CHAPTER ONE: Ebony- Blood Sisters
I never actually feared hell until I was admitted to the Lakeview Mental Hospital. Every other morning I could count on being woken up by either the skinny gray-haired nurse who reminded me of a cheap mop, or by the screams of a patient having a fit. As soon as the doctors knew of the situation, they'd rush to the scene, and the screaming would stop as fast as it started. Yet that always scared me more.
Such was the case this morning. The scream was an instant alarm clock, and my eyes snapped open quickly, wondering whom it was this time. Soon I placed the voice as too masculine; it wasn't any of my friends.
Kirsten Chambers, whom we all refer to as Amber because of her soft blond beauty, blinked a few times and slowly rose up from her bed beside mine. She stretched her long, graceful arms, interlocked her fingers, which always seemed to be painted with the latest polishes, and placed her hands on top of her fluffy light hair. Again she blinked her lovely blue eyes.
"Whoozat, Ebony?" she asked sleepily. Everyone calls me Ebony basically because I'm black, and it's easier to pronounce than my real name, Tericka Lalique. I used to be offended, but then realized that in this hospital, no one would listen to me.
"It was too far away to come from the suicides ward. Just go back to sleep."
"No way." Amber slipped out of bed, long legs poking out from beneath her lace nightgown, along with a slight paunch that had evolved from eight months of lacking her usual physical activity. "I need to get up and dressed before The Mop drags us out."
She had a point. I crawled out of bed as well and headed to my bureau to find my denim dress.
The first thing Amber pulled out was an orange sweater and a dark gray skirt. She disproved the myth that models don't know how to dress themselves, she'd walk around the hospital all day looking like she just stepped off the runway.
Amber had had a successful modeling job before she came here, appearing in several magazine layouts, and was even scheduled to be on the cover of Vogue for a swimsuit special. But that was before her father died in a vehicle accident. I had never met him, but Amber talked about him so much I felt like I truly knew him.
After the crash, Amber was so depressed she couldn't carry on properly, and everything totally snapped after she hit a photographer on the set of the Vogue shoot. Rather than spend time in jail for assault, she was sent here until she had fully recovered from the trauma of her father's death. I rather felt she was progressing nicely.
My story also involved a brush with the law, though much more serious. I had appeared in several popular teen movies and was ready to film the pilot for a new sitcom when the trouble started. I began receiving letters and phone calls from this crazy fan. At first he would talk about how beautiful he thought I was, but when I didn't answer him, he became more threatening and filled with rage, and started stalking me. As much as I wanted to run to my parents, I couldn't- we had divorced each other the previous year after I found out they'd been withholding my film earnings.
Finally I became so desperate I did the only thing that seemed right. Using a gun stolen from the set of a police show, I came face-to-face with my stalker and shot him dead.
Rather than be arrested for manslaughter, I was declared insane and sent here for analysis. Though some days I think it might've been better if I faced the chair after all.
Soon we were dressed and made our way to the cafeteria. Most of the other residents of Lakeview were there, and we saw Rose and Violet silently parked at a table. We headed over to join them.
Haley Felder was known was Violet because she was so shy and delicate. This morning she was nibbling a slice of toast coated with peanut butter. Peanut butter was about the only thing she could stand these days, and the nurses fawned over her more than any of us to make sure she was perfectly healthy. None of us minded. Violet's condition deserved all the fawning it got.
About eight months ago, she became pregnant by her boyfriend, a popular VJ over at MTV. When he found out about the baby and refused to marry Violet, he simply left her, alone and afraid. She found a shelter for unwed mothers to live in, but never seemed to get along with the other girls.
The pressure of the scandal became too much on her boyfriend and he committed suicide with a morphine overdose. Violet was crushed and tried to kill herself as well with another girl's sleeping pills. She lived and was sent here to be watched during her pregnancy.
I couldn't help but feel sorry for Violet every time I looked at her. She had a harder time than any of us getting here, and preparing to be a mother on top if it…
Anastasia Rosenauer was simply called Rose by the whole world, starting with her agent, who would rave about her and always call her the next Bette Midler. I suppose it wasn't too bad a comparison, she did sing beautifully. She was easily the most famous out of us four, and she was here first.
