Author's Comments: I guess I should put in a disclaimer—The events in this story are entirely fictional and are not meant to portray actual events from any existing mental health facility.

Oh, and now y'all might understand the story cover image. That one was taken from an actual place—a creepy basement in a former Pythian Castle.

Too Close

Chapter Nine

Part 1.

Olivia spent the night on the table in the basement. The only way she knew this fact was the darkness in the tiny window that dissipated into a square of light when morning came. But she didn't recall anything from the evening, as the drugs knocked her into such a stupor that she slept through most of it.

But she started to wake up now, and she moved her arms to find that they were still bound to the table. Unable to see behind her, she said, "Is there anyone in here?"

No response came, and she wrestled with the restraints to see if there was any chance of freeing herself. The situation reminded her too much of the last time she had been restrained, and her guts tightened into a wad. "I need to talk to someone," she yelled.

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, claustrophobia setting in. A wave of drowsiness washed over her, and a vision of Lewis came to her, standing over her, holding up a lit cigarette. And then she remembered the last time she was taken to a basement, and her breaths became short and shallow. She struggled against the restraints to fight off terrifying flashbacks, but footsteps echoed, arousing her from her dazed imagination. The door to her room—or more accurately, her cell—opened. Roberto came to her table and said, "You're not going to resist, right?"

She bit her lips and nodded. "I promise. Just get me out of here."

He unfastened the restraints and helped her sit up, saying, "Follow me, Dr. Romanov wants to see you now."

Part 2.

Roberto escorted her into Dr. Romanov's office, which seemed like a room she would expect from a typical mental health professional's office—a copy of the DSMV-IV on the bookshelves along with other scholarly psychiatric treatises, a cushiony couch, and bright paintings of Venice on the walls. Olivia settled herself on the couch and tried to relax, reminding herself that this man was a doctor.

"Ms. Benson," said Dr. Romanov. "Welcome to Kings County."

"Not much of a welcome," she said, struggling to keep sarcasm out of her voice.

"We can't tolerate assault on our staff," he said, folding his fingers together.

"There was a woman being raped by a guard in the bathroom," she said, desperation creeping into her voice.

The doctor paused, and she became hopeful that she might have finally found someone who would take her seriously. "Ms. Benson, I don't think you saw what you think you saw," he said, and her mouth fell open. "The guard says he was restraining an uncooperative patient."

She set her jaw. "I know what I saw."

Dr. Romanov scowled and said, "No, Ms. Benson, I don't think you do." Glancing down at a manila folder on his desk, he said, "This recent suicide attempt was your second, correct?"

She pressed her lips together hard, and then said, "I'm depressed, not psychotic. What I saw was a clear case of sexual assault. Not only that, but restraints were used on me even though I wasn't resisting. Isn't there a limit of two hours for physical restraints in psychiatric facilities?"

The doctor's eyes hardened. "Ms. Benson," he said, standing now to come to the front of the desk so he could lean back against it, closing the distance between them to a couple of feet. He wasn't drastically taller than her, but his arm muscles flexed, showing her that he was capable of putting up a good fight if he had to. She glared up at him, willing him to back off with her eyes. "I came to America from Turkmenistan. Do you know what they do to people who resist in my home country? You would be hung naked, upside-down, by your ankles."

Olivia's chest tightened as she realized that she was not dealing with someone who valued ethics. "The last I checked," she said, "this is not a prison. And we have laws in this country—"

He stood solid, folding his arms. "Yes, but as long as you are in a psychiatric facility, your state of mind will be under scrutiny, and it's difficult to ascribe any credibility to a mental patient."

She fell silent, finally understanding the severity of the situation. Smirking at his own apparent victory, the doctor said, "Now, we are going to begin a course of treatment that I think will be really appropriate for your specific affliction. I imagine you are hungry, so I will give you some time to eat and complete your hygiene, and then we will begin."

"Can I get a change of clothes?" she asked. "I've been wearing this same thing—"

"Of course!" he said, and she got a glimmer of hope that at least she retained some ounce of dignity.

"Can I . . . have a visitor? Or at least call someone?" she said, wanting to get the word out to Elliot that the guard needed to be arrested.

"No, I'm afraid we can't allow that until after your treatment, which might help eliminate certain faulty and harmful memories from your mind."

She gulped a sharp breath, saying, "What kind of treatment?"

"I think ECT would be very valuable in your situation, Ms. Benson."

"ECT? Isn't that—electroshock therapy?" Her pulse sped up, and she wiped sweat from her palms onto her hospital gown.

"That's correct. It is used on patients with severe depression such as yours—"

"But I'm not—I mean, my depression is because of my situation, it's not chronic—"

"I'm just looking at the severity of your disorder, Ms. Benson," he said, a self-satisfying look settling on his face.

"Don't I have to give consent for that kind of treatment?" she said, her voice growing quieter.

"Not in your case. It's quite urgent."

She nodded, understanding what was happening. He wanted to erase the memories of the rape she had witnessed from her mind, so that she couldn't report it. "I want to speak to my own psychiatrist, George Huang," she said.

"We can't do that. It would be inappropriate to change health care providers in the middle of treatment," he said.

She drew her lips together, staring up at him while she tried to think of something else she could say to free herself from this madman's whim. A nurse came to the door and said, "Dr. Romanov, I need to speak to you out in the hall for a moment."

"Excuse me for a moment," he said. "I will be right back."

As soon as he left the room, she scanned his desk for anything useful. Seeing a pen hidden under a book, she snatched it, along with a piece of paper from a memo pad. She tucked them away under her gown just before Dr. Romanov came back into the room, and closed her eyes, relieved that she had accomplished this one small goal.