Imogen sat on the edge of her bunk, feeling shaky and uncertain. Being taken by the people in masks had almost seemed some kind of nightmare, something not real. Before she had known it she had been bagged and bundled and ended up back in the same room she had been taken from. It was a room she shared with Paulie, who was the kind of guy to bum a smoke despite having a full pack in his pockets. It was Paulie that had told her the news when he had come in after his shift – not even realising that Imogen had gone.
Finley was dead.
It was strange for Imogen to process that. Doctor Evans was one thing. She had not really known the doctor but she had done what she did to Noah to channel the anger she had felt. Imogen didn't regret doing it. After all, punishment ought to be doled out fairly. But Finley… He had been a thorn in her side for as long as they had worked at Hearthome, he had stopped her from dealing out what needed to be dealt, he had been that pesky little angel on her shoulder but he had always been there. Whatever they had, whatever rivalry it was, it was a connection, and being informed that that connection had been severed just like that… It shook Imogen.
Yet some part of Imogen felt relieved. After all, the people in masks had asked her to dissuade Finley but that wouldn't be an issue anymore. She didn't have much information on what had happened to Finley, she just knew that it was some kind of freak accident due to the storm outside, which was still battering their windows although the lightning had passed by now.
Paulie had also informed her that there was going to be a big meeting at the administrative building to address everyone after the deaths of Doctor Evans and Finley. Imogen was not looking forward to it. She despised meetings and she really didn't need some kind of woe-is-me speech from the warden. Nevertheless, what else was she to do? She could feel that fear bubbling like shameful tar in the pit of her stomach, and the way they had so casually dismissed her father… Imogen shook the worries from her mind and left the barracks.
Of course, it wasn't really a barracks. Imogen only called it that as all the orderlies lived on site in a small village of sorts made up of eight or nine buildings in the far north-east corner of the Hearthome grounds, tucked snugly against the large castle-like walls that made up the exterior wall of Hearthome. The barracks themselves were surrounded by a smaller wired fence just in case any residents somehow managed to escape the inner fences surrounding the Hearthome facility proper.
Imogen shrugged her coat tighter and flipped her hood up to block it from the rain. Paulie was waiting for her as she left the building. He was also huddled in a coat, the pathetic remnants of a cigarette sticking from his mouth.
"'Hell of a day, Banks. You slept through the worse of it though."
"Rain just brings bad luck," Imogen said, wishing Paulie would just shut up. Imogen didn't mind talking with her colleagues, in particular Paulie and Nadia, both of whom had their own little side hustles. Paulie with his cigarettes and Nadia with her creepy little sex-cave or whatever the hell she called it. If people thought Imogen was bad, Nadia was even worse, and Paulie was no super nice guy either. In fact, the majority of the orderlies had some kind of power-trip to them, even Imogen herself, she wasn't afraid to admit. It was really only Finley who kept them on the up-and-up. With him gone, Imogen couldn't help but wonder just how depraved the orderlies would get. The warden never really put them on a tight leash to begin with. Or maybe that's what this meeting was going to be – a whipping to pull them all into shape. Good luck with that, Imogen thought.
Paulie, to his credit, stayed gnawing on the end of his cigarette and kept quiet. Perhaps it was the storm raging around their ears but he clearly didn't feel like shouting over the wind. The two of them, huddled in their coats, jumped into one of the small carts that could traverse around the entire grounds, and drove their way up the winding path to the Hearthome gates proper, where they were let in by the doorman. Imogen and Paulie climbed out and quickly jogged their way to the entrance of the administrative building, mercifully shutting the storm and the wet behind them.
"Jesus, where was the warnin' for this one?" Paulie pulled his coat off and threw it on a coat hook. "We were told warm and sunny this week. It's been nothing but grey and shit."
"I don't see any police about."
"Hah!" Paulie guffawed at Imogen's statement and Imogen couldn't help but feel offended. "Ain't no police been here in weeks Banks or haven't you noticed?"
