Soon: Part 2

I tried writing in third person for once, so let me know what you think!

Dread surrounds every corner in the empty hallways. The people still residing here are half dead, ghostly looking. The nurses and doctors have tried to suck out every bit of “poison,” as they call it, from the patients by forcing pills down their throat with every meal. Their droopy faces prove they cannot take anymore torture. One patient, though, refuses to let them continue to help her.

             Rachel’s eyes flutter open as she wakes from her dream. The old lady greets her as she slowly rises from her bed.

            “Did you dream of your escape again? I told you it will not work. You will be stuck here with me forever. Just give it up, child,” the old lady says.

            “No, I dreamt of many things that did not make any sense,” Rachel says, running her hand through her hair and squinting in confusion. “I dreamt of a house, a faceless man, and this blinding white carpet,” Rachel continues. She rubs the tired from her eyes and takes a long look at the old lady. Her long frizzy hair is as white as the albino shepherd Rachel used to own before this ward became her home. The old lady has long fingernails and wrinkles crevice her entire body. She looks like she could be over 100 years old. She always wears a long dark purple dress. Tiny white flowers covered the dress. “I doubt I will be seeing much more of you after I leave this place.”

            “Oh, dear. Don’t forget, I was with you before you were put in this institution, and I will still be here long after. No one can help you.” Rachel becomes furious as the sorrowful truth fills her body. Her hands ball into fists and she shuts her eyes, waiting for her anger to pass. Rachel releases her grip and notices her nails have left four tiny red indentions on the palms of her hands. She walks to the mirror and an unknown face stares back at her. She has short black hair, knotted and askew. The bags under her eyes prove how tired she feels. Her aged face forces her to look away from the mirror.

            “Soon we could be twins,” the old lady cackles a menacing laugh as Rachel wipes a tear from her cheek.

            “I’m going to my appointment with Dr. Bates,” Rachel says, slamming the door shut behind her.

            Rachel stands outside the psychologist’s office. She wishes her hair could be long again so she could twirl the strands in between her fingers, as she would whenever she was nervous. She did not know what to do with her hands anymore, so she stuffs them in her pockets. She stares at the letters on the door: Dr. Bates, Ph.D. After another moment of staring at the door, she enters.

            “Ah, Ms. Lopez, please come and sit. Make yourself comfortable. You know you’re safe here,” Dr. Bates says while grabbing his clipboard. His face sends annoyance through Rachel’s body. His friendliness only makes her hate him more. She despises him for keeping her locked in this crazy house. He has the ability to release her, but Rachel’s attempts to prove she is “normal” always fail, and she is still here. “So, how have you been feeling, Rachel?”

            “Fine,” Rachel says with a blank stare. She watches as his foot taps the floor. Her eyes follow every up and down motion, and her fury is about to boil over.

            “How about the old lady? Anything new with her?” Rachel stands up from her chair.

            “Why? Why do you always ask me about her? Don’t you see I’m trying to ignore her? Your constant reminder doesn’t make me feel better, so please for once don’t mention her!” Rachel paces around the room, trying to control her emotions.

            “Ok, what happened? Did she say something that upset you? Maybe if you talked to me I could help.” Dr. Bates walks over to Rachel and sits her back down in the blue leather chair.

            “Did you not hear what I just said?” Rachel cannot even bear to look him in the eye. She stares at his desk instead. Papers clutter the wooden surface, and a jar of pencils and pens have been knocked over. Her fingernails are digging into her palms. Her breath quickens as her heart beats faster. She tries looking at something else to calm herself. She focuses on the barred up window. The window bars fill her with despair as she compares the ward to a jail. Dr. Bates simply stares at Rachel. He scribbles a few things down on his notebook and says, “Well, I think that is enough for today then. How about you get some rest and clear your head.” Rachel stands up from the chair and slams the door shut behind her.        

            She wraps her arms around herself as she walks back to her room. People pass by, and each look insane in Rachel’s eyes. There is a man standing in the corner with short, spiky red hair. He is facing the wall and yelling. The other patients tell him to be quiet. Rachel walks closer to hear what he is saying, “I know you did it! Just confess already, it’s driving me insane. Just say it!” He says “say it” over and over until a nurse comes over and takes him to his room. Rachel runs to her own room, hoping she will not cross paths with anyone else.

            Rachel puts a shaking hand on the handle of the door. She slightly opens it and peeks through the open crack to see if the old lady is sitting in her usual spot on top of Rachel’s bed. All she sees is an empty bed, and Rachel lets out a breath of relief. After stepping into the room, Rachel sees where the old lady had been. Clothes are scattered all around the room.  Rachel covers her face with her hands and begins to cry. Even when the old lady is not present, she makes Rachel’s life miserable. After wiping away her last tear, Rachel cleans up the room. After picking up a couple shirts, one of the nurses comes through the door.

            “Rachel, what are you doing?” The nurse asks.

            “Someone just threw my clothes everywhere and I’m picking them up,” Rachel replies while holding out an empty hand. “What?” she says. She looks down to see a spotless room. No clothes lay on the ground and the shirts that were in her hand are no where to be seen.

            “Rachel, here’s your dinner and your medicine. You should lie down.” The nurse says the sentence delicately, as if Rachel is a child. Rachel nods and climbs into bed. The nurse places the food tray on her lap and waits for her to take her pills. Rachel places the pills in her mouth and the nurse walks out.

