Frank ran down the hall and into his brother's room in time to see two orderlies step back from the bed that they had just strapped Joe too. "What's going on?" he demanded, trying hard to keep his expression neutral.
Joe spoke at the same time, not recognizing Frank when he entered. "I'll eat breakfast," he promised, his blue eyes wide with fright. "Lunch and dinner too," he added. "Please?"
"He refused to eat dinner last night," Rimes answered Frank with a scowl. "So now he has to be fed with tubes."
Frank swallowed before speaking so he could keep his tone impartial. "Was he fed this way last night after he refused?"
"Yes," answered the tall, gangly orderly whose nametag identified him as Spricket.
"Then don't you think he might have learned his lesson and is willing to cooperate now?" Frank asked, resisting the urge to look at his brother for fear he might give away his cover.
"A possibility," agreed Dr. Holden from behind Frank.
Frank spun around and saw the doctor standing there but the doctor was looking speculatively at Joe. "Will you eat every meal placed before you?" he asked the blond-headed youth. Joe nodded vigorously. "Very well, you will be given one more chance." He looked at Rimes. "Take him to breakfast."
"Yes, Sir," Rimes responded. The other orderly let out a relieved sigh. He hated seeing the patients suffer.
"Who are you?" Dr. Holden asked, turning to Frank as Joe was being released.
"Michael Slag," Frank answered. Joe threw him an unobtrusive look. He had recognized the alias as one from a list they had drawn up months ago. "I was waiting to see the chief administrator about a job," Frank explained his presence. "But I heard someone screaming and came to see if I could be of help."
"Initiative," stated Holden with a small smile. "I like that. Come with me and I will escort you to his office."
"Thank you, Sir," Frank replied, following the doctor through the door without a second glance at Joe or the two orderlies.
"I hope they hire him," Spricket said as they waited for Joe to get to his feet.
"Agreed," said Rimes, nodding. "It's weird but about a fourth of the patients here need watching twenty-four seven and another fourth, like this one, have to be locked up unless someone is with them."
"I don't have to be locked up," protested Joe. "I thought that was some rule for all of the patients."
"Just the ones who haven't gotten past the stage of making themselves sick," Spricket informed him. "Half the kids here have free run of the place."
"How will you know I won't make myself sick anymore if I am never given the chance?" reasoned Joe.
"It's up to Dr. Turner and the other doctors to make that decision," answered Rimes. "Now, come along," he instructed. "You have another session with Dr. Turner after breakfast."
"I'll head back to the east wing then," Spricket said. "Liz is a real pain to watch and it took me forever to convince Nurse Blaine that I had to help you this morning so she would have to watch Liz for awhile."
"Thanks," Rimes said gratefully. "I'll see you after work. We're still on for bowling, right?"
"You bet'cha," agreed Spricket before leaving.
******************************************************
"Well, Mr. Slag, your resume is very impressive," said Stan Lyman, the chief administrator of the Wesley Lane Smith Foundation. "When would you be able to start?"
"Immediately," answered Frank.
"How about this evening?" Lyman asked, his green eyes twinkling. "We are a bit short-staffed at the present, you see. Our goal is to maintain one orderly for every two patients per twelve-hour shift. However, some of out patients no longer require around the clock supervision and we maintain a skeleton staff after eight p.m."
"You want me here at eight?" asked Frank.
"No. The shift begins at seven but most of the nurses and all but one doctor leave at eight," Lyman explained. "Of course, if you would care to stay for a little while this morning, I will show you around."
"Thank you, Sir," agreed Frank with a slight nod. He followed Lyman out of his office and down the hall. At the first door, Lyman stopped and informed Frank that all information on the patient was kept on a chart within the locked file holder by the outside of the door.
"You will be given a master key for the files when you begin work this evening," Lyman told Frank. "Before entering the room you are to remove the file and familiarize yourself with the patient. You need to know their likes and dislikes; allergies; even what they ate when you were not with them.
"If, by some miracle, a snack is requested by a patient, you will treat it like a meal. Weight and blood pressure is to be taken and recorded along with the time. You will list what the snack was; how much was given; how much was eaten; and, again, the weight and blood pressure after the consumption."
"Why so much detail?" asked Frank curiously.
"This is a research facility," Lyman answered. "We are working on a cure."
Lyman continued showing Frank around the building. They were almost finished when Frank saw Joe, fully dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a white tee shirt, being escorted to a room not far from where he and Lyman stood. "That isn't his room," observed Frank with a frown. Lyman looked at Frank suspiciously so Frank told him how he had met Dr. Holden earlier.
"Ah, I see," Lyman said, his friendly smile back in place. "That is Jack Turner's office," he informed Frank. "Dr. Turner is our resident psychiatrist. New patients, like Joe, see him daily while others only see him twice a week. It is up to Dr. Turner to judge the mental stability of the patients. His prognosis, along with that of Dr. Holden or Dr. Kutchem is what determines the amount of supervision needed for each patient."
As Frank left the foundation, he wondered what Joe had been talking about with Dr. Turner that kept him on the high-risk supervision list that he had seen posted in the main hall when he had first arrived.
