Things began to change around Briarcliff. Dr. Haddonfield, free to experiment, went through multiple "specimens" a day. His bizarre and inhumane experiments incidentally helped with Briarcliff's overcrowding problem. The cemetery empty plots quickly filled to capacity with gravestones that simply bore patient ID numbers instead of names. When the cemeteries were full, the bodies were routed directly to the incinerator.

One of the changes in the wards surfaced in blatant favoritism. There had always been an element of "earned" privilege in the asylum, but there was always a subtle veneer to it. That veil was completely ripped away now. Some lucky patients like Violet were shown preferential treatment by staff in their food and quality of living, while other individuals were singled out for abuse that could easily turn deadly.

Tate was among the routinely abused. No matter what he did, the orderlies—most of the new recruits from the prison—were ruthless with him. Some called him the "Clocktower Bitch". Most didn't even address him. They just looked for any reason they could find to harass and hurt him. Violet was worried for him. That nervous concern went nuclear when three whole days went by without her seeing him at all, not even at meals.

By the third evening, she had decided to talk to Dandy about it. She knew she had to approach the issue carefully. She didn't want to make him jealous over her concern for Tate's wellbeing.

That night when he came into the common area with Boyd tagging along behind him, she took a deep breath to steel herself and approached him. He lit up in a bright smile that looked a bit too eager thanks to his scars.

"Violet!" he greeted her brightly.

"Hi, Dandy.

He swept her hands up in his. "How are you this fine evening?"

The smile that she offered him was small but genuine. His behavior was so eccentric in how out of place it was. They were in the middle of an insane asylum, surrounded by head cases and criminals, and he was acting like a yuppie at a country club. She should probably find it unnerving, but he was just so easy to like. Even the vicious scars couldn't rob him of his boyish charm.

"As good as I can be," she said, stepping closer to him. He smelled like English Leather cologne. "You?"

"FanTAStic," he bubbled. He pulled her closer still and put his arms around her. "My new toys are starting to arrive."

"Toys?"

He smiled bigger, looking positively manic. "Let's walk, shall we?" He released one of her hands and placed the other on his arm. He kept his hand over hers to secure the steering hold. "It's still too cold to go outside but we could visit the conservatory."

They left the common area then, with Boyd shadowing them. Violet felt a strange sense of royalty as they moved through the halls. Dandy was the king of the crazies and she was his queen. She suspected some of that was left over from the drugs that were washing out of her system. Yet she understood the small power she held. At her word, she knew Dandy would make anyone disappear from her realm.

"I had a meeting a bit ago," Dandy told her in his confidential tone. "With the head doctors. They've been terribly neglected by the church. So many new technologies are available to help these poor, lost souls. So, I invested in a few."

"That's big of you," she said. She wasn't sure whether she meant it. "What do they do?"

"Oh, different things," said Dandy. "There's a suspension chair I simply adore. I tested it myself and I love it. You sit in it and they hoist you up off the ground. Then you just spin, as slow or as fast as you want to go. It's like flying!"

She couldn't help a chuckle. "The way you talk, you make it sound like a carnival ride."

"It is!"

"But what does it do? For people, I mean. Does it make people less...crazy?"

Dandy thought about that. "The salesman said it's very calming. And I would agree. I'm no doctor, but I would imagine that it would be great for someone who was having one of those kicking and yelling fits. Strap them in and spin them a few times. They'd feel much better."

Something about that logic didn't sit right with Violet, but she opted not to dig into it. It didn't matter. It was all small talk anyway.

They arrived at the conservatory doors. Dandy held one open for Violet before following her in.

The sunroom had a few misshapen potted plants that tenaciously clung to life. It was hardly a garden stroll. They paced the perimeter of the moonlit room, her hand on his elbow, Boyd stationed near the door to insure their privacy. Dandy had given him a sizeable piece of saltwater taffy to chew on while he stood watch.

Violet told Dandy about her arts-and-crafts project and she listened to him talk about the business side of the asylum, or rather his unique interpretation of it. Eventually, though, she had to tackle the real reason she wanted to speak to him.

"You know, it's weird, but I haven't seen Tate the last couple of days," she said casually. "I'm starting to think maybe he got put in the quiet room again."

"I'm sure he sees that room a lot," Dandy remarked loftily, his demeanor cooling. "But not this time. He's in the blue ward."

"The blue ward?" Violet gaped, stopping. "Why's he there?"

The blue ward was the common term used to describe the ward where the highest risk criminally insane were housed. It was the most violent ward and was dealt with the most harshly by the staff.

"He's a violent criminal," Dandy explained. He still had his hand over hers, keeping it on his arm even though they'd stopped walking. "He should be there. Besides, it keeps him close to the races."

"The races?"

