By Titanx9
Where did the years go? Ramona said to herself as she pirouetted before the wall of mirrors. They seemed a great idea when she had them installed on her thirty-first birthday, but today they were a reminder of how far south her body had descended. She tossed her dyed blond hair and convinced herself she still had the magic. She was a beautiful woman, but tended to see the unlined face of twenty years ago, the taut body that took and gave pleasure to three husbands with her captivating eyes and even, white teeth.
In two months, she would turn sixty.
It took three trips to the altar before she found the one. Her first two husbands were duds. She concluded she had to kiss a few frogs before finding her prince. She frowned in distaste as memories of her first two husbands beset her. Neither was able to ignite a third of her smoldering passion. Sex had been routine and mechanical. Rarely did she feel fulfilled, so who could blame her for eliminating the problems? A woman had to do what she had to do.
She smiled, thinking of the twenty years of marital bliss she’d shared with her beloved Steve. Dave, her first husband, gave her the start she needed with the million-dollar insurance policy she’d taken out on him. It bought her present home - she looked around with a satisfied sigh. When Sam died, she expanded her home into a mini mansion. A few years later she met Steve, and finally had the whole package. Life was great.
“Ramona,” she said aloud to herself, "you’re still in there old girl.”
“Yes, you are.” She looked around to see who was speaking. She knew she was alone. Her heart beat rapidly. Her blood rushed to her head, causing her to pulsate with fear.
When she looked once more at the mirrors, they seemed alive, causing her image to distort. She was about to flee, but found she was immobile; her shoes were glued to the floor.
“Go ahead and run. You’ve made a habit of it over the years, my dear.”
She panicked. It was her first husband’s voice. She tried again to move, but couldn’t.
“You can’t face aging, can you, Ramona? You made sure I never had that problem, didn’t you? What did you use to take me out? I remember that last meal. You were too solicitous; I should have expected something sinister, my sweet devilish, little wife. The joke was on you because I loved you.”
“Stop it,” Ramona yelled at the mirrors that were inching their way toward her. “I will not stand here arguing with some damn mirrors.” She looked about anxiously. Her son left more than an hour before, and it would be another hour before Steve returned.
“How does it feel to be so helpless, so defenseless, Ramona?”
“Please, Dave.”
“Please what, Ramona?”
“I was not in my right mind back then.”
“Of course you weren’t in your right mind, which accounted for your marriage to Sam just eight months after you murdered me.”
“Don’t, please.”
“Does the truth hurt? At least, you’ve lived your miserable life these last thirty years.”
Ramona tried to move, but was rooted like a sculpture to the floor.
“What you’re feeling, Ramona, is what it felt like as I lay dying. I’ll never forget the look in your eyes as you sat there watching me writhing in pain. Was I that bad?”
“No. I wanted more. You were satisfied with a roof over your head and food in your stomach. I wanted more, so much more. Wherever the hell you’ve been, please go back. Don’t do this to me,” she pleaded.
“What can I possibly do to you?” Ramona heard shrill laughter coming from the mirrors, causing her brain to vibrate. She could feel herself spinning around, even though she stood ram-rod straight.
“I gotta go, Ramona. But honestly, turning sixty isn’t all that bad. What if you’d died at thirty?”
“I’m so sorry, Dave,” she sobbed.
“No you’re not. Look at what you did to my good friend, Sam.”
Ramona stopped crying. She felt doomed, thinking perhaps she was suffering a stroke, or some other neurological disorder.
“Hello, Ramona, sugar.”
It was too much. She closed her eyes, but the images in her mind’s eye were the same as those in the mirrors.
“Sam, why are you here? I had nothing to do with your death.” She felt a presence behind her.
Are they planning to kill me? she wondered.
“I didn’t say you did, but you didn’t grieve when the police said they’d found my car in that ravine. I heard them say my brake line was cut. They never arrested anybody, did they?”
“You don't know what you're saying. I tried to help. I even hired a private investigator.”
“Yeah, you did. Good ole Chuck Seale. Chucky couldn’t find his behind in a hall of lights. You needed to prove to the insurance company you were not involved so they’d pay. They figured you had something to do with my death, but they could never prove it.”
“I didn't Sam. I swear I didn't. Please stop tormenting me,” Ramona wailed.
“Look around you, Ramona. Who’s tormenting you? As for my brakes, you didn't cut the line, but you know who did.”
She moved her head, and pivoted around. To her surprise nothing looked amiss.
“At least with me, Ramona,” Dave continued, “you got a million dollars. Did you use it to buy this mausoleum?” He laughed eerily at his own joke.
