Chapter 1

Well, here is Chapter 1. Please tell me what you think!

The first day was perhaps the worst of them all. It started with a pair of handcuffs, and ended with a straitjacket and a padded cell.

“Alright, get up!” my police escort shouted––I had learned his name was Tim during my night’s stay at the station.

I opened my eyes and glared at him––sleep had almost come for the first time.

“What time is it?” I groaned––we weren’t allowed our personal belongings there or at the institution.

He glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s ten. Now get up. You’ve been transferred.”

At first, I thought he meant to a district or state jail; I also thought it would be the last time I’d get to see him. Neither was the case.

We spoke quite a bit during the car ride about nothing in particular. I think I started the conversation with a comment about the clear sky––the calm before a storm, I believe it was.

He was 29––only 7 years older than I, at the time. Unmarried and convinced he never would be, he was still one of the sweetest people I had ever met. That was probably what made me like him––though he was a defender of the peace and I a criminal, he still had kind words for me.

I suppose it’s kind of sad, really, that I was actually looking forward to going to jail. My life was already over in public anyway––I beat down a priest in front of all those who had ever been close to my family or to me. And jail life was something I had only imagined in my waking dreams.

That might have been one of the reasons that pulling into the asylum’s parking lot depressed me; I lost the boost of my label as a criminal.

The inside was much the same as one would expect––light, happy colors decorated everything in sight. Even the waiting chairs were baby blue.

In a few minutes, the receptionist––whose name I never got a chance to learn, as she left a few days later––cleared us to see the doctor.

“Hello. My name is Dr. Hannelore,” he smiled. “You must be Maria?”

I told him that, yes, my name is Maria.

“Oh, wonderful!” He indicated a brown leather couch with one hand. “Please, have a seat.”

Raising my arm, I showed him the cuffs that kept me attached to Tim––I don’t think he even noticed my escort before hand.

“Oh. That is a predicament.” He paused to think for a moment.

“Officer, would you mind leaving us, for a bit?”

The next time I saw Tim was nearly a year later. By then, my stay was almost over, and I was almost free.

“Say, Maria, do you know why you are here, sitting in that chair, and talking with me?”

“Because I attacked two people who insulted my mother, and a priest?” I guess I figured that since I would be there for the rest of my life––which I really wasn’t––I might as well have told the truth while I was at it.

“Well, that is a reason, but not the one I was looking for.”

He stood up from behind his desk and came to sit on a small, backless chair directly in front of me.

“So? Why am I here, then?” I’ve always hated doctors who play with vague words to make people assess their own mental states. Dr. Hannelore was no exception.

“You are here so that we can help you.”

“And what if I don’t want your help?” I responded sharply.

“Then you need not let us.” Certainly, his uncaring answer shocked me, but the way he said it––without trying to defend himself by crossing his arms or making sudden movements––only made it worse.

I smiled sadly at him. I didn’t need his help, and I didn’t want it, either. There was simply no way I would let some narcissistic doctor––who couldn’t even bring himself to use contractions––help me, even if I did need it.

“Well, that should be enough for today.” He stood back up, and pushed a button on his phone. It beeped loudly twice––once before he spoke, and once after.

“Victoria? Could you come and show Maria to her room, please?”

He bid me farewell and a good night’s sleep on my way out the door and into the overly happy company of Victoria.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Maria!” she exclaimed excitedly––and they thought I was crazy.

She smiled as if she knew the thoughts going through my head.

“C’mon! I’ll show you around.”

The hospital was actually a nice place––it wasn’t much, but it had every necessity in plentiful amounts. Two exercise rooms were located on the third floor, and an indoor pool––closely guarded and monitored, of course––in the basement. Private rooms and small lounges on every floor, there was enough living space for a thousand people, but far less in number were those who actually stayed at the institution.

When I questioned how they managed to afford such things on the low budgets of hospitals, she quickly––in a practiced manner––informed me that each of the rooms was paid for in full by ex-patients who had been reintegrated successfully into society and had become rich or famous. The pool was from a man named Eikzel Hanz.

“Reintegration?” I asked, puzzled.

“Oh, you didn’t know? Our job here is to help people like you––those deemed mentally unstable––to return to society as free and reformed people.”

I had always thought that asylums were only meant to keep us locked away from humanity until we died.

“It’s a relatively new project,” she explained, “that the city council approved a few years ago. We take in only those who have not committed any serious crimes––like murder and rape––and help them learn from their mistakes until a board of psychiatrists deems them worthy to return to the real world.”

She stopped in front of a large, steel door.

“Well, here we are. This will be your room until such a time as you are willing to accept our help and sign a few forms. After you do, we can move you to a more comfortable room.” Smiling at me, she opened it.

“Oh. One more thing––you’ll have to wear a straitjacket until then, as well. Some assistants will be down shortly to help you into one.” She paused, considering something.

“Please don’t struggle––I don’t want your time here to start with injections of tranquilizers!”

The tranquilizers definitely helped me sleep, those first few nights.