The Hospital

Arrival

I sat in the car, staring outside of my window as the scenery flew by in a colorful blur. Mom sat in front of me, riding shotgun. Her bottom lip was trembling, eye wet with tears she was determined to hide. My dad was driving, his hands clenching the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles had turned white. My twin sister Rachel was on the other side of me with her arms crossed over her chest, as if to say she didn't care, but she did. I'm sure of it. But maybe I'm just kidding myself.

We continued down the same for a few more minutes, but then dad steered the car left off of a side road, and mom let the tears she had held back begin to roll down her cheeks and dad continued to grip the wheel, and I feared he might break it if he didn't stop soon.

I leaned forward to pat my mom's shoulder, but when my hand came into contact with the fabric of her blazer, she flinched away from me, so I let my hand drop back down into my lap. Dad turned what seemed to be a long narrow driveway. At the base of the driveway was a large white sign with the words "Villagecreek Mental Institution" in loopy script, and my insides turned to ice.

I had known where we'd been headed, certainly, but I hadn't realized the seriousness of what was going on until we'd arrived. The drive climbed upward at a steep angle, and slowly the building came into view, and a shiver went down my spine.

The establishment was a hulking, ancient building made of dark bricks. It reminded me of an old photograph I'd once seen in a frame hanging in an antique shop, There was no gate surrounding the place, which took me by surprise, weren't they worried someone would try to escape?

Dad parked the car in front of the building, told us all to wait in the car, and left us out there while he went to ring the doorbell. Almost as soon as he had done so the big front door opened and a rather stern looking woman appeared in front of my father. They conversed and then dad led her to the car. With a smile that didn't remotely look genuine he opened up the door to my seat and beckoned me out to the pair. I gave a painful swallow and did as I was told. I looked back at my mother and sister who were still in the car, but neither was looking in my direction.
With a sigh, I turned my eyes to the woman who was watching me with calculating eyes.

"So," she said, with a strangely high-pitched voice that didn't seem to belong to her, "This is Charlotte, is it?" Not knowing whether the statement was directed to me or my father I stayed silent. Apparently it was meant for me because the woman clucked her tongue softly and said, "Not eager to speak, I see. Perfectly normal, dear, not many are." She pulled the stiff white jacket she was wearing around herself tightly and shivered a bit.

"Dreadfully cold out, isn't it?" I nodded, and she reached out to me with one of her meaty arms. Dad looked worriedly at us, like he was uncomfortable with her touching his daughter, but I had no problems with it.

She wrapped her arm around my shoulders and pulled me through the front door, dad retrieving my single suitcase from the trunk and following us. The lobby of the Villagecreek Mental Institution was small and unnerving, and smelled like medicine mixed with heavy-duty cleaning liquid.

Nurses were pushing patients strapped to wheelchairs down the hallways that came off of the lobby and I hoped that I would never have to be tied down like that. The lady led me down one of the many halls until she reached an empty room. Upon entering, I gave the room a brief looking at. It was smaller than the lobby had been, with an uncomfortably tiny looking bed pushed up against one of the walls. It had a metal bar around one side and leather straps attached to it, which I assume were used to tie down the hands of the previous patient who once slept in this room.

When I turned back around my dad and the woman who he addressed as Ms. Massingale, were discussing the final price my family was to pay and visiting opportunities. I took this time to unpack the small suitcase sitting beside dad but discover there was no closet or chest to lock my items in so I laid it down up against the bed, then sat down upon the mattress, which was just as hard as I thought it would be.

I don't know how long I sat there, listening to my dad reassure Ms. Massingale many times that I was really easy to take care of and just couldn't be alone with the other patients for too long but after a while dad bent down to pat my head and tell me that they'd be back to visit as soon as they could and to not give the nurses too much trouble before he quickly swept out of the room. As much as it hurt me to see him act so distant, I couldn't blame him for his behavior.

As soon as he left the room Ms. Massingale's whole persona changed. She stood straighter and the friendly yet "no nonsense" smile she'd had when dad was around vanished entirely, replaced with a glare that frightened me. Without a word she came forward, picked up my suitcase and turned to leave.

I jumped off the bed to stop her but she was quicker, closing the door in my face before locking it completely, leaving me confused. If I was supposed to bring my stuff with me, then why would she take them with her when she left? Was there some examination I wasn't aware of? This seemed like the correct assumption so I thought nothing of it, so I pulled off my jacket along with my socks and shoes and climbed into the little bed to see if I could catch some sleep.