Rose had lived in a small Jewish neighborhood in Albany with her kindly grandparents, and had lived that way since she was five. She'd been told that her parents died when she was younger, but the truth was far worse: in reality, they were wanted in connection with a major bank robbery and were caught only recently after twelve years on the lam.
Rose turned absolutely devastated at this news. She didn't know who to be maddest at- her parents of running out on her, her grandparents for lying, or the whole entertainment community for rubbing their noses in the scandal afterwards and never leaving her alone about it.
Finally, the pressure became too much for her and she attempted suicide backstage with a razor after a disastrous Grammy performance. She survived and was sent here.
That was we, the four girls, once famous in one way or another, disappointed in life and love in one way or another, survivors in one way or another, and ultimately crazy in one way or another. Often I'd wonder aloud if we weren't all better off out on the street or in prison- especially me. I was the first patient in eight years who'd killed someone to get into the hospital.
Amber would quench my wondering with horrific tales she'd heard about women's prisons on the news- exploitation, prostitution, and eventual beatings and deaths that were supposedly worse than in men's prisons. Her tales were meant to educate, but by the end of each lecture, poor little Violet would look like she was ready to throw up, and we'd have to chew Amber out. She'd shrug and say, "Well, it's the truth."
Well, maybe some truths are better left unsaid. Rose could tell you a thing or two about that.
Whatever poet said that truth is beauty and beauty is truth must not have known anyone like us. No matter what angle you look it through, truth is an ugly sin that never deserves to see the light of day, the kind of ugliness that needs to be kicked in a deep hole and forgotten about. I remember a male patient asking me how such a sweet young thing like me could've ended up here.
"I killed my stalker," I said simply. "And you?"
He simply gave me a frightened look and never tried to speak to me again.
Right now, Amber plucked a wet Wheatie out of Rose's cereal bowl and popped it into her mouth. "Yuck. Wet cardboard," she said.
"That's what you get for stealing my breakfast." Rose brought the bowl to her lips and slurped down the rest of the milk.
"You never minded it before," Violet said quietly. "Are you okay?"
Rose set the bowl down. "That gossip Skylar," she said, "she said the head doctors want to meet with us today."
None of us liked Skylar Lavista very much. She was only a student when she came here a few months back, who had attempted a copycat school shooting but was fortunately caught before anyone could get hurt. Violet, being the youngest, had sensed a kindred spirit and tried to make friends with her, but Skylar had kicked her in the stomach, nearly causing a miscarriage. Ever since she got in trouble for that incident, she had tried to make our lives even more miserable any way she could.
"Do you think she'd make up something like that?" I asked.
"She's just getting our hopes up that we'll get out here soon and out of her life," Amber said.
"Of course we're getting out of here," said Violet, shy yet ever the optimistic. "They can't keep us in a loony bin forever. We'll be eighteen soon and be able to decide for ourselves." She looked down at her stomach and patted it thoughtfully. "I wouldn't want my son being born here." She had known for about two months that it was going to be a boy.
"Just the same, Skylar shouldn't be making a joke about it," I said.
Speak of the devil. Skylar walked past our table just then. Her straight-as-a-ruler black hair went down to her knees, and her bright blue eyes were hidden by cheap eyeliner, as usual.
"Hmph, if it isn't The Four Crazyteers," she sneered. "Cut yourself shaving recently, Anastasia?" Her heavily frosted lips curled.
Rose's eyes glared with hatred, and she stood up quickly. I had to leap in front of her to stop any World War III.
"Rose, stop it! Do you want the doctors in here?" I hissed in her ear.
They glared at each other briefly, and Skylar walked off. Rose waited until she was out of sight, then sat back down.
"The sooner we're farther away from that dimwit, the better," she growled. "She better have been telling the truth this time."
Truth, ah yes, that ugly truth. If the doctors really did want to see us, that would mean we would be out soon. Eight months in this hospital was long enough.
But would our close friendships and improving lives be any different if we were released?
The truth can be frightening.
