Thank you for your reviews, I really enjoy reading your take on things! As for our boys - break's over, time to rock!
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Chapter 8
Trip leaned back in his seat, staring at the scenery passing by the car window. The steady rain seemed to absorb all color, leaving the cars, the highway and even the fields beyond a featureless gray, as if nature itself had caught a serious case of depression. The dullness was also reflected on the faces of the people behind the steering wheels; not one of them was smiling, most of them staring ahead as if waiting for the road to finally come to an end.
Trip turned away and looked at Malcolm, who was half-asleep in the seat next to him. After twelve days of resting, his fever was gone, his lungs on the mend and he had even regained a little of the weight he had lost, but he was still not quite back to his old self as far as Trip could tell.═ With his memories beginning at some point about five weeks ago, he realized he didn't really know much about Malcolm's "old self" anyway.
Malcolm's head began to nod, and Trip carefully pulled him back so that he was leaning against the headrest of the seat.
"Gonna get a cramp in your neck, Mal," he said quietly. Malcolm did not quite wake up and only muttered something, his head now tilting to one side. Trip wondered if he should ask the orderly who accompanied their transport for a pillow, but dismissed the idea when he saw that the man had his eyes closed, earphones plugged in place and head nodding to an inaudible tune from his music player. The orderly, a young man called Mark Wright, hadn't been too enthusiastic about the job from the beginning, muttering that he could do without the five-hour drive. Trip was beginning to agree with him; after more than four hours, his back and bottom were aching in at least fourteen different places, and he could no longer seem to get comfortable, no matter how much he shifted and changed position. The driver, a large, elderly man, had flat-out ignored Mark's question if they could take a break, driving on as if his foot were glued to the pedal. It seemed that Mark was not the only one who wanted the trip to be over with.
Thinking that he might follow Malcolm's example and sleep a little, Trip leaned back and closed his eyes. With nothing to distract him, he could feel his anxiety beginning to return, sitting in the pit of his stomach like a small, hard ball. The feeling had accompanied him for almost two weeks now, ever since Dr. Lockhart had come to tell them about the strange substance in their bodies and their impending commitment to a psychiatric hospital.
Psychiatric hospital. The cynic in his mind sniggered at the word. Let's not mince words here. You're going to the nuthouse, the funny farm. The place where people are sent when their marbles start rolling away. And I wouldn't be so sure that yours aren't starting to disappear as well.
The hard ball in his stomach was beginning to hurt, and Trip opened his eyes again. With his thoughts going in circles like this, he would never get to sleep. And he had to admit that he was afraid. Afraid that this was it; the beginning of the rest of his life. Living on the streets, he and Malcolm had been cold, hungry and miserable, but they had been free to come and go as they pleased. Even in the hospital, he had been asked before they had admitted him to the Psych Ward, and he had been free to decide whether he wanted to stay or not.
This was different, and it had started at the point when Dr. Lockhart had first mentioned the substance and the sudden interest of the government in their case. Now, he no longer felt free in any sense of the word, and technically speaking, he wasn't. Mark sitting there next to Malcolm was living proof of the fact that they were no longer trusted on their own.
The car pulled over to the right-hand lane, and Trip saw that they were heading for an exit. He was a little surprised that they would leave the highway here, in the middle of nowhere. He would have expected their destination to be a little closer to a city or settlement. Rain was still pouring down and what little light there was was starting to fade away, making it harder to determine where they were going.
After twenty minutes of driving along deserted country roads, the car turned into a byway, a smaller road lined with trees. When they passed the sign, Trip was surprised; he hadn't really expected to encounter anything out here. He squinted, and could only barely make out the words: "River Valley - Hospital for Mental Care".
"Mark." The driver spoke up for the first time since they had left the hospital premises, half turning his head to look at Wright, who was still tapping along to his music. "Mark. We're here."
Mark opened his eyes and pulled one of the plugs out of his ear. "What?"
"We are here," the driver repeated with exaggerated precision. "Now shut that thing off. You're not supposed to be listening to music anyway."