Imogen realised that Paulie was correct. Usually in case of incidents – and it happened more often than one would think – a cruiser would be sent down to get any details needed for paperwork. Imogen hadn't seen any recently but she supposed there hadn't been any major incidents. Well, not until Noah. Did the other orderlies know about that? Had the investigators kept it quiet? Or they're living up to their name and they're investigating it. Could be taken again any day now, Imogen.
The two of them made their way upstairs to a conference room used regularly for these kinds of meetings and entered.
It was immediately clear that this wasn't just a normal meeting of on-duty staff members. Imogen could see all thirteen of the orderlies, sadly noticeable of Finley Sullivan's lack of attendance. Imogen knew some of them well, some of them not so much, and some of them not at all. Nadia was there, picking at her nails, as well as Phillip, a broad barrel of a man with a bald head and trimmed beard. Imogen recognised Ralph as well, an older man who snored like a bulldozer. There were administrative staff as well, receptionists and doctors from the medical bay, cafeteria ladies and cleaners. It was nearly a full house save for some vital staff members who had to stay on duty. And standing at the head of the large room at a small wooden podium was the warden of Hearthome, Hearthome himself.
Imogen and Paulie found their clique of orderlies as Theodore nodded at a doorman and the doors were shut. Whenever Theodore Hearthome appeared, something big was going down. In fact, Imogen had only ever seen Theodore three times in her career, and only met him once. He had a head of full white hair that cascaded down in shoulders in smooth curtains, held back by a simple metal clip over his left ear. Imogen had heard a story once that an orderly had called it girlish to the warden's face. That orderly ended up not even a week later occupying one of the cells beneath the dormitory. With his cropped goatee that sat on a jaw that could put Adonis to shame, Imogen wasn't ashamed to admit that Theodore Hearthome was perhaps the only person who she felt attracted to, not that she would ever admit that to anyone. Love and Imogen Banks just did not belong.
"Welcome," Warden Hearthome's voice rumbled, deep and strong. "It is a grim time for all of us here at the Hearthome Psychiatric Hospital. We have experienced two tragedies within our walls over the course of the last two days. We lost one of our most respected doctors in Charles Evans as well as the brightest spark we had in Finley Sullivan. Tragic accidents claimed their lives."
"Accidents?" Paulie called out, leaning on the table. The man was afraid of very little and didn't care about interrupting the warden. "I was there when Noah Baker was covered in Charles' blood, his hands coated. How can you say that was an accident!? He is a murderer!"
"Do not throw accusations so simply, Paul," Theodore said simply. "The Investigators are doing their job and they have come to the conclusion that Noah is not guilty." A murmur of anger rippled through the crowd. Imogen herself could feel it bubbling within her as well. She had given Noah his just punishment, crushed his eye like it was a grape. It was obvious that he had killed the doctor with that pen, how could something like that be an accident. "Enough!" The rippling disappeared instantly. "Noah Barker will be delivered back to the medical bay this afternoon and I will not have him treated any different. We are here to help. I expect he will need our greatest support after what he has witnessed."
Paulie leaned back, dissatisfied. Perhaps he, like Imogen, could see exactly what Noah had done.
"Now, we will hold memorials for both Charles and Finley. We will hold a private memorial in three days for ourselves, and we will host a memorial for the residents of Hearthome in two weeks time. Charles has helped many of them and Finley has supported them as well. It is only right."
The thought disgusted Imogen.
"Now, I would like to quench some other rumours that I have heard around the hospital grounds. The first is of the lack of presence of both police and paramedics, both of whom did not show for these two tragic accidents." Another ripple burst through the staff of Hearthome. "Yes, I know of the rumours that are being spread. I know much of what goes on here at Hearthome. Our Investigators, who many of you saw at both the sights of Finley and Charles' deaths, act not only as Investigators, but I have personally hired them as my police force and my trauma unit as well. Any simple injuries can be dealt with on sight by our more than capable medical staff. To bring in police from off-site has proved to be… troubling… for some of our residents. I want the very best for the health of my residents, and if that means spending the money to hire this well-respected private organisation, then so be it."
