend down and whisper to her, "We're in this together." And I walk out of the cage.
Emily appears paralyzed, frozen in place, like a statue.
I stand by Dimentia.
"Alright, good girl." Dimentia forces a rope around my wrist and holds the other end. She then closes the cage doors. "Walk with me." She orders.
I resent this, I feel like a dog. I internally shudder, but I take after the vile woman.
She leads me down the hall and to a brown door of what I presume is a bathroom. It has a triangle and a rectangle on it and they both have heads.
Dimentia opens the door to reveal that I was right. It is a small room while peeling white paint and green, floral wallpaper that is falling off the walls. The floor is dilapidated and the sink is small. The toilet looks older than dirt itself.
She unties my wrist and shoves the same type of white hospital gown that Evil and Emily wear into my arms. "Strip and give me your clothes." She orders. "Bra as well, leave your panties on."
I do so, and Dimentia looks at her watch in frustration. I don't think the doctor realizes that I am wearing heels, tights, a cloak, a tight nightgown that I cannot unzip on my own and dangling earrings. As well as my wedding ring, but I won't take that off. I don't care what they do to me. Thankfully, though, she has not asked.
I am finally undressed and I slip the flimsy gown up over my head. It is a light cotton material, so there is no need for a tie. However, because of my long legs and figure, a short, shapeless white gown isn't what I would describe as flattering.
"There." I say, tired. "Now, what? Would you like me to dance, as well?"
Dimentia rolls her eyes. "Shut the hell up and learn to show me some respect."
"You don't deserve my respect." I say to her.
"Oh, don't I? You would have been raped by Dr. Winthrop if it weren't for me."
"We both know you would have let that happen if it worked out in your favour."
Dimentia looks at me, coldly. "I would have. But lucky for you, it didn't. Now, if you have to shit, do it. I let bathroom breaks happen right before you see the other doctors."
I must use the bathroom. I have go, desperately but is she going to be in here?
I nod. "Alright, I'll be out soon."
She chuckles. "I won't let you be inhere alone until hell freezes over."
"It appears you can let me in then. If hell hasn't frozen over by now I'd hate to see what this looks like when it does."
"Knock it off." She orders.
"What will I do?" I ask. "I know I have the complexion of an apparition but I can assure you walking through walls is not an option for me."
Dimentia crosses her arms. "You could kill yourself on the sink, bash your head in... so many opportunities."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I ask.
"No." She replies. "Then what fun would this be?"
I wouldn't, no matter how terrible this gets. I have to believe that Gomez is coming for me. He wouldn't let me go, ever. That man fights for me and he wins, every time. And this time will be no different. I will get out of here and so will Emily. I'll be damned if I let that girl waste away in here.
"You're sick." I say and hover above the toilet.
"And soon, you will be." Dr. Nightshade smiles.
After I wash my hands with what little soap there was left, the rope is tied to my left wrist once again and we walk out.
I can feel the cold floor beneath my feet and I hate it. They're small for my height, a size six overall.
I concentrate on them and the sound of Dr. Nightshade's heels click-clacking down the hall.
We walk down flights of steep, black stairs and enter a basement. It's giving me serious flashbacks to when Dr. Winthrop used to...
There he is. The room is dark and there is a white, dentist-doctor hybrid chair in the middle of it. There are needles filled with different liquids, and they are labeled but I do not understand what they read. There are tools all lied out on a tray next to the chair.
Next to Dr. Winthrop, is a tall, thin, African woman with long, cocoa coloured hair and dark pink lipstick. She wars natural eye makeup, a lab coat, black heels and black frame glasses, like Dimentia. She wears white gloves, as does Dr. Winthrop.
"Hello, is this Morticia?" The African woman asks, in an upbeat tone of voice.
Dr. Nightshade nods. "Yes, Dr. Ankerstein. This is the one I've been telling you about."
"A nice figure, that one has." Dr. Ankerstein looks me up and down, and stops when she gets to my face. "Dr. Nightshade, you're terrible! You know we can't start until she takes off that makeup."
"Well, we had no more rags." Dr. Nightshade says, defensively.
"Well, lucky for her, we have plenty." Dr. Ankerstein turns to Dr. Winthrop. "Right, doctor?"
"Yes, Christine." He throws a prolonged predatory gaze at me. "And she'd look so pretty without it." He gave a great sigh. "Perhaps even prettier than she does with it."
I break the gaze. "Why do I need my makeup off?" I ask.
