A/N- These were not the easiest chapters to write. I just wanted to say that psychiatric hospitals have come a long way since the mental asylum days that Alice is living through, and the shock treatment Alice undergoes bears no resemblance to the way ECT is handled and used today.
Chapter 12- The Experimental Protocol.
Matron removes the restraint jacket once my hair is gone. I do nothing to antagonise her and when I shiver as my sweat dampened skin is hit with the evening air she churlishly hands me a sweater. It's enormous, could probably fit two of me inside it, but I just roll up the sleeves and say nothing. I wish I had socks.
It seems that I've been unconscious most of the day, since after my head is shaved I'm directed towards a dining room where they're serving the evening meal. It's a tiny, cramped room and Dahlia, who comes and sits beside me, tells me that it's just for females. Most of the inmates here at Mayberry are men, but they eat and sleep separately. After my experience with the orderly Baxter I'm glad to hear it.
Dinner is supposed to be stew, but it's more water and cabbage than anything else and despite the fact that I haven't eaten for at least a day I can't bring myself to take more than a mouthful. Dahlia eats it once she'd finished hers and smiles at me cheerfully.
I don't take the medication they give out after dinner. They don't check to see if it's gone, so when no one is looking I spit the pills into my hand and slip them into the rolled up sleeves of my sweater. I'll get rid of them once I find a bathroom, which is my next stop after dinner. I wonder what happens now.
I don't have to wait long to find out. Despite the fact that it's still only early evening and the sun has barely even set, I'm ordered to return to the room. I notice that Dahlia and the other women are starting to look vague and speak in slurred voices, and I guess it must be the medicine starting to sedate them. I drop my shoulders a little and keep my head low, not wanting anyone to realise I didn't take mine. Somehow I think it's going to be important that I'm not in a drugged sleep tonight.
I nearly panic when I hear the click of the lock and the bolt being pushed back on the door. I don't want to be locked in anywhere! With the door locked and the windows barred I'm truly trapped, and I pray that there won't be a fire. I sit up on the bed I've been given, the one at the far end, and look down the row. Everyone else is asleep already, two of them with restraints on to keep them in their beds, and I shudder.
Finally alone, I jump out of bed and prowl about the room. I'm actually quite glad for my ridiculously enormous sweater because the room is quite cold as I investigate. Not that there's much to see. Six iron beds with striped mattresses and no sheets, only scratchy old blankets that won't do much for warmth. There are a couple of wooden benches, and being as quiet as I can I drag one over to the window, standing up on it on tiptoe so I can see outside.
Oh, it's nice out there. For a moment I feel myself relax. The sun has just dropped below the horizon and they sky I can see is streaked with red and purple and orange. The asylum is surrounded by lawns and gardens, with woods beyond that. I wish I could go outside.
I can see someone in the distance, pruning a bush. He's much too far away to possibly be able to see my face peering out from behind the bars, but as I watch him his back jerks upright and he appears to look straight at me. Without even meaning to I feel my face break open in a smile, and for the first time since I've been in here I feel something other than fear. Whoever he is, this man is good and he's going to be my friend. I raise my hand and press my palm against the glass, and a long moment later he raises his hand in acknowledgement.
The treatment starts in the morning. I'm not given breakfast, and as Ellis leads me to the treatment room I feel sick with lack of food and apprehension. There is a bare, hard bed in the centre of the room, surrounded by several machines with leads and cords coming off them. I don't recognise anything.
"Up on the table Alice, and take your sweater off," Dr Reyes says, and unwillingly I scramble up. I pull the sweater over my head but hold it tightly against my middle- in this place where so much is unfamiliar and I own nothing, every little object takes on great significance.
Dr Reyes comes over to me, and brushes a hand across my bare scalp. "Excellent," he murmurs. "Lie down now Alice. I'm going to put your arms and legs in the restraints…just so you don't fall off the table or hurt yourself." He pulls the sweater from my arms and tosses it towards the far wall and silently, knowing I have no other choice, I lie back and limply allow him to tug at my wrists and ankles as he straps them tightly down.
Dr Atherton appears by my side, and without a word to me he begins attaching some of the cords and leads to my head. I twist my head, trying to see what is going on.
"What are you doing?" I ask, wishing I didn't sound so pathetically frightened.
"Lie still," he snaps.
Dr Reyes at least answers me, although what he tells me does nothing to reassure me about the process I'm about to undergo. "You're very lucky Alice," he says seriously. "Dr Atherton and I have been working on some experimental procedures, using electrical currents on the brain to control and eliminate the kind of mental problems you've been having. Delusions, hearing voices…you're lucky you were brought here Alice, when we might be able to do something for you. Wouldn't it be nice to no longer be troubled by such voices and visions as you've been plagued with? We've been working with Dahlia, whom you met yesterday, and we've had quite a success with her."
I stare up at him in silent horror as they finish attaching electrodes to my head. Dr Atherton pulls a strap across my forehead to bind my head tightly to the table, and Dr Reyes pulls the wrist and ankle restraints so tight that it makes me whimper.
"Now, now, don't make a fuss," he scolds mildly. "The body can react quite violently to the electricity you see…we need to make sure you won't hurt yourself." He looks across at Dr Atherton. "Are we ready now?"
