The paper didn't give the institution any justice to its hair-raising appearance. Even without the gray clouds casting an eerie glow, this place would make a bright day appear deathly. The windows were barred with steel, discoloration rotted the rims of the frames and the darkened rooms on the inside hadn't shown signs of life. The tower on each end of the institution was used as a watch tower with sorcerers wielding wooden staves and archers at the top.
I entered the sinister building with trepidation.
I imagined the place to be abandoned, or as evil on the inside as it was on the outside with chains and weapons decorating the walls and rotten corpses coloring the floors. It was far from that. The main hallway was decorated with large paintings that were three grown men tall, they told stories of our nation and our religion. Two statues of the god and goddess faced towards the front door blessing anyone that entered the building and guarded the stairs that were five doors down. The statues were so large that their heads were but a fingernails width from the ceiling. Any depictions of Godius and Goddessa held great protection spells against demons. A place that sheltered people who were lacking spiritually and mentally was a guaranteed hotspot for demons.
An elderly woman entered the hallway from a door on the left. She was lost in a piece of paper on a clipboard. She had not acknowledged me. I closed the door behind me and admired the intricate golden designs of Ipomoeas stitched into the red carpet. My mouth gaped open at the delicate cross stitching, the detailing must have taken a lifetime to master.
"What brings a lovely lady such as yourself to our institution?" My ogling was interrupted by a gentleman with a neatly trimmed pepper mustache, nicely dressed in a brown suit.
"Uh..." I paused to think but my mind was blank. "I'm here about the ad for a job?" I said with uncertainty. He probably thought I was here to be treated.
"Are you asking or are you telling?" He joked while pointing an 'I gotcha' finger. He gazed down at me through rectangular glasses, his posture was perfect, the only curve in his spine was the small dip in his lower back, his square jaw pointed upward with a snooty attitude. He gave off an air that said he was the boss and that I should laugh at his joke, I did exactly that. It wasn't a believable laugh, it was an 'I'm clearly faking it' laugh, something a dolphin would communicate with. He gave me a look worthy of a confused head tilt. I winced in embarrassment.
"So… are you still in need of a help?" I chippered.
"Of course, strenuous work like this is always in need of new hands." He motioned for me to follow, and like a dog, I heeled. "Most people can never make it as far as two weeks."
"Why is that?"
"Have you ever cared for someone?" He asked.
"I have a son."
"How old?" He opened a large door for me, third one on the left and followed me as I headed down a smaller hallway with similar designs as the first.
"He just had his tenth solstice." I smiled with pride.
"Multiply his age by four but keep his childlike mentality, he's a full-grown man and he has an 'intelligence' but can't control his own actions. You care for him, put forth your time and effort into his rehabilitation. Then suddenly he attacks you out of whim. You feel despondeny above fear, he tried to hurt you despite the hours you dedicated to his wellbeing. The only trust between the two of you is knowing that it will happen again. That is why nobody stays, they're afraid of these people."
I instantly thought of Dodger, I didn't enjoy where my imagination was going. I quickly brushed it from my mind. "That must be very difficult."
"Yes, it is."
He took me through several rooms, my mind wandered off into space as he showed me around and quickly explained what I would be doing if I decided to join the crew. He told me about their dire need for caretakers and that I would be doing maid work on the side.
"Does this job hold any interest, Mrs. Ember?"
"I never told you my name?"
"I'm insulted you don't remember me." He said as he opened his mouth in feigned shock.
I concentrated on his features, replaying every memory that held a face. I came close to giving up when staring at him too intensely almost caused an aneurysm. He gave me a look, almost a 'you know me!' expression; the right eyebrow raised, he smirked and then tilted his head towards me thinking it would help. I began to think that maybe he mistook me for my mother. But a bittersweet memory of father getting bent out shape over a few stitches from a dog bite brought up another memory of him convincing mother to hire a personal tutor, that lead to yet another memory of the tutor walking through the door. I remember vividly now because, as a kid, I thought the man had a fuzzy caterpillar under his nose.
