(A Glimpse into the) Chamber of Remission

This is an idea for a novel that I want to test.

(A glimpse into the) Chamber of Remission

As the car crept along the street, splashing the fresh rain water into the edge of the tee line, the woman commanding the wheel could feel her mind start to flutter even more. It was instable as the sign for the hospital passed by. The darkness of the day made everything look old and outdated as if it was all blanketed in gray cloths from an old scottish town where rain always covered everything. Her window was rolled up but she could still smell the musty odor that came from everywhere. It reminded her of the upper peninsula of Michigan; of her grandfather's old house and the distant nostalgia of those many summers she spent up there with him. A war veteran turned into a female psychologists...so goes the cycle of life.

The trees on either side of the road were dripping but not shiny. They were perspiring in the humid days' sunlight and hoping not to be disturbed by a stray or slippery car. Melanie could hardly keep her hands on the wheel as she went down the road. It wasn't the weather that made her jumpy or the decreasing levels of visibility on the foggy road; the distant red lights blinking up ahead or the flash and crack of the storm's rage, it was what lay ahead of her day. It was being at that hospital that made her fidgety and nervous, the faces and voices that crept into the back of her mind causing her to wake up at night. It was the scars and stories of what these horrible people had done. It was the fact that these people lived in the world. At one time her life, she had been so naive as to believe that child rapists, cannibals and the like were nothing that couldn't be cured. Fresh from school, she thought she could cure them all and impress everyone. But after four unsuccessful years behind the desk of Jobne's Memorial; she was beginning to doubt whether or not she could help herself, let alone anyone in there.

Up ahead on the road exists a doubt on her life. It's a cow that has strayed from the path and has found a place to stand on the road. Melanie doesn't see this though. She plays with a bottle of drugs, that she has prescribed to herself, while the cow ascends towards her car by her force. As nothing comes through life; things perceived are destroyed.

"Ahh!" She screams into the dust of the burning tires that mist the rain water. She screams while the cow stand still, gnawing on something...only her car doesn't hit the animal but comes to a stop only inches from it. The animal looks at her, chewing on something slowly. She looks into the eyes of the big beast, says nothing and quickly resumes her drive.

Jobne's Memorial is as the name says; a tribute to the men and women who have lost their wars on their destroyed minds. Ninety percent of the people who check into this place have never checked out without cuffs. It's said to be a place where the most insane go to die. Almost like an old folks home only most of them are young and die young while they're here. Most of them either kill themselves, kill each other, or are killed by the guards who's methods of subduction have proved to be useless. It stands atop nothing but ashes of saints and satanists. Surrounded by trees and encompassed by the methods of modernization; though it's shrouded by the dark paint of black and rustic from years of use, there are many intwining vines that wrap around the building to make it look almost prestigious. At least, that's what Melanie thought when she first came there. If she ever thinks of that one moment again, she laughs at herself.

She treks up the parking lot, shaking in her hands, her eyes glued to the ground and not looking in front of her. There is nothing left for her in the future; only the memories of her wonderful past and the goals that she's always had...now, nothing but reasons for why she is there. A pitiful existence because of her own ineptitude.

Melanie stops at the front door before she enters. Everyday she does this as an insult to herself. Maybe it's just to take a breath. Maybe it's just so she can grasp where she's going again. Maybe...it's because she'd rather be dead than go back there...but that can't be for she places her hand on the metal handle and pulls it open, looks down the barely lit hallway and enters into the cold blue steel of this hell.

"Good morning Dr. Onyet," says the receptionists. She's a perky college dropout who likes to revel in the thoughts of what goes on here. Though she'll never go down into the chambers, she'll always ask about them.

"Hello Stacy," Melanie says stifly, not wanting to get too comfortable with any person who works here for her own sake. She's been friends with people. She's lost friends here. So she passes by without so much as another word mumbled out of her lips. And Stacy, the receptionists, just sits there painting her fingernails black, looking at her reflection in the mirror to make sure her hair is still black and yellow; just the way her boyfriend likes it.

Melanie makes her way past the steel doors, painted in the blue lights overhead, down the hallways and into her office. It's locked still...'Good' she thinks. No one has got into her personal space here. She likes to keep it that way. Even if she has a horrible day, she can always lock herself into her office and find solace in her old family pictures and her bottle of gin. Now in her early thirties, she thinks that she can get away with a drink before work. She can relax for fiteen minutes, as she locks the door and sits behind her desk, and enjoy work in one way or another. Pouring herself a drink, she looks at her desk. On a yellow post it note is a patient's name that was admitted the other night. They asked her to perform a review today. His crimes weren't told to her but she would be able to handle it; whatever the situation. The ice rattles in her glass before being kept afloat by a shot of gin with some tonic water she keeps in a tiny fridge under her desk. There is no file on the subject; only the post it note. Nothing else...and yet she had asked for a file.

"Stacy," she says into the little call box on her desk.

"Yes Dr. Onyet?"

"Where is the file on the patient I'm supposed to be reviewing today?"

"Dr. Phillips took it this morning. He said he'd bring it back before you got here."

'Great...' she thought. Not only had the file been taken from her but it had been taken by Dr. Phillips; a cheesy slimeball who'd been trying to get in her pants since the first day she had set foot into the hospital. Over the years, he had come closer and drawn back on his advances only to end up coming back in the end. His wife was none the wiser.

She leaned back in the tan leather seat and sipped her drink. She had not put her glasses on yet; she had stopped doing that years ago. They sat in her top drawer knowing that they were useless to her now. Melanie closed her eyes and thought back to the U. P.; she thought of the old war stories he used to tell her while they hung around the old copper mines. The smell and sights, the things she saw and the things he said...

She opened her eyes, took another sip of the harsh liquid and moved her body over to the door only to open it and see the greasy gray hair of Dr. Phillips on the other side. His hand moved quickly to grab a hold of her and move his mouth over hers. He grabbed her chest and made her feel abused...he grabbed her mouth and thrust it against his again as he closed the door and moved his hands on her skirt. But she resisted this time; and pushed him back on one of her chairs.

"No Steve! Not today," she barked, though trembling in her speech. "I can't do it today."

He pulled a sheepish face and composed himself on the chair. He placed one leg atop the other and drew his hands to his mouth as if to analyze her. "It's monday...I know, but I thought we could start the week off with a bang."

"It's Tuesday and I'm rather busy today."

"Monday...Tuesday, same thing. Beginning of the week. No one likes it. We all like to look at life as though it were a graph and we were moving some way on it. We're either ascending or descending."

"And which way are you going?" she barked, taking her seat and drink simotanesously.

"Me? I'm always ascending. Never mind what day it is. I can find a good time no matter what the weather."

She finished her drink, took the file in hand and opened the door for him to leave. "It's raining out today." she said harshly. He didn't say anything. There was triumph in her voice in her resisting him. This he could not doubt. He buttoned his coat and left her office.

After she got rid of him, she walked down the cold and silent hallway glancing at the portfolio as she went; Alex Denheim...age: 29...race: caucasion...diagnosis: mental instability? Those were the only words that they had put. It could be anything. She had to put her own mind to the test and was less and less into that these days. As she neared the door; it's steel frame making an almost hellish appraoch in her anticipation and anxiety. There was something that propelled her to go past that door and down those steps and into the chamber where she was sure she would one day meet the devil who had put her there in the first place. Maybe...