(To be continued...)
I never actually feared hell until I was admitted to the Lakeview Mental Hospital. Every other morning I could count on being woken up by either the skinny gray-haired nurse who reminded me of a cheap mop, or by the screams of a patient having a fit. As soon as the doctors knew of the situation, they'd rush to the scene, and the screaming would stop as fast as it started. Yet that always scared me more.
Such was the case this morning. The scream was an instant alarm clock, and my eyes snapped open quickly, wondering whom it was this time. Soon I placed the voice as too masculine; it wasn't any of my friends.
Kirsten Chambers, whom we all refer to as Amber because of her soft blond beauty, blinked a few times and slowly rose up from her bed beside mine. She stretched her long, graceful arms, interlocked her fingers, which always seemed to be painted with the latest polishes, and placed her hands on top of her fluffy light hair. Again she blinked her lovely blue eyes.
"Whoozat, Ebony?" she asked sleepily. Everyone calls me Ebony basically because I'm black, and it's easier to pronounce than my real name, Tericka Lalique. I used to be offended, but then realized that in this hospital, no one would listen to me.
"It was too far away to come from the suicides ward. Just go back to sleep."
"No way." Amber slipped out of bed, long legs poking out from beneath her lace nightgown, along with a slight paunch that had evolved from eight months of lacking her usual physical activity. "I need to get up and dressed before The Mop drags us out."
She had a point. I crawled out of bed as well and headed to my bureau to find my denim dress.
The first thing Amber pulled out was an orange sweater and a dark gray skirt. She disproved the myth that models don't know how to dress themselves, she'd walk around the hospital all day looking like she just stepped off the runway.
Amber had had a successful modeling job before she came here, appearing in several magazine layouts, and was even scheduled to be on the cover of Vogue for a swimsuit special. But that was before her father died in a vehicle accident. I had never met him, but Amber talked about him so much I felt like I truly knew him.
After the crash, Amber was so depressed she couldn't carry on properly, and everything totally snapped after she hit a photographer on the set of the Vogue shoot. Rather than spend time in jail for assault, she was sent here until she had fully recovered from the trauma of her father's death. I rather felt she was progressing nicely.
My story also involved a brush with the law, though much more serious. I had appeared in several popular teen movies and was ready to film the pilot for a new sitcom when the trouble started. I began receiving letters and phone calls from this crazy fan. At first he would talk about how beautiful he thought I was, but when I didn't answer him, he became more threatening and filled with rage, and started stalking me. As much as I wanted to run to my parents, I couldn't- we had divorced each other the previous year after I found out they'd been withholding my film earnings.
Finally I became so desperate I did the only thing that seemed right. Using a gun stolen from the set of a police show, I came face-to-face with my stalker and shot him dead.
Rather than be arrested for manslaughter, I was declared insane and sent here for analysis. Though some days I think it might've been better if I faced the chair after all.
Soon we were dressed and made our way to the cafeteria. Most of the other residents of Lakeview were there, and we saw Rose and Violet silently parked at a table. We headed over to join them.
Haley Felder was known was Violet because she was so shy and delicate. This morning she was nibbling a slice of toast coated with peanut butter. Peanut butter was about the only thing she could stand these days, and the nurses fawned over her more than any of us to make sure she was perfectly healthy. None of us minded. Violet's condition deserved all the fawning it got.
About eight months ago, she became pregnant by her boyfriend, a popular VJ over at MTV. When he found out about the baby and refused to marry Violet, he simply left her, alone and afraid. She found a shelter for unwed mothers to live in, but never seemed to get along with the other girls.
The pressure of the scandal became too much on her boyfriend and he committed suicide with a morphine overdose. Violet was crushed and tried to kill herself as well with another girl's sleeping pills. She lived and was sent here to be watched during her pregnancy.
I couldn't help but feel sorry for Violet every time I looked at her. She had a harder time than any of us getting here, and preparing to be a mother on top if it…
Anastasia Rosenauer was simply called Rose by the whole world, starting with her agent, who would rave about her and always call her the next Bette Midler. I suppose it wasn't too bad a comparison, she did sing beautifully. She was easily the most famous out of us four, and she was here first.