"Mr. Jackson?" Father hired Quintrell Jackson to teach me how to tend to my own wounds in case of emergencies. Quintrell taught me how to sew a wound shut, how to clean them and the spells that could help them heal correctly. Even though I was bitten on my hand and mother was home to tend to the wounds, there was still a possibility that I could have bled to death in my father's anxious mind.
The eerie chill of the asylum became slightly more inviting knowing that he was here.
"Mr. Jack-"
"Please, call me Quintrell."
"Quintrell, I decided that I would like the job."
"So sudden? No time to think about it?"
My weakest talent would be best used in this moment, I lied. "I want to do this. Healing sick people is a noble act that the god and goddess smiles upon." I would rather flee this place if I wasn't desperate for answers.
"Oh, good!" He clapped his hands together. "Is it inconvenient if I asked you to show up tomorrow?"
"No, I'm available."
He told me what my starting hours were, I thanked him for his time and left for home. I couldn't drain my heart of this sense of dread; every bone in my body was telling me to stay home tomorrow and find another way. I couldn't, I needed to help Dodger. I needed answers. I needed money.
It was still light out when I returned but my day was brightened when Dodger ran to my side with glee as I walked through the front door.
"Did any of the 'other' people show up at school?" I knelt to his eye level talking to him quietly enough so that neither my mother nor Daniel - if he was home, could hear me. Dodger leaned into my ears and cupped his hands as he spoke.
"No, Mnakaraneh told me that he would keep them away for today." I nodded, not feeling reassured at all. I was too tired to put much thought into it. I lied down with three hours left until the alpha sun set. Dodger lied with me although he was not tired and together we fell asleep early.
~~
My first day of work, I dropped Dodger off for school. He hadn't waved goodbye instead looked somberly at me then turned back around and hung his head as if a noose was holding his neck up. I would find answers and defeat this evil just to put a smile back on his face.
I thought of only Dodger. Would his "friend" continue to keep the others away and at what price? Thinking of the control he had over Dodgers apparitions only sparked fear inside me, not reassurance.
The institution felt just as gloomy as before. I shivered for fear that my soul would be possessed by demons. I shook one last time until the feeling left and headed inside.
"Are you Mae?" A lady said, she was clothed in a white dress that was thick enough to be canvas. The buttons to her gown traveled down to her ankles. Her round face was accented by dark curls that poofed out from underneath a white nurses' hat. She stood with an unsettling scowl on her face.
"Yes?" I said in a manner that was meant for her to explain why she was asking.
"I'm Matilda, I'll give you a tour of the place." She said without enthusiasm. "Follow me."
She took me down the long overly decorated walkway towards the flight of stairs. Intricate acanthus leaves accented the frame work that hugged the paintings of angels. Most of the paintings appeared to be an oil medium and were thickly caked on to add depth to the wings and other details such as swords, grass, and bushes. I was so focused on all the decorations that I almost didn't see her take a left towards the door just before the staircase began. I stepped swiftly to catch up to her. It seemed she didn't notice me falling behind. She took me further down a less decorated hallway and through another door, then through a small room I believed was meant for the sole purpose to take us through another door.
She grabbed a thin ring packed with hundreds of keys that were casted with gold and silver. Out of all the decorated keys she chose an ugly iron bar with jagged spikes at the end. Matilda stuck it into the keyhole and the door popped open as if a spring had pushed it open.
"We always keep the doors locked. Never leave them open. After training you'll be given a set of your own keys. I'll explain which one's lock which doors." She said with a stern tone. "Any patient that is loose on your watch because a door wasn't locked results in severe punishment." I couldn't handle yet another severe punishment from a mistake that I've been accused of making.
"But you didn't lock the last few doors we passed?" My question seemed to strike a nerve in her. She inhaled deeply as my mother did when she refrained herself from scolding me. Matilda's face seemed to suck into her skull with a mean, and sour expression. I dropped it and took a small step backwards pretending like I never opened my mouth at all.