Mark rolled his eyes and hit the off-switch on his music player, then wrapped the earplugs around it and stuffed it into his bag.
"You two okay?" he asked with a glance at Trip and Malcolm, who was starting to wake up, yawning and blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
"Yeah," Trip said, but he wasn't really paying attention. The car had turned into a driveway, and now Trip could see the buildings that belonged to the road sign. There were several of them arranged around a large, paved yard, cars parked next to the entrances. Each building was at least four stories high, fronted with large glass windows and even a few balconies.
No bars, Trip noticed, and for some reason, it made the ball in his stomach ache a little less. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but this didn't exactly look like a hellhole. They had trees here, even a few flowerbeds, he noticed as the car passed the gate. And there were no bars in front of the windows. It looked... okay. Yeah.
The driver parked the car in front of the largest building and shut off the engine, turning around to Mark.
"You gonna take them inside? I'll stay here if you don't mind."
"That's okay." Mark nodded at him, then looked at Trip and Malcolm. "Come on, guys."
They climbed out of the car into the rain, Trip carrying the bag with their blue jumpsuits, a few other spare clothes, and the toiletry items they had been given at the hospital
Malcolm was still looking a little mussed-up from sleeping, and pulled his jacket tighter around his shoulders as they followed Mark to the door of the building.
"I hope they'll hurry up with the formalities," he said to Trip. "I'm bloody knackered."
Trip nodded, flexing his shoulders to work the kink out of his back. "Yeah, me too." It was true; now that Malcolm mentioned it, he realized just how tired he was.
Mark opened the door and led them into a large reception hall. The light was almost too bright after coming in out of the rain, and Trip blinked and held up a hand to shield his eyes. The hall was sparsely furnished, with only a few chairs and a reception desk. There was no one around, and Trip was beginning to wonder if Mark would call for someone when a door at the far side of the hall opened, and an elderly woman in a business-like jacket suit, her black hair pulled back in a ponytail, entered the room. She was followed by a man dressed in a white t-shirt and pants.
The woman smiled when she saw Mark, and came over to greet him. As she crossed the room, her eyes briefly flicked to Trip, then to Malcolm, but she said nothing to them and held out her hand for Mark to shake.
"I'm Dr. Cooke, the manager," she said. "I assume you're Mark Wright? A Dr. Lockhart called to let me know you were coming."
"Er, yeah." Mark smiled a little awkwardly as he took her hand. "That's right. And these two are - " he checked on the form he was holding - "Charles Tucker and Malcolm Reed. I guess Dr. Lockhart already told you about them."
"Indeed." Dr. Cooke's gray eyes came to rest on them and she nodded, acknowledging their presence for the first time. "Welcome to River Valley, gentlemen."
"Thanks," Trip replied, unsure what to make of her greeting. She was apparently trying to sound cordial, but there was no real warmth in her voice, or in her eyes. Malcolm only nodded in reply, burying his hands in the pockets of his jacket.
"Well..." Mark glanced at the door. "If, uh, if you don't need me... the other guy is waiting outside, so..."
"Certainly," Dr. Cooke said. "Thank you for taking them here."
"Uh, no problem. " He fidgeted with the form in his hands. "I'll need a signature on this."
"Of course." She took the form and quickly signed on the designated space, then gave it back to Mark. Trip felt suddenly irritated at being handed over like a piece of furniture, but quelled the feeling before it could take hold. This was merely a part of the normal procedure, and if Dr. Cooke seemed a little... indifferent, it was probably because she had gone through the same thing a thousand times before.
Mark nodded at her and grinned at Trip and Malcolm, already on his way to the door. "Good luck, guys."
"Bye," Trip said, but Mark had already disappeared into the rain. The door closed behind him with a soft click, and for the first time Trip noticed the electronic lock, which allowed free access from the outside but prevented anyone from leaving who didn't have a key.
"Very well," Dr. Cooke said, in a tone that called for immediate attention. Trip turned his head to find her assessing him with a cool, gray gaze. "You are Charles Tucker?"
He nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
She raised her eyebrows, obviously surprised by the form of address, and he found himself blushing. The doctor seemed like the sort of person who commanded a respectful approach, and the word had just slipped out. She didn't say anything about it, however, looking at Malcolm instead.
"And Malcolm Reed. Good. I'd like you to know a few things about the way this institution is run before Nurse Owens sees you through admission." She nodded at the man she had so far ignored. "We have a schedule for our patients that we'll expect you to follow, including mealtimes, therapy and group sessions. I should point out to you that our approach here at River Valley is focused on group therapy rather than individual treatment, meaning that you'll be spending most of your days in group activities. You'll also participate in our work program." She paused. "You'll notice that River Valley is very strict on security. It isn't needed most of the time, and I'm sure you understand that we can't allow you to leave the premises unaccompanied. I trust that you'll save us and yourselves the trouble.
"This is not a private institution, so we can't allow much in the way of special requests. We expect you to cooperate with us, and it goes without saying that you'll follow the nursing staff's orders at all times."
She looked from Trip to Malcolm. "Are there any questions?"
Trip shook his head and Malcolm did likewise, sneaking him a glance from the corner of his eye. Dr. Cooke seemed oblivious to the effect her little speech had had on her new patients.
"Good. Nurse Owens will take care of you and show you to your room."
Owens, a tall thin man with glasses, nodded and she turned to leave. Trip stared after her, clutching the handle of his bag. Part of him wanted to ask Owens for the next pay phone, call Dr. Lockhart and tell her to get them out of here now, before this got any worse. The words were almost out of his mouth when he caught himself.
Get a grip. This is probably just what they do, "show them who's the boss" or something of the like. No need to freak out.
A minute of uncomfortable silence followed, until Owens shifted his feet. Unlike Cooke, he seemed aware of their reaction and the awkwardness of the moment.
Finally, he cleared his throat. "Well then... I guess we should get going."
He grinned a little and somehow, his friendly tone and expression broke the tension Cooke had left behind. Trip nodded and even managed to find a smile of his own.
"Yeah, okay."
"This way, please." Owens motioned for them to follow him, pushing up his glasses that had slid down the bridge of his nose. It was a funny, harmless gesture, and Trip found that the feeling of impending doom brought on by Dr. Cooke's welcoming speech was fading. Maybe she was just the type of no-nonsense person who considered friendliness a waste of time, and wasn't even aware that she sounded more like a prison warden than a psychiatrist.
They followed Owens through a door and down a hallway. At the very end, there was a glass door with the words "Medical Ward" printed on it, which Owens opened by slipping an electronic key card into a slot on the wall. The room inside wasn't much different from the examination room back at the hospital, only that it was larger and equipped with two beds instead of one.
Owens closed the door, then nodded at the bag Trip was carrying.
"You can give me that now."
Trip, thinking of the blue overalls, didn't hand it over immediately. "We've got our clothes in there.
Owens shrugged. "Patients can't keep their own stuff as a rule. Too much of a risk. I'm sorry," he added. Trip hesitated, then reluctantly handed him the bag.
"Thanks." Owens smiled at him, obviously relieved that Trip wasn't going to make a fuss about it. "I'll keep it safe for you."
Secretly, Trip doubted that, but said nothing, not wanting to antagonize the nurse, who was obviously trying to be nice. Owens pointed at a door on the other side of the room.
"You can take a shower in there. Dr. Rowland will be here in a few minutes to examine you. Oh, and leave the door open," he added as an after-thought.
Malcolm frowned at that, and Trip was tempted to ask the nurse if he thought that they would drown each other or strangle themselves with the towels on a sudden spur of insanity. He bit back the words, though, and only nodded in reply. After all, he had washed in public before.
The shower room was designed for more than one person, and they undressed quickly, leaving their clothes on a chair next to the door. Trip adjusted the faucet until the water was almost too hot to be comfortable, then stood under the shower with his eyes closed. The dull ache in his back was beginning to subside, his muscles relaxing with the warmth. The water pooling around his feet was still warm enough to tingle on his skin, but he didn't mind, thinking that he could stay there forever. He had been cold too often for too long a time, and every time he stepped into a shower it was as if he had entered paradise.