Dandy's brows went up. He thought everyone at Briarcliff knew about the races. "Just something that keeps the ward occupied."

"Can I watch?" Violet asked. It wasn't interest exactly. Concern was more like it.

"Oh, no. The races are for men! A lady has no place there. Too...rough."

More alarm bells went off in Violet's mind, joined by a growing sense of panic. "Dandy, they're not hurting him, are they?"

"I'm bored of talking about Tate," Dandy objected, pulling away from her.

He paced over to the nearest window, near a trough-like metal planter tarnished with age. The dry soil looked like it hadn't seen live plants in over a decade.

Violet knew she'd pushed too hard too fast. She tried to recover the conversation. "Okay. Let's talk about something else. Let's talk about…theater."

Dandy perked up and looked back over a shoulder at her. "I love the theater. The cinema, too."

"It shows. The performance you put together here was pretty impressive."

He smiled; ego stoked. "It was, wasn't it? A pity it ended so abruptly. We never had the grand finale."

A wry sense of amusement struck Violet as she thought back on the chaos that erupted during her act. The night was a bit of a blur, but she doubted she'd ever forget the way the room looked and sounded when the power went out at the loony bin.

"The ending was pretty grand if you ask me," she smiled.

Dandy considered, then gave her another too-wide smile in return. "You know...you're right, Violet. Brought the house down!"

...

Violet hugged her pillow. Curled on her side on the unfamiliar bed in her spacious new room, she faced the nearest wall. The room was huge compared to what she'd grown accustomed to. It wasn't a comfortable space. It was an empty and unfriendly one. It left her exposed.

Yet even if she didn't feel so out-in-the-open, she still wouldn't be able to relax. Something strange was going on at Briarcliff and she was sure Dandy was at the root of it all. She had the advantage of his affections for the time being but couldn't count on his stability. He was just as dangerous to her as he was to anyone. Perhaps even more so.

She knew she would have to play her cards carefully. As soon as the lights went out, she stashed her nightly medication under her mattress. Then she took her pencil nub out of the bedside cabinet and used the tip to pluck at the seam. In a few hours, she would have a hole big enough to slip the pill into. She needed to have a clear head if she was going to be able to think her way through anything.

—

The next morning, Violet managed to get some time with Dr. Thredson. If it weren't for Dandy, she probably wouldn't have, but he pulled some strings, and she had a 10 o'clock with him. She palmed her pill at breakfast and tossed it in the toilet but had it in the back of her mind to act slow-witted during their time together. Which would be tricky since she also wanted to talk to him about Tate.

In spite of practicing answers to questions in her head all through morning routine, when it came time to go to Dr. Thredson's office, her heart was racing. She racked it up to her coming off the pills.

The orderly escorted her to her seat where he cuffed her, then left her and the doctor alone. He closed the door when he left. Though she was sure he was just outside in the hall, it still felt ominous.

"Good morning, Violet," Dr. Thredson said.

He was looking at the contents of a file. A cigarette burned in the ashtray on his desk.

"Hey, Dr. Thredson," she said, trying to sound like she did when she was taking her pills.

"How have you been? It's been a while since we saw each other."

She got the sense he was feeling her out. Maybe he suspected why she was there. "I'm okay, I guess. Dandy being in charge...Whoa. That's. Far out."

Thredson smiled. "It is what it is. But how are you? How has art therapy been going?"

Violet didn't want to talk about art therapy. "It's fun, I guess. I made an ashtray." She flicked a smile. Then: "Um. I heard a rumor. About Tate."

Dr. Thredson's brow twitched up above his thick-rimmed glasses. "Oh? What did you hear, Violet?"

"I heard he was in the blue ward."

"Oh?" The doctor's other brow joined the first. "Who did you hear that from?"

Violet fidgeted. "Just. Around. Is it true?"

The doctor drew a deep breath and made a remorseful face. "I can't discuss another patient's treatment with you."

"That's bullshit!" Violet erupted, then immediately regretted it. So much for her stoned act. She shifted gears immediately. "Please, Doctor Thredson. I just want to know he's okay. The person said something about races. I think they might hurt him there."

Thredson folded his hands over the file folder on his desk and pinned her with a hard gaze. "Tell me who you've been talking to, Violet, and I might be able to help you."

Suddenly keen to the rules of the game, she fidgeted more. Throwing Dandy under the bus right after he helped her so much felt downright traitorous. But what harm could it do? He owned Briarcliff.

"Dandy. Dandy told me."

The doctor's expression cleared. He nodded. "I see." He tapped the fingers of one hand on the folder, then said: "Tate was in the blue ward, but he's been transferred."

Violet was relieved at first, then instantly worried. "Where? He's not in the men's ward."

"He is under my supervision. If he follows his treatment plan, I'm sure you will see him in occupational therapy soon."