The room past the door was a bland dirtied employee lounge tiled with black and white squares stained by patches of unidentifiable liquids that matched those on the walls. A table and three metal chairs were sitting in the middle, and tan neglected lockers with loose hinges hanged partially open along the left and right wall. There was a tan couch leaning against the farthest wall with an employee splayed across it, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish. The man snored loudly.
Adjacent to the door was a large bulletin board with the employee's names scribbled on it neatly enough to make out the name, but it took me a second to determine if the c's were e's. One name, Alice, was wiped off the board. The chalk stained her name into the black stone. I assumed she quit.
Matilda, seeing that I studied the board said, "You'll be replacing Alice."
With a stick of chalk, she wrote my name over Alice's but her name was still legible. Below, in the boxes, she wrote down my hours for each day of the week. "You'll have different supervisors for separate responsibilities. Mindy is the maid supervisor, Vera is the cook supervisor, and I'm the caretaker supervisor. You'll start at these hours…" She pointed at the times written on the board. "Quintrell hasn't written an official schedule yet, we'll excuse you before dark. These hours are when we expect you to show up."
The hours were reasonable times where I could drop Dodger off at school and have plenty of time to walk to the asylum. I nodded.
Matilda rummaged in a locker that was stuffed full of thick fabric. She grabbed a white dress similar to her own and held it close to me. She sized me up, comparing my body to the dress. "A small will fit you, or do you need an extra small?"
"E-extra small…" I became self-conscious of my boney arms, my deprived stomach and my ribs that casted large shadows against my pale skin. I compared my body to Matildas, she was taller than me and well fed with a gut that probably never rumbled from starvation. Will my gut be as big as hers while working here? I know I'm here to help Dodger but the money was a nice addition to the job.
Matilda handed me the dress. It was thicker than it looked and itched like a potato bag against my fingers. She turned around so I could replace my tan dress with this one. I tapped Matilda on the shoulder when I was done and held my old clothes in my arms. She pointed me in the direction of an empty locker where I threw my dress in and forgot about it for the remainder of the day.
Matilda walked and talked. She explained the morning routines and how our chores as a caretaker differed. We would help the morning nurses tend to the sick, clothe those that were incapable of clothing themselves, or help with feeding.
"Breakfast time, the perfect training for a beginner." She said with a relieved sigh.
The ensemble to the asylum changed drastically as we were no longer in the main foyer. The need to lure people in like a baited trap had worked. I was an employee and they had caught me with the deceived glory the large paintings had portrayed. My stomach turned at the sight of gray surrounding every corner. I felt trapped in a prison cell never able to see the colors of the sky ever again. But I knew this wasn't true. I was an employee, not a patient. Immediately, I began to mourn the poor souls stuck in here. My mind wanted to convince itself that there was a purpose to the bluntness, some psychological purpose that I didn't understand, although the conversation in my head made sense some deep seeded feeling in my gut told me otherwise.
Matilda grabbed another bland iron key and opened two large double doors. "There are four dorms." She turned and pointed at the doors as she talked. "They're titled Northeast, Southeast, Northwest, and Southwest. North meaning upstairs and south meaning downstairs. Then the east wing and the west wing is self-explanatory. Each dorm has a strict schedule. There are not enough employees to accommodate the rapid growth of admitted patients so some of the patients get to be let out while others must remain in their rooms and their food is delivered to them." She explained very blandly. This entire asylum was dead, there was no emotion anywhere, not even in the voices of the employees.
"Is there a written schedule of what wing does what and when?" I said, my own head seemed to twist at the sentence. Judging by the slight head tilt I rephrased. "Is there a schedule?"
She shook her head.
"Then how do we know which patients got to go out?" I asked with concern.
