Title: Madly in Love
Summary: When Wendy came back from Neverland and started telling people about her experiences, they all thought she was crazy… literally. Can she convince anyone to believe her? And what if they don't?
Author's Note: Oh… my… gosh. I know, I've taken months and months to update this! I have so much I'm working on right now (2 fanfics already started, one in the making, drawing a manga/comic book, school work). I'm creative when I'm bored and I've just had too much to do. Excuse the lateness and here's chapter three!
After dressing properly in her own clothes and redressing the light gause on her temple, the hospital sent Wendy in a coach to the institute, which was just minutes away. The entire trip, she was looking out the single window in the carriage to see how close the impending building was. It was a lovely day, sun was bright, the air was clear, and the temperature was just right to be outdoors. Why is it that, on a day like this, Wendy had to be taken to a mental hospital?
The carriage stopped abruptly in front of it and the driver got down and opened the door for her. Reluctantly, she stepped out and, as slowly as she could manage, walked up to the main entrance. The building on the outside was a rather homey brick and the doors were beautiful mahogany with brass handles. It looks positively pleasant from the outside but Wendy felt sick to her stomach, knowing that things are not always as they appear and that something dark and traumatizing was waiting just behind those doors.
The driver of the coach escorted her in and took her to a woman who was sitting at a desk in a corner. She had red hair and large glasses and was leaning over some documents and jotting notes down on separate leaflet of paper. When the driver cleared his throat loudly, she looked up and gave a superficial smile. It was the kind that she must have handed out a thousand times a day, so it was not genuine but polite and proper. Her gaze jumped from the driver to Wendy and put down her ink pen.
"And who do we have here?" she asked, as if she was speaking to a child. The driver nudged Wendy's back and signaled for her to answer.
"My name's Wendy Darling," said Wendy slowly.
"Ah, yes. Wendy. Dr. Rollins called us this morning about your admittance," she replied. She rummaged through her papers and pulled a certain sheet out before stuffing it in a pocket on her dress. Then she looked at the driver and said, "Thank you for getting her here safely, Robbins."
"My pleasure, ma'am," he said courteously and tipped his hat. The woman blushed a little and directed her eyes back on the seventeen year old in front of her as Robbins the driver exited to get back to his coach.
"Welcome to Bloomsbury Mental Institution, love. My name is Bridget Vonderbeck and I'm the chief secretary here. I know pretty much all about this place, so if you ever need help then be sure to come and ask my any questions you have," assured Bridget, a slight Irish accent seeping into her speech.
"Thank you, ma'am," said Wendy, not really meaning it but just simply for the sake of being polite.
"Alright, let's first get you to the nurse for your first tests."
"Excuse me?"
"Every inmate must take a blood test to see if they have any sort of strange blood problems. This helps us determine if they're sick, have an abnormality, or are allergic to medicine. It's just one little shot and you'll be right out of there."
This did not bode well. Wendy was never squeamish or nervous around needles but still, they had to poke a hole in her skin, suck out blood, and then run some tests on her that will supposedly tell them all they need to know about her. She grimaced and then smiled a little at her next thought. She could hear the doctor saying "Yes, Wendy Maura Angela Darling. Age 17, likes pork, 2 broken bones, favorite color is green, and is obsessed with a boy named Peter Pan." Oh yes, blood tests are the way to go. She rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue but Bridget didn't hear.
The halls of the institute were very bare. There were not decorations or paintings like a civilized home should have. It was painted a washed out white and looked like halls and halls of blank paper. And that's how it felt… blank. The floor was wood in some rooms and linoleum in others. It all seemed too sterilized and too white. It gave Wendy a headache being in such a bright white room. And on top of all that, it was eerily quiet, almost like they were hiding something.
Another door lay before her and Bridget opened it to reveal a nurse, dressed in all white herself.
"Oh, lord, please let there be more than the color white in this place," she mockingly pleaded in her head.
The nurse looked over and gave a fake smile like Bridget's, but this one was much nastier, like the nurse had never had a good day in her life. She was a stout woman, and the buttons on her nurse's dress were straining to hold her inside in material. While Wendy was noticing the messy curls about the nurse's head, the woman pulled out a 3 inch needle!