"What about our holidays!" This was a member of the cleaning crew, Liam. Imogen had an inkling she had a conversation with him when he had come to clean some spillages in the bunker. "None of us had any of our holidays granted and I've heard you've let no-one leave the walls of the facility, even for—"
"This hospital is not a facility, Liam," Theodore rumbled. "And we have had to postpone holidays by perhaps a month. As you can see, we are short-staffed. Those of you in this room make up the majority of Hearthome hospital. You are the cogs that keep the wheel of Hearthome turning. I will ensure that more staff are hired but until that time then you must be patient. I care for you as much as I care for the residents."
"And what about that killer!?" Another voice came from the crowd. It was one of the librarians, a stolid man named Jeffrey. He had a secret collection of pornography that he traded many of the orderlies for – Imogen had got her own fair share from him. He always had the good stuff. "Conner Shepherd! I heard he was there when Finley died! I heard he cackled with glee and bathed in the blood!"
"I am glad you brought up Conner Shepherd as he is one of the rumours I would like to quell. The man is a patient of Hearthome and he will be treated as such. I know what you think you know of his past. I am here to tell you that unless you hear it from me it is not to be thrown around like schoolground chatter. Finley Sullivan treated Conner as any other resident. Perhaps you can learn something from your late colleague?"
A shameful silence resounded around the room. Imogen knew that many of them hosted the rumours of Conner – that he was a serial killer who had made some kind of deal to come to Hearthome. Imogen suddenly remembered what the men in masks had told her and she stood up almost beside herself. Was it courage that moved her, or fear?
"…We do need to discuss Conner Shepherd, Warden." Imogen called out. She didn't tend to get nervous in front of crowds and tried to spin her fear from the men in masks into courage. This was her plan. Not theirs. Hers. That's what Imogen told herself. "I have reason to believe that Conner Shepherd has harmed two of our residents." It was Imogen's turn to receive the ripples and the warden's face twisted in question.
"Explain yourself, Imogen. I will not have lies defacing my words."
"I do not lie. Has anyone here seen Oliver Cox or the resident known as John Doe this morning?" Imogen could feel her legs quivering and tried to stop them by clenching her toes. She wondered why she felt… bad… Conner Shepherd was a rude piece of shit that had gotten in her face before. He was the kind of scum Imogen hated most. "For privacy, I cannot name names, but I was approached by a resident who informed me that Conner Shepherd was berating Oliver Cox to the point of pure fear. They told me that John had come to break up this verbal whiplash and Conner Shepherd drew a knife from beneath his shirt and attacked John, stabbing him twice and slashing him across the chest. They say that John walked away."
Silence in the room. The words seemed to hang in the air. Finally, Warden Hearthome spoke. "Imogen, these are very serious accusations. I understand the need for privacy as per our whistle-blower rules but the idea that Conner Shepherd could access a knife is unthinkable."
"Doesn't he have knives in his room!" Somebody called out.
"How is he allowed those anyway?"
"What's his special treatment!?"
"Enough!" Theodore cut off the questions. "Anything allowed in Conner Shepherd's room was confirmed by myself. Those knives of his are sealed away in a case inaccessible. I trust this whole-heartedly. Imogen, please continue."
"I was to check on John but this meeting was called. I will be heading over to his room first thing."
"I see…" Theodore stroked his goatee, concerned. "I will come with you. Rebecca, would you please accompany us in case first aid is needed? Paul, I would like you to accompany us as well. Let us finish this meeting first, but certainly I will inform all of you about Conner Shepherd if we find that he has committed this heinous crime. Now, onto the next subject at hand…"
Theodore Hearthome's voice trailed off into the ether as Imogen found herself conflicted with a mix of fear and anger. Was she playing her own game, or was she playing the game of the people in masks? She had to figure out how to get the upper hand. She told herself she would never be scared like that again, and yet the people in masks had done just that, made her feel as if she were a child again. Never. Never again.