In order to keep the Halloween escapes quiet, the church had to send in their own recovery team. Petitioning his superiors to intervene was hardly ideal but to Reverend Monsignor Howard it was better than having the matter turn into a media circus—and the bishop agreed.

They were able to locate and bring back two of the three escapees. The third they found but could do nothing about immediately as he was securely hidden in his family home. Extricating him without making a scene would be impossible. But as long as he stayed put inside the mansion, he wasn't likely to cause problems.

Shelley was taken without resistance from the motel room she was sharing with Boyd, who put up more of a fight but was likewise subdued. Both were brought back to Briarcliff where they were sent to different wings of the hospital. Boyd went to Heath's ward. Shelley was sent to Dr. Pennhurst, who signed a few papers and had her wheeled away on a gurney for electroshock.

The treatment was traditionally used on depressed and suicidal patients but, at Briarcliff, the ECT machinery was used to subdue and punish patients more often than it was used to treat them. Shelley had never gone through electroshock before, though she had seen plenty of patients who had. As she rolled helplessly down the hall toward the ECT room, she tried to keep her fear hidden. She didn't want the staff to know she was afraid. Her brave front was all she had to protect her.

Though the hospital had been laboring under staff shortage, there was no lack of hands to haul her from the gurney to the table where they strapped her down again. Metal gear was belted to her head. Someone shoved a hard rubber bit into her mouth. It tasted the way sewage smelled. She retched behind the bit. Firm hands held it in place until the straps were secure. Then they were putting an apparatus at her temples: Two cloth-covered nodes that pressed snugly.

Shelley's heart was already racing when the doctor hit the switch that sent 200 volts of electricity through her brain. The lights dimmed, then brightened again when Dr. Pennhurst finally killed the power eighty excruciating seconds later. By that time Shelley was so scrambled, she couldn't do anything but lay there dazed in a pool of her own urine. Someone yanked the bit out of her mouth then Sister Jude came into her foggy field of vision. The nun inspected her face at close range, seizing her jaw to turn her head this way and that before releasing her.

"Make sure she's cleaned up and locked in her room," she told the doctor. She outranked Pennhurst at Briarcliff, something she knew didn't sit well with the man. It gave her pleasure to order him about.

The nun left then, her long skirt swishing with her brisk steps. Dr. Pennhurst wrote on his clipboard then he, too, left. He wouldn't challenge Sister Jude openly, but cleaning patients was beneath him. Left alone with Nurse Karen, Shelley lay there just staring. She no longer felt afraid. All she could feel was the warm hum under her skin left by extreme exposure to electricity. She was numb down to the bone apart from that buzzing, physically and emotionally.

"Where is Doctor Pennhurst?" Dr. Heath's voice floated somewhere above her.

"He already left," said the nurse, also somewhere nearby.

Shelley felt a distant poke when the nurse gave her a shot of some sort of sedative. It took the edge off the electric vibration. Her muscles relaxed and she began to feel her arms and legs again. She let her head loll to the side and found she could see the doctor and nurse over to her left.

The nurse dropped the hypodermic into the hazardous waste bin and stripped her gloves. Dr. Heath moved in then, crowding into the young woman's personal space in a way that cornered her against the locked supply cabinet. The brunette nurse looked up at the doctor with a mixture of interest and intimidation.

"So, it's just you and me," the doctor said. His deep voice was like a panther's purr—or a preamble to a growl.

"Yes, doctor."

Heath pressed closer, putting a hand on her breast. Then he leaned in and kissed her. Soon he had her skirt hiked up, panties shoved aside, and his cock inside her. It was a sloppy, heated affair, over in just a few minutes. It brought the young brunette no physical pleasure, but it did earn her a satisfied smile from Dr. Heath when he pulled out of her. That meant more to her than an orgasm.

He left shortly after and Nurse Karen returned to her cleanup duty, starting with herself. She hummed as she turned her attention back to Shelley, thinking of how being the doctor's lover would raise her status in the social ranks among the employees. She'd already been taken off bedpan duty and was allowed as many breaks as she wanted, so long as she was available when needed. And she always was.

She fancied herself in love with the doctor. She was enamored with his confidence and skill as a surgeon. She was sure if she kept to the path she was on, she would eventually be made head nurse. Then, Dr. Heath wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen dating her. Perhaps they would be married someday and run the asylum together under the peripheral supervision of the Church.

She had big plans, but she shared none of them with Shelley. She just shoved a pile of clean clothes at the stupefied patient once she'd stripped and sponge bathed her.

"Get up," she said. "Get dressed. It's time to go back to the commons."

Time evaporated for Shelley once she managed to get her clothing on. Bits and pieces of existence floated in and out, like she was waking up from the same dream over and over, each time in a different place. The common room flashed by and the mezzanine. Bedtime was suddenly on her. Though her teeth tasted of toothpaste, she had no recollection of the communal trip to the bathroom.

More time disappeared and it was morning. Breakfast swam by then it was time for her to see the therapist.

—

With the staff shortage, none of the doctors had time on their schedules to evaluate Shelley. It didn't take Sister Jude long to grudgingly agree that Dr. Harmon should take the overflow cases, starting with Shelley's.

The trip to the children's ward was a surreal experience. Shelley had never been to that section of the property before. Allain took her by way of the tunnels, keeping a hand on her to steady her. She was still in a fog as they moved through the dark, dank corridors, barely aware of her surroundings. Up a dusty flight of gray stairs they went through an unmarked, rusty door. Then they were suddenly in light again.