"This is Wendy Darling, Cordelia. Obviously a new patient, so she needs some blood drawn," explained Bridget. Cordelia nodded.
"I assumed so," answered the woman called Cordelia. Then she motioned for Wendy to come sit in a very cushy armchair and the girl did so without complaint.
Wendy had received several shots before, even blood samples. All of them were quick and practically painless so she wasn't very worried. Cordelia pulled out an elastic band and tied it around Wendy's upper arm, and she explained that it was so the veins were easier to locate. It sounded logical enough. But after a few moments of Cordelia just readying the needle (which really didn't need that much readying) Wendy was starting to lose some feeling in her lower arm. This was obviously getting very uncomfortable, losing circulation always is. Finally, Cordelia came at Wendy's arm with the shot. A simple prick on the inside of her elbow, and the needle was inserted in her arm. No pain was hitting. Cordelia pulled the stopper very, very slowly on the syringe needle and the wide tube began to fill up with a brownish-red fluid. The tube looked like it was barely smaller than a beaker she'd seen in her science class, and was labeled in increments of 2. The blood was closing on almost 20, and it didn't seem like the nurse should be taking that much blood just for a test. The corpulent woman stood there extracting blood for a few more seconds then pulled it out.
"You're all done. I'm surprised. Girls especially typically put up a huge fuss over these needles. You're very brave," Cordelia complimented, but the girl it was directed towards sat up a little straighter. She was always one who enjoyed praises.
"Since you're all done here, I'll take you to your room next. How's that sound, Wendy?" asked Bridget, who has been standing in the room waiting the whole time.
"Lovely," she answered back. Wendy had decided to try and make the best of this experience. Maybe if she just could look at the bright side, she wouldn't be miserable the whole time.
Next, the redheaded lady turned on her heel and walked out the door with Wendy trailing behind her.
From the outside, the institution didn't seem very big, so she was very surprised to have to walk past rows and rows of halls, just leading to bedrooms. It was quite a walk to get to her "cell", as they called it. What a fitting name.
Bridget Vonderbeck was acting like a museum's tour guide as they strolled through the corridors, talking all the while and explaining what things were and why they were there. Wendy tried to listen intently just to be polite but also incase she might need to remember them later. Because who knows when this random information will come in handy? Finally, they turned down on certain hallway and stopped in front of a door, looking just as uniform as the rest, where Bridget rapped her knuckles on the door.
"Eliza," the woman called. There was no answer. Instead of waiting for one, Bridget turned the knob and walked right in. The room was empty, the walls were bare, and there were two spring mattress beds in opposite corners of the room. One of the beds was nice and tidy like no one had been using it and the other was tousled and unmade. Obviously, there had already been someone sleeping in it, probably this Eliza girl whom Bridget had been calling for. Without hesitation, Wendy stepped in the room and listened to more of the older woman's tour guide spiel.
"At last, here's your cell. It's room 43 and don't forget that, my dear. You'll be sharing a room with another young lady by the name of Eliza Patrick. She's a lovely girl, you'll both get along quite well if you both behave."
"Where is she now?"
"Probably off in the dining room. I showed it to you on the way here. It's about time for all the patients to eat lunch," replied Ms. Vonderbeck. She fished out a piece of folded up paper from a deep pocket and handed it to Wendy very unceremoniously. "This is your schedule. It details everything that you need to be at and where it is. On your bed are two sets of clothes. One is a nightgown, which you shall wear all through the day (hospital rules). The second is a grey dress that you are allowed to wear when you have visitors or when we go on outings. Understand?"
Wendy nodded.
"Good. That's all of the basics, so I'll be off. Remember, I'm up at the front desk if you need anything. Ta, La."
What a strange woman she was. Wendy chuckled. She seemed like one who was meant to deal with children the way she talked to Wendy, calling her "love" and "dear" and "la".
Holding up the schedule, she looked it over carefully, very curious as to what it entailed. What kind of things do you do at a mental hospital?