Violet wasn't entirely sure she trusted what she was being told, but there wasn't anything she could do about her misgivings. She could only hope that what he said was true.

"Now," Thredson continued. "Let's focus on you." He tapped the folder again. "If you keep yourself out of trouble and follow the program, it's likely you'll be released by the end of the month."

She blinked at him, stunned. "Like. Seriously?"

Her memory of events over the past few weeks was hazy, but she knew she'd been no angel.

Dr. Thredson nodded. "We're overcrowded; you're low-risk. If you applied yourself, you might even be free in as little as two weeks."

She blinked slowly, feeling strangely numb. "Two weeks."

"That's right."

Violet didn't know how to feel about the news, but it didn't thrill her. She felt like Joe Friday on Dragnet being told he was going to be pulled off a case midway through.

"Violet?" Thredson prompted. "Talk to me. What are you thinking?"

She focused on him and forced a smile. "Just...I'm surprised. I guess I thought I'd be here a while. Because of what I did."

"Everyone makes mistakes," Dr. Thredson said. "Especially teenagers who have invested their emotions in someone who might not be good for them. Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet was all about the subject." He paused, then added: "What are you afraid of?"

She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not scared."

He cleared his throat. "What's concerning you about being released?"

She shifted in her seat. "I just don't know if I'm ready yet."

"This isn't a hotel," he said. His tone was gentle, but his dark eyes were stern behind his glasses. "You can't stay here indefinitely without reason. And being near Tate is not a valid reason."

She pursed her lips and looked away briefly.

He studied her silence for a moment, then said: "We could look into transferring you into the work program instead of full outpatient status."

She slid a look back his way. "Like the electrician?"

The doctor tipped his head. "There are many here who are engaged in the work program who are former patients. Let's see how you do in occupational therapy. That really will decide what happens, Violet."

"I can dig it," she said.

They chatted a bit longer about her general progress, then he passed her off to the orderly, who took her back to the common room. She might just be confused from the drugs, but it seemed like Dr. Thredson was saying something without actually saying it. That nagging feeling strengthened her resolve to stay off the pills.

...

The first rays of dawn tinted the sky gray beyond the small window Constance looked out through. Down below, she could see a cargo truck. The liftgate was open and several workmen in dark blue jumpsuits hauled out a very large box. Once it was out of the truck, the men carried it into the asylum's delivery bay. When they emerged, they went back into the truck and brought out another big box. Another followed, and another.

A soft moan behind her pulled her attention away from the odd sight. The room she was locked in had two beds: There was a larger one that she'd been sleeping in the past few nights and there was a narrow patient's bed, heavy iron set with rings. Medical cuffs were permanently fastened to the rings.

She moved to the narrow bed, where her son was restrained. The bruises on his face were nearly healed now, a much better sight than when Thredson had brought him in two days ago. Seating herself on the edge of the bed, she smoothed Tate's messy blonde hair back from his face. He blinked slowly at her, fighting the sedative the doctor had injected him with.

"Mama?" he grunted. He sounded stuffed up.

She pet his hair some more. "Shh. I'm here. Just rest. You've been sick."

There was so much he wanted to ask her, but the room was spinning too much. He felt like he was still dreaming. He tried to reach for her and was stopped by the restraints on his wrists. He tried to pull free, rattling the fasteners.

"Shh," she soothed again. "Those are there to keep you safe. Just like when you were little. You remember?"

He relaxed then, though the furrow between his brows didn't go away. "When...when can I get up?"

"When the doctor says. You just be good and rest."

Tate wanted to argue with her except he couldn't find the words. Frustration prickled briefly then it faded away. It was too much work to be angry. He heaved a short sigh then let his body go loose. He would rest, but under as much protest as he could muster. Which amounted to little more than the frown.

"You'll be fine," Constance told him. She stroked his cheek then adjusted his blankets.

She stayed with him until she was sure he was asleep again. Then she went back over to the window. The thick chain that ran through the cuffs Thredson had locked on her ankles made a soft scraping noise behind her on the concrete floor. She paused and looked back at Tate. He didn't stir.

Wrapping her arms around her middle, Constance looked back out the window. On the ground level the men had finished with their work. The truck was pulling away. The big door of Briarcliff's delivery bay rolled down and boomed shut.

xxx

Author's Note:

Cue Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival and roll credits. This episode is finally in the bag.

Sorry for the wait. I have valid reasons, not the least of which was me getting to talk to some Hollywood guys about novelized AHS. Unfortunately, a merger and COVID killed that. I'm working on another secret thang now, but it shouldn't interfere with me getting this and my Armageddon stories back up to speed. If you've been waiting a while, I want to thank you for sticking with me. I will reward your faith!

Next episode: The lunatics are running the asylum. I'd say it's going to get a lot worse before it gets better, but...better is so subjective.