"I have a good memory." She said with a bitterness in her voice, almost like I had insulted her. Or maybe she was insinuating that my memory wasn't very good? Or I could have been over thinking it? "There are only two wings, how hard can it be?"
The door swung open and she marched in. The hallway was wide with metal doors on each wall. The hall had one, two… I counted twenty-six doors.
"Is this it?" I asked. Matilda scoffed.
"This is only a half of one dorm."
I counted to myself again, "two-hundred rooms?"
"Two-hundred and eight."
"They can't all be filled?" I asked.
"The less aggressive patients share a room."
My mouth gaped open. How could this be?
"Isn't the asylum funded by the Marnettie Cathedral?"
"And?"
"Well…" Matilda's intense gaze intimidated me. My shoulders met my ears. "Uh, well. Why don't they add more dorms?"
"You can't just go to the church and request more dorms."
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because…" She stopped, took a second or two to think, then gave up. "Ask Quintrell, it's none of my business and frankly I don't get paid enough to give a shit about them."
Human decency apparently needed to be compensated.
"They at least have their own beds?"
"Sure." She said as she rolled her eyes.
The doors behind us opened as two large men walked in. The guy on the left was taller, and skinnier but looked like he could hold his own. The other was a much brawnier fellow with a thick black beard.
"Jer'on, and De'ston." Matilda lazily lifted her hand to each man as she said their names. They had warming smiles and greeted me with a faint hello. "New girl." She lazily lifted her hand to me.
"Mae Ember." I corrected her.
"A last name, that's impressive." Matilda rolled her eyes as Jer'on acknowledged my name.
"What's a girl with a last name doing working here?"
I let out a heavy sigh. "It's a very long story."
I smiled hoping they would respect my decision to cut off the topic.
"Shall we get started?" Matilda looked to all of us with impatience. They nodded. I stood like a board, stiff and awkwardly. What was I supposed to do?
Matilda pointed to the doors where we entered from.
"Stand there and hold the door open. Watch what we do. Some of these patients are too hyper for you to handle on your first day."
I did what I was told and opened the doors. Down the hall, towards the dining room there were guards lined against the hallway standing stiff like columns holding up a marble ceiling.
Door after door, Matilda opened each one. People began to lazily walk out of their rooms as Matilda barked a command. They all wore the same attire, gowns with pants that were hemmed an inch above the ankles. Their gowns were unkept, wrinkled and slightly torn here and there with large stains. Everyone looked about the same - crust lined the rims of their eyes, dried up bits of unidentifiable things caking the edges of their mouths, chapped lips, and bloodshot eyes. Their hair was messily chopped leaving some strands longer than others and were tangled into rats nest in the back.
Matilda waved her hands in circular motions towards my direction, conducting them to the dining hall. I noticed the surprising age difference: older gents and ladies, young men and women passed by without a single trace of a pep in their step.
Matilda opened the doors to the second section of the first dorm, she propped them open with a small lever and began opening the cells.
The smell of the dorms wasn't pleasant and as the patients got closer the smell became more unbearable. The pits were stained yellow and gray with the sweat seeping through. When do they bathe?
The stinky armpits seemed to be the strongest smell but a whole swarm made me gag. But it didn't make me feel as nauseated as the two patients that exited the cell Matilda opened. Two patients, a set of twins that couldn't have been older than eight solstices were skinnier than a skeleton. My eyes became sore as I held back tears.
Children too?
I averted my eyes as the twins walked past. I didn't want to believe they were truly here.
The patients were pushed and rushed to the dining hall by the line of caretakers along the wall.
"Get a move on!" One of the caretakers pushed an elder man who seemed to struggle with walking. I rushed over and strung my arm through his. The caretakers showed aggravation towards lethargic and seemingly harmless patients. Why the hostility?
"I wouldn't get too close to them. They might be medicated now, but that will wear off." Matilda said.
"I don't mind…"
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
In a large gray room walled in by mortar, tables were set randomly around the room. The ensemble of this section to the asylum was boring. Not a splash of color anywhere. I felt trapped with nowhere to rest my tired eyes from the plainness of the asylum.