7:00 – Breakfast in the dining room
8:00 – Journal writing
8:30 – Art class
10:00 – Session with Dr. Powell
12:00 – Lunch in the dining room
1:00 - Leisure time
3:30 - Afternoon Tea
4:00 – Reading time in the Library
5:30 – Supper in the dining room
6:30 – Session with Dr. Smith
8:30 – Leisure time
9:00 – Curfew
"Well, they have the entire day all planned out, don't they," said Wendy, who was actually very surprised at how structured it all was. It was almost like boarding school, just without classes and homework. The current time was 12:30, or so it said on the small clock on the desk that stood humbly near the wall in her cell. She thought for a moment and then concluded, "Well, I suppose I'll just skip to leisure time, eh?"
She ventured over to her perfectly made bed and spied the clothes chosen for her. The nightgown was an off-white, and Wendy hoped that was intentional and not because of constant use. She held it up, inspecting it up and down, and realized how large it was. Slipping it over her head, it fell over her effortlessly and a few inches of material touched the floor. Then she tried walking in it and stepped on the hem several times but never actually falling, thank goodness.
"This is absurd! Do they really believe I would fit in this? It's larger than my bed sheet!" laughed Wendy. She turned it into a joke and laughed about how she looked like a child in their parent's clothes. No part of it fit her correctly but she reasoned it was better to deal with having to hold it up as she walked, than be disrespectful and unappreciative by asking for a new one. "That would be rather rude."
"You look new."
Wendy spun around and stopped laughing when the voice from behind her caught her attention. There was a small, thin, blonde girl standing in the doorway. She couldn't have been older than 14, and was wearing a teal nightgown that Wendy wouldn't have minded trading her white one for, because it looked like the girl's proper size.
"How embarrassing! Here I was canoodling about like an idiot and she walks in," thought Wendy.
"I'm Eliza," the girl said quickly and shut the door. She strutted over to her bed and flopped onto it in a very unladylike way.
"My name's Wendy. It's very nice to meet you."
"Yes, nice to meet you too, I suppose," said Eliza sarcastically. She put her hands behind her head and closed her eyes before sighing deeply.
For a few moments, nothing was said between the two, and Wendy felt the need to strike up a conversation.
"You were right. I am new," rambled Wendy, trying to get the ball rolling.
"Well, aren't I clever? Don't bother with awe, anyone can tell you're new. You're night clothes don't even fit yet."
"Am I supposed to grow into this or something?" asked Wendy as she pulled at least a foot of cotton cloth away from her, showing how oversized it as.
"No, but almost everyone finds a way to alter their clothes to make them fit. When they first handed me this disgusting nightgown, I could barely pull it over my head. I made a few adjustments and now it is finally half-way decent."
"Oh. Oh yes, I suppose that would make sense."
Another long pause and all Wendy heard was shuffling outside the cell door. It was probably the other people leaving dinner, and now was their "leisure time".
"So why are you here?" asked Eliza out of the blue, her eyes still closed like she was trying to sleep.
"Me? My parents think I attempted suicide."
"That would explain that thing on your forehead," Eliza responded, cracking on eye open to look at the other girl. "But did you?"
"Heavens, no! Why would I do a thing like that?"
"Possibly because you're miserable in your life and feel like the only way to be happy is to leave it permanently, hoping that God will grant you peace in death."
Stunned and speechless, Wendy stared at Eliza. She spoke with so much wisdom, such that Wendy, though she was older in years, felt quite inferior to Eliza, who was more experienced in those things.
Wendy had never thought of it like that before. She had never been so unhappy in her life that it drove her to do something so drastic. Was that why people killed themselves?
"I… I don't think I've ever felt that," said Wendy meekly. Eliza gave a bitter laugh.
"By the end of your visit here, trust me, you'll know how that feels," said the blonde. "You're such a little lamb right now but things will change. How long as you scheduled to stay?"
"Six weeks."
"You're one of the lucky ones then."
"Why is that?"
"Most of the patients here have undefined release dates. They stay until the doctors and therapists think they're ready for the world. Some stay here the rest of their lives."
This was scaring her. Would she have to stay longer than six weeks? It seemed a little extreme to do any more than that, but would the doctors keep her here longer? Would her parents keep her here longer?
"How long have you been here, Eliza?" Wendy said softly.
"… I've been in Bloomsbury Mental Institution for over eighteen months when they told me I'd be out in four."
Wendy was really starting to worry now. She unconsciously touched the gauze over her temple and hopednervously, "Mother and Father wouldn't let that happen."