Hey Guys! Sorry for the late update! School and junk. Y'know how it is.
So I hope you all like this chapter. The plot is thickening. Everything is going according to my dastardly plan! ):D
Mwahaha.
Hope ya like!
-Blythe
Chapter 7: Hide and Seek
Alvin's Point of View:
My eyes shot open, jolting awake to the sound of glass shattering and frantic, wild screaming. It sounded as if someone's hair was being ripped out...or like someone was being burned alive; it was petrifying. I could hear hinges squeaking and the sound of clanging metal. Someone was thrashing about - fighting.
I hauled myself out of bed and opened the door to my room, trying to find the source of the panic. It was a girl's voice; a familiar, feminine tone. Immediately, I rushed to my window and peered out through the droplets of rain to room 60C, that 'Brittany' girl's room. As I expected, the lights were on and she was standing by her window. Her face was disturbed, her hair was ratty and tangled and she was pacing, her fingers gripping her arms intensely. She was talking to someone... or maybe she was just talking to herself. I moved closer to the window, looking to see if there was someone else there she was talking to, but I saw nobody. No shadows, just her. I kept a close watch on her until I heard the screaming again. Her mouth gaped open as she let out the ear-splitting squeals, covering her ears as tears spilled from her eyes.
"Let me out! LET ME OUT!" she wailed, "I WANT OUT! I WANT OF HERE! I WANT OUT! LET ME OUT!"
I turned away for a moment, suddenly feeling afraid of the girl. I'd seen her be stubborn, cold, and detached... but I've never seen her like this before. I didn't want to see her like this; I didn't like this. She wasn't the pleasant-looking doll I remembered seeing earlier. I turned my back to her and covered my ears from the sound, trying to block her out, but she kept screaming and chanting. I could hear more crashing as she began to throw things at the windows - chairs, hangers, books, shoes...
She picked up one of her heart rate monitors to throw it, but then she was held back by two men in white uniforms who took her arms and restrained her before she could, pulling her away from the window and away from my line of sight. The only thing I could see now was doctors and nurses rushing in, blocking everything with their backs as they strapped her down to the bed. More and more doctors were flooding in and I began to wonder just how many people it took for them to actually keep her down.
I moved away from the window and toward my bed, but before I got back under the covers, I decided against going back to sleep. Something in me wanted to see what was happening in 60C; what were they doing to her? Why was she so angry? Why did she require so many doctors? Maybe they were shooting her up with some kind of tranquilizer or something.
Without a second thought, I was already outside my room, pulling on my housecoat as I turned the corner to room 60C. Whatever was happening to this girl gave me the strangest feeling of curiosity; I had to know what they were doing to her. Maybe they were giving her electric shock therapy or putting her in a straightjacket. What if she really was as crazy as everyone thinks she is and she really is one of those psychotics that belongs in the A wing? After all, she WAS in there at one point, according to that girl I met in group therapy.
The chanting and hollering began to turn into begging and whimpering as I neared the room. I carefully peeked through the door.
Beside her bed was Dr. Walters and a woman doctor with long black curls whom I didn't recognize. Dr. Walters filled a syringe full of clear yellow liquid about halfway, then began to tap the side of the needle to get the bubbles out. From there, he bent over and held the shot against Brittany's arm. She began to sob at the sight of the syringe, desperately attempting to rip her arm out of the restraint of the harness that fastened her to the bed.
"No, no! NO! Dr. Walters, please! Please! I'll stop, I will! I'll stop! Just please!"
The syringe was placed in the fold of her forearm, she began squealing again, balling her hands into fists.
"NO!"
"Brittany, it's only going to hurt more if you continue to act like this. Please hold still and relax your arm," said the woman doctor, moving hair out of the screaming girl's eyes. Brittany continued to beg and plead.
"No, please! Please! I won't do it anymore! I won't! I'll be quiet now!"
"Brittany, you said that last time this happened and you didn't calm down. Don't you remember?"
"But that was different! Please! I don't want it! Please, Dr. Thomas!"
"I'm sorry, Brittany, but it's for your own good."