We assisted the patients and settled them down in metal chairs, a few obeyed. The medication for a handful of the younger patients seemed to wear off and they became spry. Matilda took another deep breath and faced me as a young man took interest in running away from the caretakers as if it was a game of tag. His face certainly showed enjoyment in their struggle.
"Take care of that old man." Matilda pointed at the guy who I assisted in the hallway. "He'll be your training."
He was fragile with wrinkled, dry skin that looked as if it would break if the wind touched him. Most of his hair poured out his nose and ears in thin scraggly strands but left none on his bald scalp. His white unkept beard needed to be brushed and his eyebrows grew past his ears.
Matilda advanced another patient that refused to sit down. Her voice rose at the poor girl and the entire room became tense. Heads ducked into their shoulders with their eyes glued to the floor. The old man too, ducked into an uncomfortable position and tried to become invisible by hiding his eyes.
I hated this place. My heart felt it would burst. I wanted to help the old man, let him know I'm not harmful nor fearful. He looked uncomfortable sitting on the metal chair as if he would break in half. I wanted to get something softer, like a pillow. I could ask later, when Matilda isn't screaming mercilessly at sick people.
Just as my mind moved on to the next pressing issue, Quintrell walked in with his hands behind his back.
"How are you holding up, Mae? I assume Matilda showed you the main areas?" I nodded. His bushy moustache pushed upwards as he smiled. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"The older patient needs something soft to sit on. Can I get him a pillow?" Quintrell seemed to hesitate but nodded softly.
"Normally, we won't have enough caretakers to watch and handle all the patients by themselves. Most of them are highly suicidal and need constant surveillance to be left alone. Grabbing a comfort item won't be optional every day."
"What if we were to set up a closet in here. For simple things, like cushioning?"
"I will take your idea into consideration and see what funding the church can provide us." He took me down the hall to a closet and handed me a pillow.
"Is there anything else?" He talked with sweetness in his voice. I grabbed the lumpy pillow, better than metal.
"What about the dorms?"
"What about them?"
"Matilda said that there were too many patients, and that you would be the one to address the situation to."
"Yes?"
"Well, why aren't there more dorms?" I asked, Quintrell sighed and rubbed his forehead.
"The church is a very large organization. And a request to expand the asylum would have to be approved by the office, then it passes to the counsel, then it goes to the advisor of the emperor, then it has to be approved by the emperor himself. By then that request will either get lost or disapproved of by the time it reaches him. Trust me, we've tried. We're a small establishment that doesn't have enough employees to handle the work load that's being piled into our laps. The request has to be handwritten and signed by me only, and currently I'm too busy trying to hire people to our team to compensate the growth of patients being admitted."
My eyes dropped to my feet and noticed a brownish stain at the hem of my dress. Was that blood?
"I'll try again, Mae." He broke me from my focus on the faded stain. "Is there anything else?"
"I don't believe so." I thanked Quintrell. He dismissed himself and I returned to place the pillow on the chair and gently set the old man down.
When I lifted my head a sea of eyes was fixed on me. Every patient was staring at me as if I was a rare animal at an exhibit. Even the few patients that focused their energy on toying with the caretakers got caught so they could stare at me perplexed.
I cautiously walked away and my audience seemed to follow my every move. My heart began to race and my hands were damp with sweat. My fingers tingled and felt as if they swelled up. I took a deep breath and went to a large window with thick iron poles sheltering a kitchen in the back. Wooden bowls of food slid across the counter, not just one, but a few bowls slid this way and that way. The cook must have been doing this for quite some time, not a single bowl slid past the counter and fell to the ground. The cook wasn't even looking as he did it.
The contents inside the bowl were not impressive, very dull just like the rest of the asylum. A large dumpling like substance was covered with chunky cream, little bits of gray meat floated to the top. My mouth certainly doesn't water, but it appeared harmless. It smelled of excess flour mixed with water and oats, the type of stale smell that's nostalgia for paper mache. It would look more pleasing if it was colored with vegetables.
