These first few chapters are going to be a lot of setting and explanation which might get boring so for that I apologize in advance. I assure there will be more plot and story as it moves along. I might move towards writing one chapter a day and see how that goes, so this will be updating often. Thank you to all who are reading so far! Like I said in the previous chapter, please feel free to give me tips, pointers, anything really. This is my first time publishing a story and would love any and all advice from the more experienced and talented writers out there. Enjoy!
Brown.
Brown dirt, brown jacket, brown shoes.
Brown naked trees violently contrasting the brilliant blue sky.
Lost in the disease of his depression, Jane robotically cooperated with the requests of Dr. Shayat. He had been given a pair of white pants, white shirt, and a brown jacket for his transportation through the somber Autumn air.
His feet familiarized with his normal shoes as he walked from his room, to the car, tapped them on the floor of the car, walked up the steps and through the doors of Heritage Oaks wincing every step of the way. Slicing stab wounds definitely didn't heal in two days time.
White.
White walls, white floors, white doors.
White tile stained with a dirty brown rug.
He waited patiently as Dr. Shayat passed her paperwork to a woman behind a glass cased desk. Patrick could feel the cold, tense air that surrounded him.
White door to the left. Patient Rooms.
White door to the right. Common Room.
Both doors were decorated with brawny men of hulking stature also wearing white, their hands folded in front of them. They eyed Patrick from their positions.
Dr. Shayat kindly disengaged the conversation with the receptionist and retreated to Patrick.
"Okay, Patrick. You're all checked in a ready to go. Let me show you around."
She placed a gentle hand on the small of his back and led him towards the door to the right. The hulking man smiled faintly at Jane as he unlocked and opened the door. They entered the Common Room area. Some patients turned to greet the new arrival, some continued in their never-ending madness in the quietness of their own worlds. The large room had blue walls, wooden flooring, and was decorated with a multitude of chairs, couches, tables, and splattered with books, magazines, and games. An odd abundance of nurses also decorated the room.
"This is the Common Room area. You can hang around here any time of the day from breakfast to lights out." She pointed to a door behind her, also guarded with another hulking figure. "This door leads to the courtyard. That area is only open from dawn to dusk."
The blonde psychologist pressed gently at the small of his back, leading him toward an extended hallway where soft light gleamed through the windows to the right against the doors to the left. They continued their journey as she spoke.
"These rooms hold activities throughout the day. C1 is art. C2 is music. C3 through C6 hold group therapy sessions and C7, 8, and 9 vary depending on the day."
Patrick slowly became lost at the discovery of a blue bird outside the window. He followed it with his eyes before it quickly vanished back into the sky. Dr. Shayat pressed on.
Solitary. The engraving on a door on their right that they bypassed. Either of no importance or so much that he'll be finding out later.
They came to an area with four doors. Each labeled T and with a different range of numbers. T01-T06, T07-T12, T13-T18, and T19-T24. "These are our private therapy rooms," Dr. Shayat explained. "Each patient is assigned their own psychiatrist upon arrival and are assigned to their room as well. That way you can have a safe place to talk and with one continuous person who can be solely focused on you and your needs and progress."
Patrick was lead to the left through another similarly guarded door. Patient Rooms the golden engraved sign read. They passed a number of rooms. P12, P11, P10, (where a man was leaning against his doorway glaring at the new arrival) P09, and so on and so forth until reaching P04. She gently knocked and peered through the sliver of a window that was present in the door before opening and assisting Patrick into the room. It was empty of other human life but populated with the belongings of another.
"This is your room. Your roommate is probably at session or hanging out somewhere throughout the unit. There's fresh sheets, a pillow, and plenty of changes of clothes for you in your closet. You're more than welcome to have someone bring you things from home besides clothing. Y'know, books, blankets, a pillow of your own, posters, things like that."
Jane stared blankly into space. This is what is to become of me. Some lunatic stuck with another lunatic in a locked room for god knows how long.
Elizabeth proceeded to tell Jane how things worked around here. How they woke you up at 8am sharp for medications and breakfast, then morning session with your personal psychiatrist, then free time, leading into group session which lead into lunch which lead to more free time, another visit to your psychiatrist, then a bit of free time, then lights out at 10pm.
Cameras wired the place. A little bit too 1984 for me...
Elizabeth lead him out of the room, shutting the door behind them. They began retracing their steps returning to the Therapy Rooms to arrive at the ominously taunting door.
Solitary.
She typed in a pass code that unlocked the dominant metal door. Patrick was lead inside as the door closed behind him, then through another door marked S2. Inside was a twin bed.
And more white walls.
"Now here's the slight catch, Patrick. Because of the condition you were found in, it is protocol to place you in solitary for a day or two before fully immersing you into the daily routine. George, one of the nurses here, will be bringing you meals in the morning, afternoon, and night. You will also be visited by your psychiatrist in the morning and tomorrow night to get to know you a bit." Elizabeth hugged the doorway as Patrick ventured further inside. "This is where I leave you Patrick. I know you've been through a lot but I can assure you that they will take great care of you here."
The optimistic and belittling smile returned to her face, her eyes lit up with pity.
"Best of luck, Patrick."
Elizabeth exited the room, closing the door and firmly locking it.
A loud silence filled the air.
This was the first time Jane had been alone since...
The memories flooded back.
...since two days ago.
Jane exhaled, slowly sitting down on the thin mattressed twin bed. His stomach and forearms burned underneath the bandages, the stitches stretching his wounded skin. Patrick lifted his white shirt and graced his fingers gently across the careful bandaging around his torso. Slowly, he began unwrapping the bandages thinner and thinner before finally reaching his wounded white skin. His fingers slowly skimmed over each and every stitch. A total of 36 on his torso alone. 12 for two of the longer slices of flesh, 8 for the mid length wound closer to his chest, and 4 for the smaller beginning slice taken horizontal and parallel to his navel. His hands went on a gentle adventure across each and every stitch.
Are they seriously that naive and oblivious to leave a man of my mental instability in a room alone?
Jane closed his eyes, inhaled then exhaled, as he began ripping the stitches from his flesh. Wincing in agony, he clenched his jaw as tight as he could to distract from the pain.
I'm coming, Charlotte. Angela, darling, wait for me. I'll be there soon.
Tears stained his cheeks through the burning. He immediately felt the warm liquid gushing from the wounds.
They weren't going to stop him this time. He had nothing left to live for. With his family dead and Red John harassing him, no home to go to, no job to uphold, nothing. Patrick Jane had slowly slipped into worthlessness.
After successfully ripping at least 20 of the stitches from his flesh, he laid down on the bed.
It's all my fault. I'm so sorry, darling. I'm so sorry.
He closed his eyes.
White.
White shirt stained crimson.