Joe spoke at the same time, not recognizing Frank when he entered. "I'll eat breakfast," he promised, his blue eyes wide with fright. "Lunch and dinner too," he added. "Please?"
"He refused to eat dinner last night," Rimes answered Frank with a scowl. "So now he has to be fed with tubes."
Frank swallowed before speaking so he could keep his tone impartial. "Was he fed this way last night after he refused?"
"Yes," answered the tall, gangly orderly whose nametag identified him as Spricket.
"Then don't you think he might have learned his lesson and is willing to cooperate now?" Frank asked, resisting the urge to look at his brother for fear he might give away his cover.
"A possibility," agreed Dr. Holden from behind Frank.
Frank spun around and saw the doctor standing there but the doctor was looking speculatively at Joe. "Will you eat every meal placed before you?" he asked the blond-headed youth. Joe nodded vigorously. "Very well, you will be given one more chance." He looked at Rimes. "Take him to breakfast."
"Yes, Sir," Rimes responded. The other orderly let out a relieved sigh. He hated seeing the patients suffer.
"Who are you?" Dr. Holden asked, turning to Frank as Joe was being released.
"Michael Slag," Frank answered. Joe threw him an unobtrusive look. He had recognized the alias as one from a list they had drawn up months ago. "I was waiting to see the chief administrator about a job," Frank explained his presence. "But I heard someone screaming and came to see if I could be of help."
"Initiative," stated Holden with a small smile. "I like that. Come with me and I will escort you to his office."
"Thank you, Sir," Frank replied, following the doctor through the door without a second glance at Joe or the two orderlies.
"I hope they hire him," Spricket said as they waited for Joe to get to his feet.
"Agreed," said Rimes, nodding. "It's weird but about a fourth of the patients here need watching twenty-four seven and another fourth, like this one, have to be locked up unless someone is with them."
"I don't have to be locked up," protested Joe. "I thought that was some rule for all of the patients."
"Just the ones who haven't gotten past the stage of making themselves sick," Spricket informed him. "Half the kids here have free run of the place."
"How will you know I won't make myself sick anymore if I am never given the chance?" reasoned Joe.
"It's up to Dr. Turner and the other doctors to make that decision," answered Rimes. "Now, come along," he instructed. "You have another session with Dr. Turner after breakfast."
"I'll head back to the east wing then," Spricket said. "Liz is a real pain to watch and it took me forever to convince Nurse Blaine that I had to help you this morning so she would have to watch Liz for awhile."
"Thanks," Rimes said gratefully. "I'll see you after work. We're still on for bowling, right?"
"You bet'cha," agreed Spricket before leaving.
******************************************************
"Well, Mr. Slag, your resume is very impressive," said Stan Lyman, the chief administrator of the Wesley Lane Smith Foundation. "When would you be able to start?"
"Immediately," answered Frank.
"How about this evening?" Lyman asked, his green eyes twinkling. "We are a bit short-staffed at the present, you see. Our goal is to maintain one orderly for every two patients per twelve-hour shift. However, some of out patients no longer require around the clock supervision and we maintain a skeleton staff after eight p.m."
"You want me here at eight?" asked Frank.
"No. The shift begins at seven but most of the nurses and all but one doctor leave at eight," Lyman explained. "Of course, if you would care to stay for a little while this morning, I will show you around."
"Thank you, Sir," agreed Frank with a slight nod. He followed Lyman out of his office and down the hall. At the first door, Lyman stopped and informed Frank that all information on the patient was kept on a chart within the locked file holder by the outside of the door.
"You will be given a master key for the files when you begin work this evening," Lyman told Frank. "Before entering the room you are to remove the file and familiarize yourself with the patient. You need to know their likes and dislikes; allergies; even what they ate when you were not with them.
"If, by some miracle, a snack is requested by a patient, you will treat it like a meal. Weight and blood pressure is to be taken and recorded along with the time. You will list what the snack was; how much was given; how much was eaten; and, again, the weight and blood pressure after the consumption."
"Why so much detail?" asked Frank curiously.
"This is a research facility," Lyman answered. "We are working on a cure."
Lyman continued showing Frank around the building. They were almost finished when Frank saw Joe, fully dressed in a pair of faded jeans and a white tee shirt, being escorted to a room not far from where he and Lyman stood. "That isn't his room," observed Frank with a frown. Lyman looked at Frank suspiciously so Frank told him how he had met Dr. Holden earlier.
"Ah, I see," Lyman said, his friendly smile back in place. "That is Jack Turner's office," he informed Frank. "Dr. Turner is our resident psychiatrist. New patients, like Joe, see him daily while others only see him twice a week. It is up to Dr. Turner to judge the mental stability of the patients. His prognosis, along with that of Dr. Holden or Dr. Kutchem is what determines the amount of supervision needed for each patient."
As Frank left the foundation, he wondered what Joe had been talking about with Dr. Turner that kept him on the high-risk supervision list that he had seen posted in the main hall when he had first arrived.