I listened attentively as Matilda and two larger guys chased a redheaded patient around the room. Matilda's face exploded with relief when they grabbed him and hauled him to the other side of the cafeteria.
I couldn't put my finger on it, but I've seen him before…
"Put him in a restraining chair!" Matilda ordered to the other caretakers. The redheaded guy thrashed with ferocity, his legs flew in the air, kicking here and there not worrying about any casualties. But he was skinny, he could never escape the two muscle heads that gripped him so tightly it caused his skin to go blue. They shoved him into a chair with a metal vertebra for the backing. Leather straps were placed along the pole and buckled around his head, neck and one around his chest. They tied his wrists and ankles to the arms and legs of the chair. Matilda, red with rage, forced the messy white glop down his throat. His face twisted in disgust and spat it back out at her. Matilda's face was splattered with chunks and slobber. The redheaded guy gazed triumphantly at his work and smiled. He gritted his teeth and his eyes contained a hatred for her that I never wanted to have stare back at me.
With a single look to her coworker, they handed her another metal contraption with leather and buckles. She wedged two metal prongs in between the patient's teeth until they scraped his mouth open. At the top of the odd thing, she twisted a handle that opened his mouth wider, and wider.
If she kept this up she would cause his jaw to snap at the joints! It opened wider and wider showing his red tongue and blackened teeth. Matilda stopped when I believed she would keep twisting the knob.
"Let this be a lesson for the others." She preached to the patients, pointing at the ones who gave her problems when getting them to sit still. They all looked to the floor with fear they would be next.
The redhead sat alone in the corner, tears streamed down his cheeks. A disgruntled looking man walked by and peeked into the redheads mouth with wide eyes as if he was astonished by a tongue. He had an unusual twitch about him, his head constantly jerked and shook. His eyes twitched, and he fiddled with something in his hands. He then threw that something into the poor red heads mouth and laughed with accomplishment as it fell straight down his gullet. The man coughed to get it out, but due to the restraints, he couldn't bend over, he choked until he managed to swallow it.
Was this necessary? It was unusually cruel, I should tell Quintrell. If anyone could put an end to this, it's him. But if Matilda found out that I, the new girl, snitched she could make my life a living hell. Being the new girl at any job was stressful, if I made one rookie mistake it felt like everyone was out to get me. At a job like this, I didn't want to stop being the new girl if experienced means being nasty like Matilda. I couldn't imagine sitting anyone in that contraption.
My next thought caused my stomach to churn. What if that was Dodger? If I don't learn anything about the "other people," then that was going to be him in that chair. The thought was eating me alive. I couldn't let that happen to him.
With no action to take, and all odds seemed against me, I refocused on my training. I took a spoonful of the unidentifiable content and raised it to the old man's mouth.
"Will you eat?" He was quiet, keeping his gaze to the floor.
I wondered if he was a kind-hearted man with grandchildren. He could've had it all but like a block of wood, his mind was whittled down into a simple, boring statue less than half the size of what it used to be. Living here, surrounded by others just as broken, must help sharpen the carving knife.
He didn't respond, only shook. With all the bantering of the nurses and caretakers, the wild noises made by the patients, and the cackling of a loud ill woman I doubted he would concede if I continued asking him to eat repeatedly. I knew of nothing else that would work.
Matilda stopped by to check up on me.
"Is he eating?" Her voice was slightly lighter, calmer when talking to me compared to the way she talked to the patients.
"H-he…" Seeing how she treated the others I was hesitant to tell her the truth. This old man needed to eat though, he needed help. I could count every bone that made up his frame, his skin was dry and dehydrated. "He refuses to eat."
"You have to make him eat." She answered matter-of-factly.
"I'm trying!"