"Because, dear. It'll smear all over the tools if we need to use your face." I hear an oddly familiar voice, and I cannot place my finger on it. I turn around to see who it belongs to, and my blood boils.
Rags in hand, standing before me, is George Womack. He is a tall man, with brown hair that has almost gone fully grey. He has eyes that look like they have seen too much, and a body that looks like it has been through a war, and while it didn't win, it out up a big fight.
"George?" I ask, my voice hoarse.
George freezes. "Hello, Morticia. It's so good to see you again."
"Why on earth are you here?" I ask, hurt. Wonderful, I cannot even trust my own neighbours now.
George Womack's mustache twitches and he chuckles. "It seems your husband threw one too many golf balls through my window, aye, Tish?" He pinches my cheek and hands me the rags.
"Pardon?" I snap.
"Well, that's your nickname, is it not?" George asks.
I shake my head. "You don't get to call me that. Up until now, you called me Mrs. Addams."
"Yea, up until now, you called me Judge Womack." He says.
"You don't deserve a professional title."
"Aww, and neither do you." He says. "Dr. Ankerstein, please take her to the bathroom. I'll help adjust her chair."
Dr. Ankerstein leads me into a bathroom by the back wall that looks slightly better than the last one I was just in.
I wash my face, scrubbing off my lipstick that doesn't look as bad as I thought it did, and my heavy eyeliner.
Dr. Ankerstein is shocked at the fact that this foundation is not foundation at all, but infact, it is my skin. I am naturally white as a ghost.
"My, you're awfully pale." She remarks.
"Thank you." My tone is anything but grateful.
"Your welcome, honey. Now put your hair up." Christine hands me a black ponytail holder. She does not seem kind, she seems crazy.
I shake my head and put my hair up in a high bun, with a strand hanging down.
"You are a good girl." Dr. Ankerstein leads me out of the bathroom and to the newly adjusted chair.
"How did she behave, Christine?" Dr. Nightshade asks.
"She's an angel, Dimentia." Dr. Ankerstein nods.
Dr. Winthrop grabs me and straps my wrists into the chair. "We meet again, black beauty." He looks at the other doctors with pleading eyes.
Dr. Nightshade gives a small nod of approval.
Without another word, he kisses me and I want to vomit. Dr. Winthrop forces his tongue inside of my mouth and shoves his hand under the seat, grabbing my ass.
Dr. Nightshade clears her throat. "Get back to work, Winthrop. That's all you get to do for now." She tells him.
Dr. Winthrop does as he is told and grabs a needle filled with white, bubbling liquid.
He injects it into my vein, and no sooner than this do I feel bile forming in my throat. I feel sick, so terribly sick and I want to throw up but something is preventing me from doing so. My world is distorted, and I feel tears forming in my eyes, for no reason at all.
Dr. Winthrop turns toward the doctors. "Number 432: acid-based substance, Fliphamine. Created last December 2nd, 1994. Effects of the drug are as follows: distortion, nausea and tear projection." He looks at me. "Do you feel a burning sensation, black beauty?"
I shake my head, but when it comes, it burns my entire being and I feel as though I have just swallowed Mr. Sun. I nod, unable to speak.
"And a strong burning sensation." He tells the doctors.
Dimentia writes everything on her clipboard.
Little do I know, the worst is yet to come, and this injection is the first of many.
For what feels like days but in reality, is only until around 9:30 pm, I am tortured with injection after injection. But the only true torture is the feeling of Winthrop's rough, chapped, old lips against mine. I am injected with substances made from every acidic thing they can find from lemon juice and Redphormin -whatever the hell that is- to some weird, wrong form of penicillin.
The side effects range from making me hallucinate and want to kill everyone around me, to making me believe I am watching myself rot from the inside out. Sometimes, the drugs will make me paranoid or -and this has only happened twice- do nothing at all but make me shake a bit. And oh, what I wouldn't give for just a bit of cyanide. Yes, for myself, but also to inject into these horrendous doctors, and George.
Womack won't leave me alone, and keeps calling me Tish just to get under my skin. Dr. Ankerstein just keeps acting like they're giving me a relaxing massage rather than jabbing me with a large, sharp needle over and over again. And she keeps promising that this is all in the name of science, whatever that means. And under the circumstances, the massage would be better. Dr. Nightshade just forces everyone else to do her dirty work whilst she sits on the sidelines and jots my hurt down on a clipboard. And I'd rather not discuss Dr. Winthrop, but I know I must. He has come back for me with a vengeance, and makes sexual advances towards me every chance he gets.
