Chapter Twenty-Seven: The Elevator
On this floor, each room is the source of its own clamor. But, no one pays too much mind. When a patient ends up here, they are likely forgotten. And the staff would like to keep it that way.
But, tonight, the floor was unusually fussy, the patients restless. They are terrified because they cannot leave, but Rob couldn't decipher their delusional ramblings to save his own life.
Rob doesn't know it, but he is as trapped as they are.
His thumbs were hooked onto the belt loops of his pants as he bent slightly forward at the waist.
"What the fuck do you mean I can't pass through?"
No amount of darkness could hide the other orderly's contemptuous frown. "We've got the situation handled."
"I heard a gun." Rob seethed, attempting to shuffle past.
"Robert…"
"Fuck you."
Rob heard a sigh.
"The night crew is understaffed as is." Crossed arms unraveled from the orderly's broad chest. "Please, go back to your floor."
Rob didn't comply. He stepped forward, as close as a clenched fist away from the orderly's face.
"Shit smells funny here. Wynn have you up to no good again?" He saw the orderly's pursed lips — the only indication that his jabs were landing. "Yeah, that's right, blockhead. I've been here long enough to know that this mad house has changed ever since Dr. Loony left." Rob pointed at the camera mounted in the corner. "Got all of these suckers in every room. What? Can't have Grampa screw loose shit in peace? Isn't it enough that Wynn has a massive hard on for that mute kook? Fucking right, Jerry, I've cleaned his office and I've seen the medical assessments from Ridgemont lying out on his desk."
Above the howl of caged lunatics, the elevator bell peeled and both men looked at the opening lift in horror.
As its doors closed, the storm raging outside was the shepherd to a monstrous wind and when sheets of hail fell, so too did the orderlies, in a heap with their heads twisted backwards.