With that, her arm was jabbed with the syringe before she had time to struggle. She moved her arm only slightly when it went through her skin, but she seemed to be calm after a minute or so of being given the drug. She began to close her eyes, mumbling something inaudible under her breath as the woman doctor Brittany called Dr. Thomas sat by her bedside, speaking to her gently. The rest of the hospital workers exited the room, looking a lot wearier than when they'd entered it. Before I heard what Dr. Thomas was telling Brittany, I was interrupted by Dr. Walters. He stood before me with a wooden clipboard under his arm.
"Alvin, what are you doing outside of your room after quiet hours?"
I swallowed hard, expecting to get a lecture no matter what I answered with.
"I heard screaming...and it woke me up. I just got spooked, that's all. I just wanted to see what all the commotion was about."
"Okay. Next time, use the intercom in your room to call for the nurses, alright? The problem we have with letting you wander around is that it you'll be immediately escorted back. You know that, don't you?"
I nodded, suddenly feeling a tinge of annoyance. He patted me on the shoulder and walked me back to room 1D.
"Alright, sport. Now try to get some sleep, alright?"
Another hour had passed and it was 4am. Outside, I could see the vague shadows of trees in the distance and the outlines of the garden outside my window. The sun wasn't out quite yet. It was way too early to be considered daytime. I'd spent the hours of the night tossing and turning, trying to figure out how to shut my mind off so I could have a few hours of peace. No luck. I was alert as I would ever be, waiting for some kind of drowsiness or fatigue to come over me. Nothing.
But then, out of the blue, there was this voice. It took me a moment to realize that somebody was trying to speak to me.
"E-excuse me?"
I turned to the direction of this new sound. It was pleasant; gentle. Familiar.
"Hello?"
My eyes fluttered open, peering over at the doorway of my room. Standing in the shadows was a silhouette of someone tall and thin - a girl from what I could see. She seemed to sway a little bit as she awaited my response.
"Uh...hi?" I replied, keeping the covers of my bed over my shoulders. Who could possibly have been awake at this hour? She seemed like a child - how could any child wake up at this time?
"Hi," mumbled the voice again. She stepped forward and I could just barely see her face in the dimness of the room. She wore pink-rimmed glasses and a blue turtle-neck sweater that was a few sizes too big from what I could see, and she had to have been about nine or ten years old. She was much thinner than I'd thought she was a second ago, wearing a skirt that revealed the lower part of her legs. She looked as if she'd been fighting with someone - there were cuts and bruises covering her legs and the porcelain skin on her face. Her lip was busted up pretty bad, too. The strangest part was, she didn't seem like the type that would fight.
What was a girl her age doing on this wing in the first place? Pediatric patients were located in a totally different building. But I didn't want to ask her what she was doing in here. Maybe she was visiting a patient on the D wing and just got lost.
"Can I help you?" I asked in my nicest tone of voice. I didn't appreciate her interrupting my attempts to fall asleep, but I didn't want to scare her away. It seemed like if I did so much as sneeze she would flee in an instant like some sort of wild deer.
"Actually, I was wondering... is it okay if I hide in your room for a while?" she said in a hushed voice. She looked behind her as if she was being followed by someone.
"Um...I'm sorry, what?" I said, a little perplexed by her question. Did she just ask me if she could hide in my room?
"Is it okay if I hide in here? It'll just be for a few minutes, then I'll leave."
"Why do you need to hide? Who're you hiding from?" I asked, sitting up slowly.
"U-um...I...I'll tell you when I'm done hiding, okay?" She said quickly, ducking into my closet and closing the door behind her. I didn't get up from my bed or ask her anymore questions. It was fine by me: if she needed to hide, I'd rather she just do so and keep quiet.
I stayed awake and watched the closet door for about fifteen minutes or so, but she still wasn't coming out. Her idea of "a few minutes" must've been longer than my idea of it. I started thinking about whether I should knock on the door and ask if she was still in there and if she needed a little more time, or just flat out kicking her out of my room so I could get some rest. However, I figured that since she wasn't making a sound, I'd better let it slide for now. Besides, I was beginning to feel drowsy.
After a minute or so more of staring at my closet door, I laid down on my back. I felt strange; heavier than last I laid down - like I was lounging in quicksand and slowly being sucked into the sheets. Finally giving in, I closed my eyes and gave my body what my mind had been keeping from it - a deep sleep.