But at 9:30, at 9:30, it is over.
I am unstrapped and weaker than I realize. How I will manage to walk up the stairs, I have no idea.
I am let up out of the chair, no help from anyone in the entire room (not that I expected it) and am shoved over to Dr. Nightshade, whom secures the rope around my wrist.
I am not at all steady on my feet, and I fall over. I notice now that not one of these people has my old clothes, and I am afraid to ask what they have done with them.
"Get up." Dr. Nightshade orders.
I can't, I'm sore and tired, but I try.
She kicks me in the side. "Get up or your sleeping with the crazies tonight."
I don't know what that means, but I know I have to get up. I have to get up for Emily.
I stand, weak and she leads me back up the stairs.
"You're taking a late shower today, so you'll have it to yourself this time. But this is the only time, so make it last. I am not in the habit of generosity."
I nod and keep walking, saying nothing.
"What do we say?"
"I suppose you're looking for a 'thank you'?" I ask her.
"Yes." We get to the top of the stairs and she slaps me across the face. "I am."
"Thank you." I say. On a normal day, I wouldn't put up with it. But that girl in there needs me.
"Better, you're learning." She pulls me toward large, baby blue double doors and lets me in there alone.
"Why in here, may I be alone?" I ask her.
"Because it would take a while to bash your head in, and if you so much as try, I will know and you'll have your first offense written down."
I nod. "May I go in, doctor?" I ask, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.
She gestures for me to enter. "Fifteen minutes starts now."
I enter, shutting the door behind me.
I study the setting. The shower is the size of our cage, and there are six shower-heads. In each area, there is a shelf and it has a razor on it. There is soap and shampoo in the corner of the room that has seen better days and a section for one's clothing by the door, where the worn and torn rags are.
I strip, and take the bun out of my hair. I then walk to the farthest showerhead. It turns on, and the water starts off freezing, but then becomes slightly better. It soon is tolerable, and I shave with the flimsy razor. It hurt like hell and cut me more than a couple of times. As I shower, I steal glances at the wedding ring on my finger, and let the water run down my face, masking the tears I hid from the world I now find myself in.
I let it all out here. I am thinking of Gomez, and of how much I miss him, and of how lonely that big bed must be without me in it. I miss Kitty and the children, and the rest of the family. I need Gomez's arms around me now, more than ever and he doesn't even know where I am.
And then I think of how strong I always have to be, and how this is no different. I have to remain in control, and collected. And I have to be there for Emily, because nobody else is. But, above all, I have to get out. Right now, I just don't know how. And sleeping with the crazies won't help me figure it out.
Soon, my fifteen minutes is up and Dimentia bangs on the door.
I walk over to the rags and dry off. I then, quickly put on the little clothing I now own and put up my hair in the same style I did before the... testing, happened.
Dr. Nightshade chastises me for my tardiness but doesn't hit me again. I won't complain.
She takes me back to the cell and shoves me into it. "You learn to watch how you talk to me, Morticia. I'll do more for you than you'll ever know."
I have fallen after having been shoved. "For me, no. To me, oh, yes." I say.
She turns her head and locks the cage, putting the cover over it and walking out.
I turn around and as soon as I do, Emily runs to me and embraces me, in tears.
"Thank God." Is all I can hear her say. "It was horrible!" She cries.
"What did you do to her while I was gone?" I ask the other three, semi-sarcastically.
Evil rolls her eyes. "Nothing."
I shake my head and stroke the poor, fragile girl's hair. "Exactly." I say to her, and continue to try and comfort Emily.
The cage then rises up into the air by the chain it is connected to and Emily whimpers.
I calm her and the others seem unfazed.
"We're raised in the air every night, just so we don't escape if we magically figure out some way to." Evil explains.
I sigh and take Emily to lean against the bars with her.
She leans against me, and the others sit around us, staring at me, as if waiting for me to speak.
I do just that. "What the hell?" I ask, looking up at the ceiling. I ask myself more than anyone else.
"So, why are ya here?" Richard asks.
"I said I didn't know." I reply.
"No, but maybe we do." Evil chimes in. "Somebody lied to you, missy. Dr. Nightshade choses her victims wisely. If you didn't know about Iridis, somebody in your family does and didn't say anything."
I shake my head. "That's impossible. My family is my mother, my two young children, my butler and my husband. And my husband would never lie to me."
Richard laughs. "Yea, they all say that."
