The noisy winter wind stoke violently against the barred
windows of the cell-like room, along with the soft pattering of sleet, as
Ava Brandon, a twenty-one years old girl suffered the after-effects of
the antipsychotic drug she had been given earlier. Except for the
indistinct sound of the lighting in the outer corridor, the gentle ticking
of a station clock somewhere, and the occasional squeaking of a linen
or medicine cart rolling down the hall, the only other sounds apparent
were an occasional scream or whine from other patients. Most were
sleeping peacefully, as Ava should have been, but her hatred for the
place made her strong and disinclined to follow the rules.
The thin hospital gown was no protection against the cold air
seeping through the bare, curtain less windows. Leather straps at her
hands, feet, and waist kept her from warming herself otherwise. The
room was sparsely furnished, so there was little she could do to occupy
herself, even if her hands were free. Instead, she again lay pondering
the circumstances that had led up to her arrest and confinement.
How she had ended up in a mental institute was beyond her. She
had committed no crime. It was her foster parents, Norman and Zelda
Maddock, who should be locked away. She knew her brother Jimmy's
death had come at their hands, not hers.
As she thought of her little eight-year-old brother lying dead in
the Maddocks barn that day, over two years ago, scalding tears wet her
face. She knew that nightmare would never go away.
A life sentence at St. Christi's Institute for the Criminally Insane
was crazy. Why hadn't there been a trial? Or at least a hearing, to
determine her innocence? She was still wondering how the Maddocks
had managed to pull that one off. She sniffed, shivering, wishing she
could wipe the wetness from her face and find a warm, soft blanket to
snuggle in.
She lay there contemplating the matter, recalling her ill
treatment by the Ivory Post PD that day, when her cell door suddenly
squeaked opened. Stiffening against her bonds, she felt panic sweep
over her. She recognized the husky orderly standing in the doorway, his
blob silhouetted against the light behind him. Her nemesis. Lester
"Crater" McConnell. So named because of the acne scars all over his
face.
Since her arrival at St. Christi's, this man had been trying to have
his way with her. It was as if he felt it was his right to violate every
female in the place, just because he worked there. But fortunately, the
head orderly always managed to prevent Crater from succeeding
whenever it came to her. Franklin Delaney knew she was young, a
virgin, and intended to keep her intact, for whatever reason. If he had
any morals, it would have surprised her since it was always Franklin who
forced drugs into her in an effort to keep her docile.
"Hey, babe," Crater said, shuffling his carcass across the floor to
her bed. He fumbled with her straps, making her cringe at his intentions.
A large man, he easily kept her secured with a hand to her chest, as he
removed all of her restraints. She gasped and lifted her hands to cover
herself when he snatched away her gown, tossing it onto a chair.
He grunted with the effort it took to free himself from his
trousers, the belt buckle tapping against the metal bed bringing a moan
to Ava's lips. Trembling as she listened to his labored breathing, shemade to shove his hand from her. But he caught it, just as his pants
dropped to the floor with a soft thud. She groaned in protest, struggling
to free herself.
"Dammit! Hold still, will ya? This'll be over before ya know it."
"Listen, you stupid--," Ava began, squirming, "I..."
"Crater!" came the timely, familiar interruption. "How many
times must I tell you? Dammit."
Crater turned to peer at his boss standing in the doorway.
"Crap," he murmured, loosening his hold on Ava. "He must have ESP or
somethin'."
He had forgotten to close the door behind him again, Ava
observed gratefully.
"Pull up your damn pants and get your butt out here!" Franklin
ordered. "But Frankie..."
"Now!"
"Ah, crap," he repeated, pulling up his trousers to join him in the
hallway.
Ava lay back with a sigh of relief. Franklin to the rescue again,
she thought dryly.
Still somewhat groggy from her earlier medication, she turned
her head to peer out the open door. She could hear Franklin
admonishing Crater for the umpteenth time. A grin sprang forth as she
imagined Crater's face at having been caught again with his pants down.
Then, a thought struck her.
She instantly sat up, groaning as a wave of dizziness and nausea
washed over her. But she forced herself from the bed and hurried to
snatch up her gown to cover herself.
She had to hurry before the men realized the door was still open
and that she was free.
"Frankie," she overheard Crater saying. He stood only a few feet
from the door. "I just gotta have her. I can't stand it another day. I'm
always thinking about her."
"Couldn't you use one of the other patients? One who's already
been broken in, Les? What's wrong with one of them until I give the
okay on this one?"
"I dunno, Frank," Lester said. "There's something special about
this one. She's so pretty and all. Not like them other hags."
"You're right on that account," Franklin agreed, "but you can't
go around like some Don Juan and—" He was interrupted by Lester's
shout of dismay.
"Hey, Frank! She's gettin' away! We forgot to lock the door!"
"Hurry, you idiot! After her!" Glancing over her shoulder, Ava
saw Franklin fumblingly butting his cigarette into a nearby plant—never
mind that smoking at the institute was prohibited—and giving Lester a
rough shove in her direction. By the time they began the chase, she had
already skidded down the long hallway and around a corner. "Shit! I
think I left the ward gate unlatched, too!"
"See, I'm not the only idiot, Frank."
"Just shut up and follow her! We can't let her escape."
"Yeah," Crater wheezed. "Can't have her ruinin' our perfect
record."
"That's all we need. Some stupid broad running to some honest
authorities and broadcasting this all over the State. I'll kill her before I'll
let that happen."