Four Hours Later
When I awoke four hours later for breakfast, I could see everything much clearer now than I could before. The sun was rising hazily in the distance, projecting its brightness behind the trees and casting a shadow on their branches and leaves on the roof of the south entrance. Today was Tuesday, and Tuesday meant french toast for breakfast.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, stretching out the lower half of my body. I rocked back and forth on my heels to get the blood flowing back into my toes, then began peeling off my sweatpants to put on a pair of jeans. That's when I remembered:
There's a little girl hiding in my closet!
Immediately, I pulled on my jeans, keeping an eye on my closet door to make sure the girl wouldn't come out while I was getting dressed. I buttoned and zipped up the fly of my pants and snuck over to my closet. I knocked; no answer. I knocked again, but there was still no response.
"Hello? Little girl? A-are you still in there?" I asked, tapping on the door with my knuckle, "You can come out now."
"Alvin?" Said a voice from out in the hallway. I jolted, pulling away from the door of my closet. Looking towards the hall, I saw Dr. Walters waiting for me outside, "Are you ready for breakfast, Alvin?"
"Um...y-yeah! Of course!" I responded quickly, "I just gotta put on my new shirt. Then I'll be right out."
"Okay, take your time. I'll be waiting out here for you."
Quickly, I pulled off my nightshirt and grabbed a new dry-cleaned on from the clean pile folded on a chair by my window. I took a moment to smell it; just as I thought, it reeked of hospital detergent. It was the flowery kind that smelled like old lady and fine linen. Gag me, I thought.
I found myself beginning to stare at my closet door again, paranoia creeping over me. What if I opened the door and she was asleep in there? Would I just leave her to sleep in my closet, or should I report her to the nurses on duty? If I reported her, would she get in a lot of trouble for intruding in an inpatient's dorm?
I eyed the doorknob for a good ten seconds before placing my hand over it, then I twisted the handle and the door swung open, revealing.
….Nothing. She wasn't there; all there was was a closet full of motionless clothes.
I began to move around the shirts and pants hanging in the closet, making sure she wasn't stowed away behind anything. She had vanished without a trace - everything in the closet was exactly the way I'd left it the day before. Nothing had been disturbed. I stepped back from the closet and began to search around my room in a panic - I looked under my bed, out my window, in the bathroom... But no such luck. She was gone.
Surely I hadn't imagined her this whole time...
Third Person:
Stepping out into the hallway, Alvin turned to close his door before joining Dr. Walters by the corner of the C and D wings. Every morning at promptly the same time, Alvin was to report to the dining hall with his escort at approximately 8am. This was a requirement set by the staff once they took note of his eating disorder; those who struggled with eating disorders were to be watched as they ate to make sure they were getting their required dosage of nutrition every morning before therapy sessions began. On Tuesdays after breakfast, art therapy would begin at 8:30am - this was part of Alvin's new schedule.
Like clockwork, Alvin finished his meal of french toast and hashbrowns at exactly 8:20am. It seemed that the longer he lived here, the more he'd gotten used to his body working systematically, syncing with his scheduled therapy sessions and meal times. He was now used to his stomach growling five to ten minutes before breakfast, lunch, and dinner without fail. The doctors said that this was a good thing; the more his stomach was used to an agenda, the more willing he would be to eat just out of a force of habit. By now, Alvin wasn't really daunted by people watching him eat all the time - just so long as no one was there to watch him sleep, he was fine.
"Alvin...Seville?" Called a nurse from the activities hall, "Is there an Alvin Seville here?"
Alvin stood up from his seat, "right here."
"Hello, Alvin," greeted the nurse warmly, "My name's Peggy, nice to meet you. I'll be taking you to your art therapy session now."
She began walking down the C hall, leading him gently with her hand barely touching his back. Alvin looked at the woman; she had dark, warm eyes; she was fairly tall - probably about 5'9 or so - and she had bright red hair that matched the color of her eyebrows and eyelashes, so it must've been her natural hair color. She looked to be in her mid-forties shown from the slight wrinkles under the bottom lashes of her eyes and the parenthesis that went from the sides of her nose to the base of her chin. She was a pleasant looking woman. Even as she walked silently alongside Alvin, she wore a slight smile.
