Chapter 1
The doctors seated at the board room table sipped their coffee while feigning interest in what Dr. Blanchard was saying. Some tapped their pens on their notepads, some doodled to kill the time. If you asked any of the twelve men sitting around the table they'd all agree that the meeting had already gone on thirty minutes too long.
Dr. Blanchard cleared his throat. "As I was saying, if this hospital doesn't continue to receive funding from said parties, then we'll have to cut more programs."
That seemed to get the attention of a few of the doctors. Cutting funding to some of them could mean that years of research could go to waste. Research that was so important to them that they chose it to their own families, being a cause for divorce amongst several of them. Others were considered estranged fathers to their sons; never catching little league games or forgetting band competitions because of a new finding in the lab.
"I see more of you are with me now." Dr. Blanchard began to pace around the table like a lion circling its prey. "I have in front of me a list of programs that the board considers 'nonessentials'." Faces looked at him from pencil sketches. Deer in the headlights. "There's also a list of names to be cut." And as the semi kept on driving, there was now fur all over the highway.
"I've made some copies for your review." As he began to pass out the pieces of paper, a nurse burst into the room. He saw her out the corner of his eye, and could see that she was breathing heavily in a panic.
"Dr. Blanchard!" She cried out, her voice gurgling.
"Not now, Nancy. We're in a meeting…" his gaze shifted upwards to a large red stain that was growing near her neckline.
"There's something wrong with one of the patients!"
"Good God, Nancy, is that blood?" There was a large smear on her forehead that was dripping blood down onto her once-white nurse's uniform. "Which patient is it?"
"It's…it's him."
"Him?"
"Patient 13."
Dr. Blanchard's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he made a mad dash out of the room. Two of the doctors followed behind him to see what was going on while three others attended Nancy's wound.
Blanchard ran down the hall with speed attributed back to his collegiate days on the track field. Years of neglect and doughnuts stayed his course, though. By the time he reached the top of the staircase he was almost at his knees, huffing and puffing for air.
He reached the end of the third corridor and unlocked the first of several safety doors designed to keep patients confined to their rooms. Thirty feet and four doors later, he arrived at Room J. He could hear the commotion from within before he looked inside.
The scene before him was one all too familiar. A white padded room with a patient clothed in a straight jacket and standard issue non-elastic pants. The man inside was tall, slender, and donned short spiky hair, despite St. Bridgett's Mental Health Institution's best efforts to shave it. He ran back and forth, kicking at the walls and screaming. Blood dripped from his mouth.
"Dear God…you bit Nancy?" The man flashed him a toothy grin, the blood on his chin his spoils of victory. "ORDERLIES! Bring the Demerol, STAT!"
The lights began to flicker as thunder from outside bellowed in the halls. Lightning flashed, creating a strobe light effect all around. Dr. Blanchard turned back to the window in front of him and was mere inches away from Patient 13.
"You tell her," he began to speak to Dr. Blanchard, "you tell that bitch that she knows where to find me." A bolt of lightning ripped through the night sky, and with a rumble of thunder that shook the whole building, the lights went out. Seconds later, backup generators kicked in with auxiliary lighting. An orderly reached Dr. Blanchard and handed him the Demerol syringe as Blanchard was able to get the door unlocked.
"What the….?" What was in front of them now made no utter sense. For where Patient 13 had been standing there only remained a straight jacket and pants.
The doctors seated at the board room table sipped their coffee while feigning interest in what Dr. Blanchard was saying. Some tapped their pens on their notepads, some doodled to kill the time. If you asked any of the twelve men sitting around the table they'd all agree that the meeting had already gone on thirty minutes too long.
Dr. Blanchard cleared his throat. "As I was saying, if this hospital doesn't continue to receive funding from said parties, then we'll have to cut more programs."
That seemed to get the attention of a few of the doctors. Cutting funding to some of them could mean that years of research could go to waste. Research that was so important to them that they chose it to their own families, being a cause for divorce amongst several of them. Others were considered estranged fathers to their sons; never catching little league games or forgetting band competitions because of a new finding in the lab.
"I see more of you are with me now." Dr. Blanchard began to pace around the table like a lion circling its prey. "I have in front of me a list of programs that the board considers 'nonessentials'." Faces looked at him from pencil sketches. Deer in the headlights. "There's also a list of names to be cut." And as the semi kept on driving, there was now fur all over the highway.
"I've made some copies for your review." As he began to pass out the pieces of paper, a nurse burst into the room. He saw her out the corner of his eye, and could see that she was breathing heavily in a panic.
"Dr. Blanchard!" She cried out, her voice gurgling.
"Not now, Nancy. We're in a meeting…" his gaze shifted upwards to a large red stain that was growing near her neckline.
"There's something wrong with one of the patients!"
"Good God, Nancy, is that blood?" There was a large smear on her forehead that was dripping blood down onto her once-white nurse's uniform. "Which patient is it?"
"It's…it's him."
"Him?"
"Patient 13."
Dr. Blanchard's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he made a mad dash out of the room. Two of the doctors followed behind him to see what was going on while three others attended Nancy's wound.
Blanchard ran down the hall with speed attributed back to his collegiate days on the track field. Years of neglect and doughnuts stayed his course, though. By the time he reached the top of the staircase he was almost at his knees, huffing and puffing for air.
He reached the end of the third corridor and unlocked the first of several safety doors designed to keep patients confined to their rooms. Thirty feet and four doors later, he arrived at Room J. He could hear the commotion from within before he looked inside.
The scene before him was one all too familiar. A white padded room with a patient clothed in a straight jacket and standard issue non-elastic pants. The man inside was tall, slender, and donned short spiky hair, despite St. Bridgett's Mental Health Institution's best efforts to shave it. He ran back and forth, kicking at the walls and screaming. Blood dripped from his mouth.
"Dear God…you bit Nancy?" The man flashed him a toothy grin, the blood on his chin his spoils of victory. "ORDERLIES! Bring the Demerol, STAT!"
The lights began to flicker as thunder from outside bellowed in the halls. Lightning flashed, creating a strobe light effect all around. Dr. Blanchard turned back to the window in front of him and was mere inches away from Patient 13.
"You tell her," he began to speak to Dr. Blanchard, "you tell that bitch that she knows where to find me." A bolt of lightning ripped through the night sky, and with a rumble of thunder that shook the whole building, the lights went out. Seconds later, backup generators kicked in with auxiliary lighting. An orderly reached Dr. Blanchard and handed him the Demerol syringe as Blanchard was able to get the door unlocked.
"What the….?" What was in front of them now made no utter sense. For where Patient 13 had been standing there only remained a straight jacket and pants.