"Lemme guess, he'd never chest on you either?" Evil asks.
"Never." I say, with full confidence. "Why would he have reason to? Lie or cheat? We have a wonderful relationship."
Evil shakes her head, in disbelief. "You really don't know what's going on here, do you?"
"No, I really don't."
"Human experimentation. Paranormal activity. Dr. Dimentia Nightshade and her team of demonic doctors test drugs and sometimes theories on the inmates, us. They can range from no side effects to making us hallucinate or making us vomit for days." Evil explains, and it gives me chills.
I have to take it all in. The drugs and the liquids, and everything... it all makes sense. Perhaps they knew about us, but we knew nothing about them. I have full confidence in that. Gomez wouldn't jeopardize me like that.
But I say nothing, and Evil continues. "They probably fucked up our immune systems to the point that we'll probably die at thirty like in the 1400s."
"Uh-oh, looks like I missed my death." Richard remarks.
There a small amount of laughter, and then there is a long pause. For at least two minutes, we stare at each other, no words being exchanged.
I break the silence and turn to Evil. "Evil... what did she mean by saying you might have to, sleep with the crazies?" I ask.
Evil shakes her head. "I've had to three times since I arrived here. If you talk back to her or disobey, sometimes she will make you spend the night out of the cage."
I am thoroughly confused. "I don't understand. Wouldn't you want to leave the cage?"
Evil's eyes grow wide. "No. Surprisingly, the cage is the safest thing in this godforsaken building."
"Well, then where do they make you sleep?" I inquire, shivering in my hospital gown.
"Dimentia calls the mentally insane ones, the crazies. We live in the cages but they live in pens. There are about twelve to a stall and they sometimes have stomach viruses or diseases from the drugs. They suffer from hallucinations or schizophrenia. Every week, they get chemically bathed while we each get a fifteen-minute shower. Before you ask, each means each cage. Guys and girls, so if you're gonna get your panties in a twist, do it now."
I stay collected, although I am disgusted. Who treats the insane, or better yet, any person, this way? I have strong feelings about human rights, especially for the mentally disabled. I donate to a charity devoted to helping these people every year.
Evil continues. "Alright, ya got balls. Good, so do the guys we shower with." She laughs, but it is bitter, as usual. "Anyways, it smells and it's loud and you can't sleep because the people in that stall are talking to you or themselves, sometimes in plain English or gibberish... or Latin. And the guys won't leave you alone." She gets quiet and her voice is little more than a whisper. "They do things to you. Terrible things. The worst part is if you hurt them, you have to endure another night of sleeping there. After three nights back to back, you might be terminated. And that's pretty straightforward, I think."
I feel awful for her. She's been drugged, and now I find she has most likely been raped. No wonder she has lost all hope. "I'm so sorry." I say to her.
"Don't mouth off to Dimentia and you won't be."
Humor usually helps Evil, so I lighten the weight in the room. "She's a royal bitch, isn't she?"
Evil smiles and shakes her head. "Wait 'till you see her niece."
Before I can ask about her niece, I feel that Emily has fallen asleep.
Evil lies on the floor and seems to try to do the same.
Richard leans against the bars, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, and Ash is sleeping at my feet.
I lean my head gently on Emily's, and I try to drift off.
I awaken around midnight, and I stare at the sleeping bodies around me. I feel more alone than I would feel in solitary confinement, in a room full of five people.
Minutes pass, and Evil begins to stir.
She wakes up, and our eyes meet. "You alright?" She asks.
I look up and down. "No." I admit. "Are you?"
Evil gives me a sympathetic look. "Listen, somebody lied to you. Probably your husband. That's all I can say."
I shake my head, refusing to believe it. He would never. I look her in the eyes. "May I tell you a secret?" I ask her.
"Yes." Evil says.
"I don't belong here." I tell her, straight out. I don't know how much of a secret that is, but I don't know what anything is anymore.
I seemed to have worn her down, as she looks at me, with a gleam in her sea green eyes. "Can I tell you a bigger one?" She practically whispers.
"Yes." I reply.
The pretend gleam disappears and is replaced with the same emptiness I am already used to seeing, even though I have just arrived.
"None of us do." Evil states, coldly.
I become closed-off myself. My arm is tight around Emily, worried she won't survive in this hell-hole.
Evil sits against the bars and closes her eyes, seemingly trying to sleep.
I do the same, dreams of Gomez and the children being the only things keeping this mind of mine working.