Momentarily blinded, Shelley tried to pause to let her eyes adjust, but Allain just tugged her along. He left her in a tiny closet of an office, the walls of which were mostly hidden behind piled up folders of documents and boxes. Ben had cleared the center of the space, so the desk had room for him to function around it. He was seated behind the desk when Shelly was deposited in the lone chair in front of the desk. Allain retreated.

"Hello, Shelley," Ben greeted. He had her case before he was busted down to the kids' ward, so he was familiar with her background already.

She blinked slowly, knowing it was her turn to say something, but she couldn't quite sort out what.

Ben laced his fingers atop his desk and studied the young woman. Ordinarily she would have been hitting on him by now. He didn't condone the behavior, but it saddened him to see her personality so skewed by a single shock treatment.

"How are you feeling?" he tried.

She licked her lips and rolled her eyes to the side. The answer wasn't over there. "Thirsty," she said at last.

"Thirsty?" Ben echoed. He glanced around. All he had was a cup of coffee. "I can get you some water."

He lifted the receiver of the rotary phone and dialed the nurse's station. He put in a request for a pitcher of water and a cup, then assessed his patient again.

"I know you're not feeling too hot right now," he said gently. "So, we're not going to get into why you ran away. But I want to know... Was it your idea?"

She licked her lips again. Her mouth tasted like the bitter rubber of the bit. A cigarette would help but she couldn't find the words to express her desire. So, she answered his question instead. "No."

"Was it Dandy's idea?"

Shelley hesitated. Then: "Yes."

He wrote something on the paper pad he had in front of him. "Thank you, Shelley."

...

Reverend Monsignor Howard was braced for just about anything when Heather was brought to his office. He had seen her at her initial assessment during intake but most of his acquaintance with her was through the pictures that ran in the newspaper.

"Hello, Heather," he greeted from behind his desk in a warm and gentle tone.

One of the orderlies led her over to his desk where she hesitated before taking a seat in one of the two chairs before it. The orderly shot a questioning look at the Monsignor, who ever so slightly shook his head. He didn't need the man to stay with them. The girl was visibly frail and had never acted out during her stay, as far as the hospital records showed.

"Hi," Heather responded after a brief look around the room from where she sat. She focused on the priest, looking at him as though seeing him for the first time.

Timothy got up from his seat and came around to the front of the desk. "How are you?"

She smiled a crooked little smile. "People keep asking me that. I feel fine, sir."

The Reverend Monsignor paused, trying to decide how best to maneuver through the delicate situation. Though he was no psychologist, he was a smart man. "Your friend Billie Dean said you haven't been quite yourself lately."

Something sparked in Heather's pale blue eyes that startled the Monsignor. It was just a flicker of an expression that vanished almost instantly, but he had seen it. It was a surprised sort of guilt, like that of a child caught drawing on the wall.

He knew then he wasn't talking to Heather. He also realized he owed his cousin an apology but he had no time to dwell on that at the moment. Whatever was inside the teenager sitting before him needed to be identified and abolished.

"I was sick the other day," the girl said, looking down at her hands. "But I'm okay now. A lot of people got sick after the blackout."

The priest pressed his lips together briefly. Then he put on a smile. "Yes. I suppose you're right about that."

He wanted to press the entity, but he was completely unprepared to deal with a possession. He would need time to prepare. He decided to change tactics.

"Have you given any thought to what you might want to do once you're a legal adult?"

Heather tipped her head curiously. "What do you mean?"

Timothy found that response odd. It was a pretty straight forward question. "When you turn eighteen, you'll be discharged from Briarcliff if you demonstrate you can provide for yourself." He knew this had been explained to her before. He put the lapse down to the entity possessing her. He had no idea what drugs she'd been given during her stay so didn't take that into account. "You'll need a job if you're going to be able to take care of yourself."

Heather blinked at him. Then she nibbled her lower lip and looked down at her hands again. She thought for a moment then looked back up at him, squinting. "Couldn't I just get married?"

The Monsignor's brows inched up. "Who would you marry, pray tell?"

Heather shifted. "I don't know," she admitted.

"You need to think about what you want to do," he counseled. "The Church can help you find a position someplace, and housing, but it will be on you to do the work."

She looked down at her lap again. She didn't like this conversation. "I guess I want to be a... a..." She couldn't think of anything that sounded fun. "A model." That sounded fun and easy.

The Monsignor had to take a moment to process that. "I... don't know if that's possible."

"You said I needed to pick a job," the girl said, frustrated and close to whining. "I picked one."

The priest considered rejecting her decision. However, she wasn't a patient exactly. She was free to pursue whatever career she wished, even if it wouldn't get her out of the asylum. And with all the media attention Briarcliff had lately, photographers were in ready supply. He knew several would jump at the chance to photograph the waifish newspaper sensation. It might even bring some money into the asylum.

"Fine," he said with a smile he didn't feel. "I happen to know a photographer or two. I'll see if I can get one to come here for a photo shoot."

...

Author's Note:

Happy Halloween month!

I've been gorging myself on horror this season. Every chance I get. I've got American Horror Story playing in the background as I type. Murder House. Yes, again. I've been watching new stuff too. But I can't resist my faves at this time of year.

Next chapter: The asylum shows its dark side. Did I mention I've been watching a lot of horror lately?