West Park Asylum

“I don’t see why I have to go first when we have a new guy,” the muscular man complains, his chair lying on its back. He glares at the other members of the circle while he retrieves his furniture. “So I had a little outburst and threw a table out a window. We all know I have anger issues and that’s why I’m here. Not my fault since I was raised that way. You’re always making me go first, Dr. Rutherford, which isn’t fair.”

“I apologize, Jeremy, but I know that you will try to extend the others’ time to avoid speaking,” the doctor replies, her legs crossed beneath a long, blue skirt. “I do agree that we should have Mr. Connors share if he is ready. Remember that not everyone is as bold and confident as you, Jeremy.”

Satisfied that she has calmed her most aggressive patient, Grace tries to decide on who should go next. She hopes that someone will volunteer, but the only one with his hand raised is Rich. The gentle snoring of Dawn, the woman napping beneath her chair, grants the doctor an extra minute to think. With Ian focused more on his feet than the group, she is not sure it is a good time to force him to participate. Unlike the day before, he has been extremely quiet and distant, which makes her worried that he is worse shape than she predicted. With a sigh of defeat that she hides beneath a yawn, Grace motions for Rich to stand and talk about his latest ghostly encounter.

“I heard the voice last night again,” the bald man explains to the loud groans of the other patients. He flicks his camera lens off and puts it back only to repeat the action. “It says the same thing it does every night, which is about being normal and having fun. This time, I saw a face in the window and its eyes came out of the glass. They flew around the room before exploding over my head. There’s no rational explanation for such a strange dream, so I know it’s some kind of ghost. My guess is a poltergeist or maybe a variety of ghosts that were disturbed when Raven’s Hold was built. I mean, we’re not allowed in the basement and the staff seems scared of going down there. Maybe the bodies of dead patients are being kept down there for experiments and their spirits are running wild up here.”

“Do you listen to your own words?” Jeremy asks as his patience gives out. Noticing an orderly stepping toward him, he holds up his hands and slumps in his chair. “I’m not going to hit him this time. All I’m saying is that Rich says the same thing at every session. The details change, but he never tries to accept that he’s hallucinating or whatever that is. What’s the point of him being here if he refuses your help, doctor?”

“I’m not supposed to be a patient here!” Rich shouts, his voice cracking when it gets too high. Shivering and on the verge of tears, the man seems to deflate in his chair. “This was supposed to be a simple visit and interview. Get a tour for a few days, view the patients, and then go home. I’m not one of you people. Why doesn’t anybody believe that I’m sane and there really are ghosts here?”

“Because those two things don’t go together.”

“Then how do you explain the voices and strange visions?”

“If that was proof of ghosts then Dawn would be saner than you.”

“That’s different.”

“Yes because you’re an idiot and she’s not.”

Grace clears her throat to stop the two from arguing and is about to reprimand Jeremy when Ian gets to his feet. His attention is focused on Rich and she wonders if the newcomer is about to join in the debate. Instead, the young man sits back down and takes several gulping breaths to ward off a panic attack. He leans back so that he is staring at the ceiling and is temporarily mesmerized by the swirling reflection of light in the tiles.

“I’m here because I tried to kill myself five times over the last three years, cut myself when stressed, have panic attacks, and bouts of depression,” Ian announces, his voice rising and falling in pitch. Leaning forward, he is surprised to see Jeremy roll his eyes and cross his arms. “The reason for my breakdown was because I lost my wife and child. She was having a hard time being a new mother and I was trying my best to help her. If she asked me to do something then I did it and I made sure she got plenty of rest. We found a therapist when it looked it was a bigger problem than we realized. Things were going well, but I guess she was hiding stuff from me and the therapist. My wife sent me out for pizza like every Friday. I came home fifteen minutes later to find that she drowned our son in the bathtub. She was in there two with an empty bottle of painkillers and her throat slit. As you can imagine, I thought it was a murder, but there was a note in the printer queue. Guess she couldn’t wait for it to print. Anyway, I broke down and looked back at all the signs that things were worse than they seemed. I keep thinking that I should have been able to stop her if I had be smarter or . . . something. I wasn’t a positive person to begin with, so that event pushed me over the edge.”

“Guess you weren’t much of a husband,” Jeremy says without facing the other patients. He chuckles at the angry stares that he knows he is getting. “Nobody does something like that without clear signs. You were so busy doing errands and pampering her that you never saw what was right before your eyes. That letter had to have been on the computer prior to you leaving for the pizza. Did you never think of checking her files and search history?”

“I wanted her to know that I trusted her,” Ian replies, surprised that the doctor is letting Jeremy cause another disturbance. “Why do you let him do this? It’s only upsetting the rest of us.”

Grace closes her notebook and fixes her glasses, her smile appearing less genuine than before. “I run these sessions in an untraditional manner. As long as there is no violence or vulgarity, I allow things to go further than you may be used to. That being said, I will voice my opinion when something goes too far like it has now. Jeremy, you were not there and do not know all the details of the situation. As you heard, Mr. Connors did his best and is trying to come to terms with a great loss. That is not easy and he will be depending on all of us to see that he gets through this challenge. In regards to Mr. Garrett, you know that such statements only exacerbate his condition. Nobody treats you as poorly as you treat them, so I suggest that you learn from their example.”

“That’s because everyone is scared of me,” Jeremy mutters while flexing his arms. A bead of sweat appears on his forehead when he fears that one of his biceps is about to pop, the muscle feeling tense for an agonizing second. “I’m big and strong, which is all that counts. Like my old man always said, fear is how you get respect. Best that Mr. Connors learn that quickly if he wants to survive here.”

“More like you’re a pathetic loser who thinks acting like a bully is power,” states a portly man with red hair. He scratches at his freckled neck, which is raw and bleeding from constant rubbing. “It’s people like you who created many of those found here. Not like you care since the breaking of another human being is pleasurable to you. I think I speak for all of us when I say we’re tired of you insulting and harassing us. Just go away and suck your thumb like the giant child your idiot father raised.”

With a snarl, Jeremy lunges across the circle before the orderlies can reach him. He grabs the red-haired man by the shoulders, ignoring the screams and wails about not wanting to get dirty. Most of the other patients hurry to get out of the circle, the exception being Dawn who is still asleep on the floor. Blocked by the panicking residents, the orderlies and Dr. Rutherford are unable to get to the fight. The scuffle ends when Jeremy shoves his opponent to the side and trips him. As if the world is in slow motion, everyone watches the heavy man land on Dawn.

“That wasn’t very nice,” the brunette growls while slipping out from under the wheezing figure. She remains on all fours and licks a trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. “I don’t like being woken up when I’m sleepy. Go back to your own space.”

“I’m really sorry,” the man says as he crawls away. “It wasn’t my fault. Jeremy pushed me onto you.”

Dawn cocks her head to the side and occasionally nods her head. “You made him mad, so you’re at fault. I don’t feel like sharing today, so I’m going to leave. Think I’ll tell the cooks to make pancakes for lunch.”

Rolling backwards and up to her feet, Dawn skips to the door and leaves the rest of the group to reset the chairs. The red-haired man remains on the floor, but stays away from the group and whimpers whenever he is approached. He furiously rubs his arms and mutters about being dirty, his movements easing when he feels the others are no longer paying attention to him. One of the orderlies stands behind Jeremy to make sure he does not cause another disturbance. For the rest of the hour, nobody speaks or even looks at each other while the tension remains thick in the air. The only sounds are the cawing of birds outside the window and the tapping of Dr. Rutherford’s pen on her notebook.