As Alvin's gaze moved to her ears, he noticed a bizarre scar that ran from the lobe of her left ear all the way down to her collarbone. It didn't look fresh, but it looked somewhat recent - like she'd gotten into some sort of accident within the past year or so. The red-clad chipmunk wasn't so sure if he wanted to know the origins of that scar. He continued forward, keeping his eyes ahead to avoid staring.
Peggy lead him around the corner down a narrow, tunnel-like hallway. The tiles had turned from clear, hospital white to colorful and completely surfaced with random dried splotches of multi-colored tile paint. Alvin's guess was that during art therapy, inpatients were given a tile to paint designs on. Most of them were just splattered paint designs or handprints, but there were a few that were hand-painted flowers or little murals of trees and the outdoors, butterflies or zoo animals. Some of them were just solid colors - red, green, blue, and yellow. One of the squares was painted entirely black.
Looking up from the floor, Alvin was dizzied by the designs on the walls. Here, inpatients had painted their names in different colors and put their room number next to the signature. Some of them had little poems next to their names instead. Alvin slowed at a few, trying to read the poems before he passed by them. He saw Ellie's name on the wall. There was a poem next to her signature that read:
Alas, somber clouds, dismay
Bring me kindly rain today
Ice in crystals, warm them ere
they kiss my cheeks in droplets bare
By night, I'm stolen more away
Than awaken, I fear, yesterday
A life like mine, restart and take
So I may no longer be awake
For this water I cry does not as yours
that brings new dread while thine restores.
-Eleanor Fitzgerald
"Nurse Peggy?" asked Alvin, stopping in front of Eleanor's poem, "Why do some of these signatures have poems and some don't?"
"Well, it all depends upon the artist's preference. The inpatients in this art therapy class could choose either a poem or a picture next to their names. This girl chose to write an original poem."
The boy nodded, moving along to the next few names. Then he came upon a blank patch where someone had covered up a spot with white paint. The paint covered up most of that particular part of the wall, interrupting what was written underneath it. If he looked close enough, he could see red marks under the white coat of paint. The marks formed letters - bold, harsh letters. Peggy watched Alvin as he tried to read what it said.
"One of the patients had a mental breakdown in the middle of art therapy here. We weren't sure what the trigger was, but she took it out on the wall, it looks like!" She said with a hint of humor. Alvin paid her no mind, deciphering what was written previous to the guise of white. He could barely see the letters, but he could read what they said:
BRITTANY CUTLER IS THE DEVIL'S CHILD
BRITTANY CUTLER IS THE DEVIL'S CHILD
BRITTANY CUTLER IS THE DEVIL'S CHILD
GOD SLAY THE DEVIL AND HIS SWINE
GOD SLAY THE DEVIL AND HIS SWINE
GOD SLAY TH
The rest of the poem was cut off, most likely from someone restraining the patient who wrote it.
"Brittany Cutler is the devil's child...God slay the devil and his swine...?" Read Alvin aloud. He looked at Peggy, "What is that supposed to mean...?"
Peggy shrugged her shoulders, "The patient wrote this about herself. We're not sure why, but this patient has serious problems with her own self image."
"Is her name really Brittany Cutler?" He asked, having a decent idea of who the patient was. It had to have been the girl in 60C; he was sure of it.
"I'm sorry, Alvin, but I'm not at liberty to tell you that," she replied.
That was fine with him. He didn't need her to tell him it was her; he knew it was. This had to have come from her - the same girl who'd been having episodes nearly every night without fail. The girl whose screaming wakes him up and makes it difficult for him to fall back asleep. There was no way it wasn't her.
"Let's go, Alvin. Art Therapy awaits!" Said Peggy, urging him forward gently.
Peggy and Alvin continued down the hall until they reached wooden double doors with closed blinds in the windows. Peggy carefully peeked into the room, encouraging Alvin to follow alongside her. The two were met by a small, blonde woman wearing a diversely colored green blouse and a blonde braid that extended to the middle of her back. The woman had sharp green eyes that matched the green of her shirt. She smiled brightly upon their entrance, her bright red-coated lips curving up into an enraptured grin that emphasized the brightness of her teeth.
"Welcome back, Alvin!" Greeted the woman, "I'm Dr. Stevens! Do you remember me?"
Alvin stepped back a little, bewildered by the woman's sudden flamboyancy.
"Sorry, no..." he admitted guiltily. He looked at her for a long moment - she seemed familiar somehow, but he wasn't sure where he'd last seen her. The woman named Dr. Stevens laughed.