            She waits for the nurse to leave and spits out the medicine into her hand. She hides her pills in her pillowcase until she can flush them down the toilet. The lights in the hallway begin to turn off. The quiet sounds of crickets chirping echo in Rachel’s head as she tries to fall asleep. Rachel turns over on her right side and sees the old lady standing by the window. Rachel cannot help but notice the sadness in her eyes. She looks as if she wants to escape as badly as Rachel does.

            “Why are you here?” Rachel asks the old lady.

            Startled, the old lady glares back at Rachel. “I should ask you the same thing, dear.” A moment of silence passes between the two, then the old lady adds, “Have I ever told you the story about my husband?” Rachel c***s her head to the side and replies, “No, you don’t exactly tell me bedtime stories. You seem to enjoy just torturing me.”

            “Well, I do indeed enjoy that, but this is a story you should hear. It will really be eye opening.” The old lady walks over to Rachel’s bed and sits. She smoothes her dress to remove the wrinkles and begins her story.

            “This was about 1958, and I was 29 years-old and an English teacher. I came home from work to find the door to my home cracked open. I open the door and a long creaking sound echoes in my ears. Nothing seemed to be out of ordinary so I called for my husband. However, he did not respond. I heard the TV playing and went into the living room to see his head peeking up over the couch. I greet him, but he does not respond. I walk up to him and see he had been shot in the head. A gasp escapes my lips, and I cover my mouth with my hands. The tears come immediately and I run to him. I try to find a pulse, but it is too late. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and begin sobbing. I was unable to deal with his death. My brain could not fathom this tragedy. So, I did not call the police. What I did is I left him there. I pretended it did not happen. A week went by and I went on with my normal routine. I went to work, the grocery store, shopping. My husband stayed at home on the couch. After he did not attend work, I began getting questioned about his disappearance, and the police eventually investigated our home. The smell of his decaying body allowed the police to find him immediately. Naturally, the police assumed I did it, and I ended up in a mental institution, just like you, Rachel. Just like you.”

            Rachel is frozen with all the emotions running through her mind. “W-why would you tell me that story?”

The old lady ignores Rachel, and continues, “Of course I wondered what happened. Why would someone kill my husband?” The old lady pauses to look at Rachel. She is almost shaking. A sinister smile forms on the old lady’s face. “Sweetie, I think you know why I told you that story. Now, I want you to think real hard for a moment. Why would someone kill your husband?” Images flash through Rachel’s head. She sees herself walking through a door, then a man with no face, and then a red stain on a white carpet. Rachel’s breathing is at a rapid pace. Sweat is dripping down her forehead, and her nails are digging into the palms of her hands. She runs her hands through her hair and squeezes her head as a searing headache enters her skull. She is biting her lip so hard that she tastes blood on her tongue. She curls into a ball and screams into her pillow.

“What’s happening to me?” Rachel asks and the old lady sits on the foot of Rachel’s bed.

“You’re remembering,” the old lady whispers. Rachel lifts her head from the pillow to look at the old lady, but she is gone. Nausea enters Rachel’s stomach as a wave of memories floods back into her mind. The blurry images finally focus, and Rachel sees the truth.

“No! No, Nathan! Please, Nathan, I’m sorry! I did it, I did it, I did it!” Rachel thinks of the loony red haired man from earlier in the day and what he was screaming. She wonders if he really was talking to her when he said those things.

“Where did you go? You can’t just leave now. How did you know those things about me? Why am I now remembering? Answer me, damn it!” Her sobs become uncontrollable as Rachel’s true past is unveiled. She remembers now. A week before the murder, she comes home early from work and sees her husband with another woman in their bed. Her anger is uncontrollable and she swings her purse and its contents at them. She collapses onto the floor after the weight of the situation took its toll on her body. The mistress grabs her clothes and leaves. Nathan tries to console her, but Rachel pushes him away and looks at him with dead eyes. Later that week, she buys a pistol. She waits until the next morning when Nathan eats Honey Nut Cheerios and sits on the couch to watch Tom and Jerry before leaving for work. She points the gun at the back of his head and punishes Nathan of his wrongdoing. Once Rachel returned from work, she suppresses the memories and has no recollection of the events of his murder.    

 She walks into the bathroom and moves her hand along the wall trying to find the light switch. As soon as she finds it, light floods into the bathroom, Rachel screams. The face in the mirror is no longer her own. The face of the old lady stares back at Rachel. The old lady’s white frizzy hair is now on top of her own head, replacing Rachel’s short black hair. Wrinkles now cover Rachel’s body instead of her smooth, young skin. Rachel punches the mirror and shards of glass fall to the floor like waves crashing into the sea. Two nurses enter the room and throw their arms around Rachel to prevent her from hurting herself any further. She kicks, bites, and screams, but eventually fatigue defeats her and she lets the nurses take her away.

 

***

            The next morning, Rachel wakes to a straight jacket tied around her upper body. She notices she is in a new room. Confusion fills her mind as she tries to piece together why she is in a straight jacket.

“What happened?” She says to herself. Her head pounds and she shuts her eyes, hoping the pain will subside. She stands up from the bed and walks over to the bathroom. She takes a long look at herself in the mirror. Her short black hair is a tangled mess, and her eyes are red and puffy as if she had been crying. Rachel thinks for a long moment of the events of last night. The old lady walks into the bathroom and interrupts her thoughts.

 “Well, you’re definitely not escaping with that thing on,” the old lady says, cupping her hands together and leaning against the wall.

Reviews

[SRMarx]

Very interesting tale. I'd add more imagery to your descriptions and focus more on showing and not telling. But you have an engaging protagonist and intriguing story.