West Park Asylum

Rubbing his dark blue eyes and yawning, Ian Connors stares out the windows of Grace’s office. The new arrival is still curious as to why Raven’s Hold sent him a brochure, but he is no longer nervous. A brief tour of the school has helped him get over his fear that this is some kind of scam. Even though the interior is bland, the young man is impressed with the elegant surroundings that remind him of a resort. Not that he is any good at sports, but it is nice to know such amenities are available during his stay. Ian can already sense his staggering depression weaken and takes a deep breath that feels like it is the first one he has enjoyed in years. His mood falters when it falls on one of the scars on his arm, a harsh reminder of the reason he has been invited to the island.

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Dr. Rutherford,” Ian says, forcing a smile toward the patient doctor. He shifts in his chair while figuring out where to put his hands, settling for folding them in his lap. “I really want to get my life back together. Though, what you explained during the tour makes me think I don’t really belong here. You described some hard luck situations. I’m only depressed.”

“And yet your condition makes it difficult to get to work every day and hold onto any relationship,” Grace replies while tapping her pen on the desk. Leaning back in her chair, the doctor lets her knuckles touch the beak of a bronze raven on her bookcase. “Mr. Connors, I handpick every patient. Some I take on because I feel they are being failed by the more standard methods. Others, like yourself, I invite because they have given up on improving and I see that it is possible. You were whole once and you can be again.”

“That’s oddly poetic for a doctor. Not really professional either,” Ian cynically replies before he can stop himself. A flicker of guilt causes him to scowl and he stares at his knees. “I’m sorry about that, ma’am. That was rude and you’re only trying to help. People haven’t been the nicest to me since they think I’m holding onto my sadness for attention. So I occasionally react poorly to those that try to lend me a hand.”

“That reaction is more common than you think, Mr. Connors,” the doctor says, her smile never faltering. She rocks forward to push a clipboard across the desk and rolls a pen toward her new patient. “I need you to fill out these forms before I introduce you to our other residents. A few incidents have happened over these least five years, so we need to be on the safe side. I’m telling you this to create a bond of trust and honesty. As you stated, our patients tend to be hard luck cases and it occasionally results in violent outbursts. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. Though your history requires that we keep you away from sharp objects until we are sure you won’t harm yourself.”

“I understand. The psych ward I was in after my first breakdown had the same rules.”

“You’ll find we operate similarly to such places, but with a bit more freedom.”

Not entirely understanding what the doctor is talking about, Ian decides to nod and focus on the paperwork. The forms are the same ones he has filled out at every medical facility that he has been brought to over the last three years. Completing them is practically second nature, so he stalls by pretending to think of the answers. Ian takes in the sight of the office with its leather couch, rows of books, and a gurgling water cooler. A small refrigerator is in the corner with a lock on the door and a few colorful magnets adorning the sides. For the first time, he notices several ravens scattered about the room. Some are statues and bookends while others are plush toys, making him guess that Grace named her institution after her favorite animal.

Peering out the window, Ian tries to catch a glimpse of the other patients who he can hear outside. His hand swerves and leaves a long mark across the top form when one of the distant voices starts imitating a screaming child. With his arms shuddering, the young man practically tosses the clipboard and pen onto the desk. His breathing is staggered and he could swear that something is pressing on his shoulders. An icy breeze coils through the open window and caresses his face, the scent of roses making his mouth go dry. It takes several minutes for him to calm down and reach a quivering hand to reclaim the unfinished forms.

“It appears you have more than depression,” Grace mentions while she gets the young man some water. She places the small cup at the edge of her desk, letting Ian choose to accept the drink when he is ready. “You’ve done a very good job of hiding your anxiety from your previous doctors. I can see that it is triggered by anything that would remind you of your son. Unless you mentioned it or a child happened to be in the office, your panic attacks would never have come up during therapy. The only reason I know is because I read all of the questionnaires that you’ve filled out over the last few years.”

“It’s what I deserve for failing them,” Ian replies as he takes a few sips of water. With shaking hands, he finishes his paperwork and drops it on the floor. “I called in sick whenever there was a baby shower or bring your kids to work day. Television and movies were watched alone in case there was a scene that I couldn’t handle. I don’t even remember the last time I saw my nieces. So, how did you figure it out considering my answers on those questionnaires were meant to focus on my depression and suicide?”

“It’s because your answers were perfect and identical across the board,” the doctor points out with the hint of a smirk. Taking the clipboard, she flips through to forms to make sure all of them are signed. “These are things we can discuss in our sessions. You may even want to bring it up during group therapy, which you will start tomorrow. For now, I want to bring you to the common room where you can meet some of our patients. Use today to grow accustomed to your new surroundings and make some friends.”

“Can I go into the forest?”

“That area is off-limits to all patients.”

Ian shrugs and finishes his water while Grace puts the forms in his file and straightens her desk. Feeling better about his future at Raven’s Hold, the young man goes back to silently staring out the window. He has a clear view of a tennis court, which is being used by a small group of his fellow residents. The back and forth movements are mesmerizing, so he never notices the squirrels gathering in a nearby tree. Leaning on the windowsill, Ian makes himself an easy target for the rodents to pelt him with acorns. The unwarranted attack stops when a bird shrieks from the roof and startles the chattering animals. As the squirrels scamper down the tree and into the distant forest, a winged shadow passes over the tennis courts. Ian tries to get a clear look at the bird, but it always manages to remain hidden by leaves or the bright sun. When clouds move to cut off the blinding beams of light, the shadow is gone and its feathered owner is nowhere to be seen.

“Some of the wildlife can be aggressive, which is another reason you are not allowed in the forest,” Grace mentions, bending down to pick up an acorn. She flicks it out the window and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Many of the animals are cautious around us because a few of our former residents harassed, tortured, and killed them. I trust you won’t do anything like that since you aren’t the type. More likely to hurt yourself than another living creature. I apologize, Mr. Connors. I keep analyzing you instead of doing what I promised. Please follow me to the common room.”

“Can I get another cup of water?” Ian asks, hoping to delay the inevitable. The tapping of Grace’s foot causes him to bow his head in embarrassment. “I’m sorry, but I’m nervous and my mouth feels dry. I can drink it on the way if you prefer.”

Standing by the door, the doctor gestures for Ian to get a drink from the water cooler. He hurries to grab a paper cone and tries to fill the simple cup, but nothing comes out of the spout. A constant gurgling shakes the jug and nearly knocks it off the base. The old machine stops its rocking and releases a few spurts of water before shuddering a final time. Disappointed, Ian gulps down the small drink and crushes the cone. He leaps away when the spout falls onto the floor and the contents of the water cooler empties onto the carpeting.

“I’ve been meaning to get a new one anyway,” Grace says as she takes out her phone and sends a message to the office staff. “A janitor will take care of that before it seeps through. It isn’t the first time I’ve had a spill in here.”

“Why do things break around me?”

The blonde doctor sighs and holds the door open for the young man. “Coincidences and bad luck, which happens to all of us. The trick is to work through those periods and not create a downward spiral. It’s easy to let one mistake compound into a life-ruining disaster. That is the situation that brought you here, Mr. Connors, and I believe it is time you met the people who will know what you’re going through.”