Rose had lived in a small Jewish neighborhood in Albany with her kindly grandparents, and had lived that way since she was five. She'd been told that her parents died when she was younger, but the truth was far worse: in reality, they were wanted in connection with a major bank robbery and were caught only recently after twelve years on the lam.
Rose turned absolutely devastated at this news. She didn't know who to be maddest at- her parents of running out on her, her grandparents for lying, or the whole entertainment community for rubbing their noses in the scandal afterwards and never leaving her alone about it.
Finally, the pressure became too much for her and she attempted suicide backstage with a razor after a disastrous Grammy performance. She survived and was sent here.
That was we, the four girls, once famous in one way or another, disappointed in life and love in one way or another, survivors in one way or another, and ultimately crazy in one way or another. Often I'd wonder aloud if we weren't all better off out on the street or in prison- especially me. I was the first patient in eight years who'd killed someone to get into the hospital.
Amber would quench my wondering with horrific tales she'd heard about women's prisons on the news- exploitation, prostitution, and eventual beatings and deaths that were supposedly worse than in men's prisons. Her tales were meant to educate, but by the end of each lecture, poor little Violet would look like she was ready to throw up, and we'd have to chew Amber out. She'd shrug and say, "Well, it's the truth."
Well, maybe some truths are better left unsaid. Rose could tell you a thing or two about that.
Whatever poet said that truth is beauty and beauty is truth must not have known anyone like us. No matter what angle you look it through, truth is an ugly sin that never deserves to see the light of day, the kind of ugliness that needs to be kicked in a deep hole and forgotten about. I remember a male patient asking me how such a sweet young thing like me could've ended up here.
"I killed my stalker," I said simply. "And you?"
He simply gave me a frightened look and never tried to speak to me again.
Right now, Amber plucked a wet Wheatie out of Rose's cereal bowl and popped it into her mouth. "Yuck. Wet cardboard," she said.
"That's what you get for stealing my breakfast." Rose brought the bowl to her lips and slurped down the rest of the milk.
"You never minded it before," Violet said quietly. "Are you okay?"
Rose set the bowl down. "That gossip Skylar," she said, "she said the head doctors want to meet with us today."
None of us liked Skylar Lavista very much. She was only a student when she came here a few months back, who had attempted a copycat school shooting but was fortunately caught before anyone could get hurt. Violet, being the youngest, had sensed a kindred spirit and tried to make friends with her, but Skylar had kicked her in the stomach, nearly causing a miscarriage. Ever since she got in trouble for that incident, she had tried to make our lives even more miserable any way she could.
"Do you think she'd make up something like that?" I asked.
"She's just getting our hopes up that we'll get out here soon and out of her life," Amber said.
"Of course we're getting out of here," said Violet, shy yet ever the optimistic. "They can't keep us in a loony bin forever. We'll be eighteen soon and be able to decide for ourselves." She looked down at her stomach and patted it thoughtfully. "I wouldn't want my son being born here." She had known for about two months that it was going to be a boy.
"Just the same, Skylar shouldn't be making a joke about it," I said.
Speak of the devil. Skylar walked past our table just then. Her straight-as-a-ruler black hair went down to her knees, and her bright blue eyes were hidden by cheap eyeliner, as usual.
"Hmph, if it isn't The Four Crazyteers," she sneered. "Cut yourself shaving recently, Anastasia?" Her heavily frosted lips curled.
Rose's eyes glared with hatred, and she stood up quickly. I had to leap in front of her to stop any World War III.
"Rose, stop it! Do you want the doctors in here?" I hissed in her ear.
They glared at each other briefly, and Skylar walked off. Rose waited until she was out of sight, then sat back down.
"The sooner we're farther away from that dimwit, the better," she growled. "She better have been telling the truth this time."
Truth, ah yes, that ugly truth. If the doctors really did want to see us, that would mean we would be out soon. Eight months in this hospital was long enough.
But would our close friendships and improving lives be any different if we were released?
The truth can be frightening.
(To be continued...)