"Yes." Dr Atherton's voice comes from somewhere outside my range of sight. "Just put the gag on her."
"Oh, please no!" I gasp. "Don't cover my mouth…I promise I won't scream!"
Dr Reyes approaches me with a stiff piece of leather. "Oh, it's not about screaming Alice. We need something in your mouth so you don't bite your tongue off. That wouldn't be good now, would it?"
I yelp as he pushes the leather in between my teeth. It tastes foul, and I can feel the dents that other people's teeth have left in the leather. I want to spit it out, but Dr Reyes frowns at me and shakes his head. "Bite down on it now Alice, there's a good girl," he says and with another terrified whimper I obey.
I don't know what to expect. I shiver, my flesh rippling into goosebumps as the doctors fiddle with their noisy machines. My head is strapped to the table so tightly that I can't even turn it to see what they're doing, and all I can see from the position I'm stuck in is the pale ceiling with its spider webs of cracks in the paint.
"Ready to go," Dr Atherton announces eventually, and his voice sounds more animated than I've heard him be before. "Back from the table Reyes, and I'll send the current through."
He doesn't warn me. Doesn't say anything to me, but the next second I feel a searing wave of agony as a bolt of lightning splits my head open. Every nerve in my body fires and my muscles contort, my back arching and my limbs pulling uselessly against the unbreakable restraints. There's a brief pause as the pain recedes and my body slumps back to the table; but then the lightning comes again and my skull shatters into a million pieces. I open my mouth for an agonised scream that never comes, and then the waves of darkness wash over me and I gratefully let them take me away.
I can smell flowers and rain, the gentle kind of rain that is so welcome on hot summer days. I'm out on the porch at home, reading Anne of Green Gables to Sissy but we've paused for a moment to smell the dampening grass and listen to the pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof…
No. I open my eyes and see only the same grey roof and cracked paint that my eyes closed upon. I'm in the treatment room, still strapped to the table, my head pounding in time with the beating of my heart and the coppery taste of blood in my mouth. I am horrified to feel that my clothes are wet and clammy and I realise with a rush of embarrassment that I've wet my pants. I choke back a sob.
"Don't cry." I can feel hands removing the leather gag from my mouth and pulling on the strap holding my head back. "I'll just get you undone." The smell of greenery and rain intensifies.
As soon as my head is free I whip it around, craning my neck to see who is here with me, and then I feel myself relax and a smile bloom on my face. It's the man from the garden.
"Hello Carrick," I say.
He raises his head and stares at me. His curly dark hair is long, tied back at the nape of his neck, and his full beard is shot through with grey. He's pale, stark white, and although he must be at least twenty years older than I am I find myself thinking I've never seen a man so lovely. When I look into his eyes I know I should be afraid, for they're the bright ruby red of blood and like nothing I've ever seen before, but somehow I am not. I knew his name without introduction, and I know in my heart that he and I are friends. I breathe in again, and realise that the beautiful smell that is making me so happy is coming from him.
"How do you know my name?" he asks gruffly.
"I don't know," I answer truthfully. As the last restraint is undone I sit up, only to find myself clutching at his shirt as the world spins sickeningly around. The arm I'm touching feels like rock under the cotton of his shirt. "Sometimes I just know things. My name is Alice."
"Steady," he mutters. "You'll be feeling dizzy."
When I can sit unassisted he hesitates for a moment. "I'll get you some water Alice," he says, and disappears, returning almost instantly with a cup of water.
"Thank you," I say, and despite how much my hands are shaking I take it from him and drink it slowly.
Carrick watches me from across the room. He looks fascinated. "I saw you watching me last night," he says at last.
I nod and smile at him. "You were in the garden."
"I'm a groundskeeper here," Carrick tells me slowly. "You're not…afraid of me?"
I blink. "No. Should I be?"
A ghost of a smile drifts across his face. "Possibly. Considering what I am capable of doing to you, it would seem as though fear would be a more natural reaction to me."
I can't help myself. I laugh. "You're not going to hurt me," I say confidently. "I don't know exactly who you are, Mr Carrick, but I do know that you're my friend. Or at least, you will be." I frown briefly and then shrug. "Like I said, sometimes I just know things."
He gives a soft chuckle. "I suppose we'll see." He glances behind him, out the door and down the corridor. "Was it too awful?" he asks suddenly. "The treatment?"
"What?" I ask blankly. What's he talking about? "What treatment? They brought me here to the treatment room, but…I don't know. I don't remember after that. I don't think they did anything to me."
Carrick shakes his head. "You don't remember. Probably just as well." He notices me shifting uncomfortably in the wet clothes. "I can't be caught inside," he says quickly. "I shall have to go before they come back. There are clean clothes in the storeroom beside this room. I'm sorry I can't help you more."
I slip down from the table. "Thank you." I look up at him. "I think I'll see you again…" My voice trails off, a little uncertainly.
Carrick looks at me, and his face is gentle with compassion. "I hope so Alice." He comes closer to me and holds out his hand. Without hesitation I take it, feeling his cold fingers close around mine. "I will keep watch for you when I can," he says softly, his red eyes dark. "Good luck my friend." And then he's gone, so quickly I don't even see him leave.