"Well that's okay! You'll get to know me soon enough around here! And hey, maybe it'll come back to you, hm?"
Alvin nodded a little, biting his lip nervously. He wasn't exactly sure what to say. Was he supposed to apologize for his absence of memory?
"Okay, Alvin! This is your stop!" Goaded Peggy, breaking the short silence, "I hope you enjoy your class!"
With that, Peggy ducked back through the double doors, exiting the art room. Dr. Stevens turned to Alvin, guiding him through the art room the way Peggy did with her hand barely the touching his back.
"So in case you've forgotten already, this is the art room! Today, we're doing canvas painting. Basically what that is is painting whatever you've been dreaming. If you don't remember any recent dreams, paint one that you remember having; it could be a nightmare, a daydream, anything. Does that sound alright?"
Alvin nodded as he was guided into a room that was filled with patients; there were probably about fifteen or sixteen people in the room all silently painting a mural on material-stretched canvases. The ceiling of this room hung lower than the other ceilings in the hospital and the room had curved windows and scarlet red walls - colors and shapes he didn't picture belonging in a mental institution. The floor was now solid concrete and swallowed up any sound his sneakers made while crossing it.
"Now you may choose where you'd like to sit. It can be anywhere, okay?"
"Mhm," Alvin replied, scanning the room for available seats. Looking around, he saw Eleanor, the girl from group therapy sitting in the corner of the room. He began to walk in her direction, but he saw that there weren't any seats available near where she sat, so he continued his search. On the opposite side of the room, there were several vacant seats surrounding another face he recognized; the girl from 60C. It was peculiar; no one seemed to be seated anywhere near her - it was like she was an outcast among the patients in the room. As Alvin filled a seat right next to her, the entire room went quiet. Voices turned from conversational chatting to secretive whispering in a matter of seconds. All eyes were on him for a moment, like everyone was waiting to see how she would react to him.
The red-headed outcast took a moment from her painting and turned her head, identifying who it was that'd bravely chosen a spot next to her. She recognized him instantly, but returned her attention to her artwork as if he wasn't neighboring her at all. The volume of the voices returned to normal as soon as there was nothing more to see.
"Hi," greeted Alvin bravely, leaning toward her slightly to see what she was painting; it was a mural of a small black and white box. The shadows and shading of the box looked perfectly three-dimensional. He raised his eyebrows, impressed with her craftsmanship.
"That's pretty good," he complimented with sincerity, "how'd ya learn to do art like that?"
No answer. She was ignoring him. Alvin sighed, picking up his paintbrush and toying with the horsehair bristles.
"Listen, I'm sorry for being rude to you a little while back. I didn't mean to be like that. I'm sorry."
Still no response. After waiting a minute or so for her to say something or give so much as a gesture, Alvin gave up. He turned his attention to the blank canvas in front of him, dunking the tip of his paintbrush into the black paint. As soon as the paintbrush hit the canvas, he was immediately engaged in his work, carefully smoothing out every blotch of paint evenly with the brush. Time ticked by and Alvin was absorbed, allowing his wrist to work it way around the canvas - everything was black. Every corner, every section of fabric except for two places in the center, which would be left blank until he colored them yellow. He was recreating the memories of that dream he used to have every night before he was checked into the hospital - the one with the two floating orbs. He kept replaying the image in his head down to the last detail he could muster.
Then, amidst his painting, there came a voice from next to him; Brittany's voice.
"You must find me interesting," she said, her voice hinted with a tone of amusement. Her voice was reduced to somewhat of a playful whisper, "I catch you staring at me all the time, you know..."
Ohhh snap! Caught in the act of spying! ;D Thanks for reading, guys!
So what's gonna happen next? Is Brittany finally willing to talk to him all of a sudden? Who is the girl who hides in Alvin's room? Why is she hiding? Why does Peggy have a scar on her neck? Why did Brittany write those things on the wall? So many unanswered questions!
For those of you who're wondering, that poem that Eleanor wrote was actually a poem I wrote in middle school. I was looking through old schoolwork I did several years ago and came across it, so I decided to use it! Hope it worked well in this chapter. :)
Reviews are helpful and extremely appreciated! I'll update soon!
-Blythe