"You're so new." She remarked rudely. I awkwardly stood by as she took the food from me. I wanted to say something more, explain to her that he wasn't going to eat but my tongue tied itself into knots.
Matilda filled the spoon with food and loomed over him, showing dominance over the poor old man. She pinched his cheeks between his teeth then squeezed his face until his skin glowed whiter than a sheet of paper, a method used to force dogs to open their mouths when they refused to drop a ball. He began to squirm and moaned for mercy. This man was deprived of life, he didn't stand a chance.
"What are you doing? Stop it!" I scolded her, managing to untie my tongue. The patient bemoaned from her tightening grip until his mouth opened wide enough for her to stick the food in his mouth. The opening was small, food covered his lips then dribbled onto his clothes.
"You're hurting him!" I pulled her away until her grip released his cheeks. She faced me, her face as red as fire. The old man slumped over in defeat.
"What are you doing, girl? You want him to eat don't you!" She yelled back at me.
"Of course..." I tried to continue but was quickly interrupted.
"This is the only way to make them eat." She fumed, I could almost see the steam leave her ears. "If you desire to last at this job I suggest you learn."
Before I could process the cruel words spoken to me I forgot that I was still holding her arm. She brushed me off and handed me the spoon and bowl.
"Good luck." She chuckled. "If he dies of starvation that's on your hands, not mine."
Maybe she was right, was it crueler to allow the man to starve to death? Or get him to eat even if it meant forcing it upon him? I hoped and prayed that this was the worst of it all but looking at the poor red headed soul sitting uncomfortably with a gag in his mouth was telling me otherwise. This was only the beginning.
Thirty minutes passed, the old man hadn't eaten a thing and I didn't force it. Matilda and the other caretakers rounded everyone up and lead them outside for exercise. The old man and I were the last to leave. Before taking him outside I made a pip stop in the corner of shame.
The redhead cringed as his mouth was left open. How painful it looked. his jaw must be aching like a thousand bee stings.
I would get reprimanded for what I was about to do, but I couldn't stand idly by and do nothing. The metal creaked when I cranked it to the left, a tinge of pink returned to the sides of his mouth as the gag loosened.
He glanced sideways at me, the buckles jingled against the movement of his neck. He had beautiful emerald eyes with a ring of brown in the middle.
"I…" I wanted to say sorry, but I couldn't wrap my head around how familiar he looked. My eyes were locked to his, my face grew hot and my throat became dry. "Uh… I can't take it off. I wish I could, if I did Matilda will fire me. I can't lose this job. I hope it at least brings relief." I left before he had a chance to mumble a response.
This job was a mistake.
I met with the old man in the hall, he walked ahead of me trying to get around on his own. He flinched as my arm weaved into his, I wanted to think nothing of it but the sharp feeling of discomfort couldn't push out the thoughts of abuse running through my mind. I guided him outside as my mind battled with itself, should I have taken a step back? Was I doing the right thing in being his support?
The stale smell of the asylum became accustomed to my lungs. The air outside smelled sweet and I could almost taste the freshness on my tongue. I imagined all my negative thoughts flooding into one area, trapping it in an inhale, then cast it out with a drawn-out exhale. I felt better, but I knew that would only last a second.
To my left was a tall iron fence creating a small walkway to the garden in the back. The view past the fence was blocked off by shrubbery and trees. I followed a pathway constructed of tiny stones until it rounded the side of the asylum.
The other caretakers leaned against the stone wall plucking little white cigarettes from their mouths and huffing smoke. Matilda coughed, but due to the attitude she presented early I wouldn't be surprised if she was scoffing at me. I was helping and for some reason that made her angry with me.
I continued the path hoping they wouldn't talk to me. The path swerved in several directions giving my eyes quite the journey until I came upon a stone bench. I lead the old man there and sat him down.
The chaos that surrounded me made heat rise to my face. I wanted to slap Matilda for being so neglectful. Not only were they improperly dressed for winter, with nothing but thin fabric socks for shoes to fight of frostbite, but they were unsupervised. They might not have shown aggression to each other but most were harmful to themselves.