After a while, the sound of wet feet on tiles made his eyes snap open, and he realized that he had almost fallen asleep standing up. Malcolm had left the shower and was drying off with one of the towels that were stacked on a wall shelf. Trip turned off the water and at the same time noticed that their clothes were gone from the chair. Owens must have removed them while they had showered.
Malcolm caught his eyes. "Don't think much of privacy, do they?"
Trip nodded. It was probably mere routine in a place like this, but it was beginning to annoy him all the same. He wasn't a raving lunatic with a hidden knife in his pocket, and he hated to be treated like one.
He was still drying off when Owens appeared in the door.
"Dr. Rowland's here," he said. "You done?"
"Could we have our clothes, please?" Trip asked, careful to keep his tone and phrasing neutral.
Owens shook his head. "You'll be given patient's garb after the examination. Now come on, the doctor's waiting."
Patient's garb. The word conjured the image of a black and white-striped prison overall before Trip's mental eye. He wrapped his towel around his waist, holding it together with one hand, and went back into the main room, followed by Malcolm who was holding on to his own towel.
An elderly man in a white coat was sorting through the equipment table, looking up as they entered. His eyebrows drew together when he saw them, and he gave Owens an impatient nod.
"Tell them to leave those in the bathroom. You know that, Mick."
It took Trip a moment to understand that the doctor was referring to their towels. He felt an angry heat rise to his face.
"We'll keep them if it's all the same to you," he said, no longer caring if he sounded hostile. As it seemed, the prison warden attitude wasn't restricted to Dr. Cooke, after all.
Dr. Rowland's eyes widened, but before he could say anything someone grabbed Trip's arm hard enough to bruise.
"Towels. Bathroom. What part of that didn't you understand?"
Before Trip could say or do anything in response, his towel was yanked from his grip. The man in the nurse uniform, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, let go of him again, and only now did Trip get a better look at his face. It was pale and narrow, sharp lines surrounding the mouth although the man could not have been older than forty. The thin lips twisted into a grin as he stepped away from Trip.
"No need to be shy, pretty boy," he said. "Don't got nothing to hide, do you?"
Trip felt himself blush and hated it, struggling against the urge to cover his private parts with his hands. The man seemed to know what he was thinking and smirked as he threw the towel over his shoulder.
"Paul," Owens said quietly. "Leave him alone."
The man in the nurse uniform ignored him and sauntered over to Malcolm, grabbing his towel as well.
"Cute," he remarked, and threw the two towels into the shower room. "I should take a picture."
"That's enough, Nurse Lendon," Dr. Rowland said shortly. "The medication for Mr. Andrews is over there. He's late as it is."
Lendon rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah, I'm on my way."
He grabbed the bottle with pills from the counter and dropped it into his pocket, winking at Trip on his way to the door.
"See you later, boys."
Trip turned away and Lendon laughed, still chuckling as he closed the door. Malcolm stared after him, hands balled into fists, and only looked away when Owens cleared his throat.
"Don't mind him," he nodded his chin at the door. "He can be a little stupid sometimes."
Wouldn't have guessed. Only that I'd call him a fucking asshole. Trip pressed his lips together and said nothing in response.
"Well," Dr. Rowland cut in, "if you'd take a seat on the bed, now, I'd like to get this over with."
He looked at Malcolm, who slowly walked over to the examination table and sat down. The doctor fitted his stethoscope into his ears.
"Take a deep breath, Mr. ..."
"Reed."
"Mr. Reed. Take a deep breath now."
Malcolm obeyed and Trip turned away, leaning against the other bed and wrapping his arms around himself against the cold. The linoleum felt icy under his bare feet, and the small, hard ball in stomach was back, hurting worse than ever before.
He closed his eyes, and didn't open them again until the doctor called him for his turn.
TBC...
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