An older man crouched over the pathway and stuck white stones in his mouth. A rush of shivers made my body seize uncontrollably at the sound of crunching as his jaw moved up and down.
"Hey! You stop that!" I overcame my cringing fit and ran to him. I snatched his hand before he stuffed another handful of pebbles into his mouth. He jumped and gasped revealing whatever teeth remained. They were black and shattered leaving dirt wedged between shards of white and in the sockets of his gums. Blood traced the lines and wrinkles of his mouth.
I gently pried the rocks out of his hand and pulled him away from the path. On the south end of the fence I recognized an edible bush that grew during winter. Its leaves were blue and tasted like mint and sprouted little beans that were soft and smelled like cocoa. I lead him there, plucked a leaf from its stem and showed it to him like I would to Dodger. His eyes were still wary.
"Here, these are edible and won't hurt your teeth." My mouth stretched into a sweet smile.
Needing to prove it wasn't harmful, I peeled the leaf in half and sucked on it and handed him the other half. The gesture was enough to gain what little trust he had for caretakers. He carefully picked the leaf from my hand. His eyes kept meeting mine for reassurance as he pressed the leaf to his lips.
A mentally insane man treated me like I was a ticking time bomb, it hurt to be feared this way.
Pleasure filled his wide eyes, he poked his head around me and pointed at the bush.
"Yes, it's edible." I gently pushed the back of his arm towards the bush. He explored it attentively, chomping on the beans and sucking on the stems too.
A feeling of content ended quickly as I noticed another patient banging her head against a tree. Her forehead bled and it trickled down the bridge of her nose.
It was clear I was the only one that cared. They were in view of the other caretakers and they sat around smoking as if they saw nothing. I rushed to stop her, pulling her from the tree. Her arms raised and flailed until I let her go. Just then, Quintrell exited the main building and I advanced him, determined to make a change.
"Quintrell, these patients are brutally harming themselves and the others are doing nothing to stop them."
Quintrells eyes moved from me to Matilda. His eyes were sharp and said enough without words. They dropped their cigarettes in the snow and patched up the patient with the bleeding forehead.
"Thank you," I said. Quintrell smiled wide.
"Anything else?"
"Well-"
"It hasn't been easy, the asylum needs a lot of work and I appreciate your attention to the needs of the patients. But you must be exhausted. You are excused for the day." He said with his smile bringing warmth to this cold world.
I thanked him.
When I turned to leave Matilda glared at me. I focused on the mysterious brown stain on my dress and pretended like I had just noticed it just so that I could avoid her gaze.
I returned to the lockers, got dressed then left with my head hanging low and my heart aching. I hadn't made a difference, but it was important to keep trying.
Dodger greeted me as he always did with a wide smile that brightened my dreary day. He rushed into me, almost knocking me off my feet with a tight hug around my waist. I laid a prolonged smooch on his soft hair and took in his scent. I jerked forward as the smell wasn't as pleasant as I had hoped.
"Pee yew!" My nose crinkled into my face. "Someone needs a bath."
"No!" Dodger ran away from me, screaming down the hallway. He lept over the couch but his dinky legs couldn't clear it. He dangled, kicking furiously for some momentum until his butt flew over the other side and I couldn't see him anymore.
"You're taking a bath, Mr., whether you like it or not, so you might as well get undressed."
"No!" His scream was muffled by a pillow.
"When I'm done with errands it's bath time."
I prepared our earnings for the debt collector. He knocked on our door, rudely demanded our money again, and left. Dodger got undressed. I heated the water and scrubbed him down in the kitchen with towels splayed across the floor. I rubbed his head with a clean towel until he was dry, he got dressed then went to bed for the night.
Images of neglected people haunted my mind until sleep laid its black blanket around my eyes. Even then, the images hadn't faded but were distorted by nightmares.