“Please go away,” she whimpered. “You were a brute; do you remember that, Dave? Do you remember the abuse?” She placed her hands over her ears in an effort to block out the voices.
“I think you got your men mixed up, Ramona. I never touched you in anger. But with three dead husbands, I imagine you'd get a few facts mixed up. How have you managed to deceive everyone, even the police?"
“I may have two dead husbands, but Steve is still alive.”
“Not anymore,” both dead husbands said in unison. The mirrors vibrated and looked like melting wax. There was a grayish illumination, emanating from an unknown light source.
“What do you mean, he’s dead?” Ramona screamed. “You better not hurt my husband,” she said as she crumbled to the floor. With her face in her hands, she rocked from side-to-side, pleading with the voices. “Please don’t hurt Steve, please don't. I love him, so much.”
“We know you do, you cold, conniving witch. You really do love him,” Sam said. "For the next twenty-five years you will know what it means to be lonely. Many times, you’ll wish you were dead,” Dave said. His voice was fading and seemed to echo from a distance.
When she looked up, it was to see her image as it was earlier in the evening, except all the lines she hadn’t seen then were there. She sat crying softly. The party she'd been dressing to attend was pushed to the back of her mind. There was a certain finality about her life. She sensed it was ending, and felt loneliness descending slowly.
She waited for them to come; the ones who would destroy the only thing in her life that mattered. An hour later, flashing red lights stopped in front of her house. Soon she heard screams that went on and on and on....
| Author Notes |
Google image
This is a short story. Dissatisfied with life, Ramona decided to eliminate her problems one-by-one until she finally got it right.... I got the idea for this story when I saw some floor-to-ceiling mirrors recently. |
By Titanx9
SIX MONTHS LATER
Henry Summers sat alone at the dining room table in his mother’s imposing home. With his head cupped in his hands, he pondered his options. What was he to do? His mother had a meltdown of some sort and was being detained in the psychiatric ward at Grace Memorial. What the hell happened to make her snap like that, and what was he to do with her big-ass house? To add to his conundrum, his stepfather couldn’t understand why his wife believed him dead. The last time they went to see her, she called him an impostor. She said her beloved Steve was dead.
Steve was rocked to the core. He loved the passionate Ramona, even though she was the most self-centered woman of his acquaintance. What he loved most about her seemed to be the cause of his misery: she was independent and resourceful. Steve could not, would not believe she killed her first two husbands for financial gain.
“Ramona, for goodness sake, look at me, honey. I’m alive. I want you home. I miss you, sweetheart.” Steve pleaded. Ramona refused to look at the bedraggled man standing before her. He had not shaved since he came home that terrible day they hospitalized her.
“Henry, darling, please take this impostor away. I can’t bear it. I’ve lost my precious Steve. I don’t know this person.”
“This is Steve, although we’re both somewhat disheveled. We’ve been so worried about you, “Mother. Look at me. Do you believe I would lie to you?”
She reached out to touch her son’s unshaved face. “No, darling, you’ve always been a model son.”
Pointing toward Steve, he whispered, “This is Steve, Mother. He is alive, and he loves you.”
She pulled her hand away as though burned and sneered, “Get out of here, both of you. I want you out now.” A nurse ran up to them. She looked kindly at both men. “Gentlemen, I must ask you to leave.”
On the way home, Steve lit his fourth cigarette as he drove along the ten-mile stretch of the Boulevard. “I suppose your mother wants to call it quits. We could have done it without the histrionics. You know, Son, I love your mother even when she is impossible, but I don’t know how long I can take this.” He sighed loudly as he ran a nervous hand through his thinning hair.
“I know, Steve, but promise me you’ll wait until her next evaluation, which should be any day now.”
“Then what? She admits to killing two men. I don’t believe it, but if it’s not true, why would she say she did it?”
“If she did kill my dad, I don’t know whether I can ever forgive her, Steve. A part of me is telling me, she probably did.”
“What?” He slammed on the brakes and pulled into a fast-food parking area.
With a trembling hand, he took another cigarette from the pack and lit it. He took a long drag before turning to Henry. “What would make you say something like that?”
“Mother has always been self-indulgent. When she wants something, she becomes obsessive. My dad was her first husband and couldn’t give her the fancy house she craved; she hated him for it. I’ll never forget their fights. But, there’s one thing I know for sure, Steve, she does love you. I have no doubt about that.”
“That gives me little comfort, Henry. How do I know she’s not plotting to off me for some trinket she thinks she wants?”
“Because she has everything she’s always wanted. My mother is a deep pit of need, which can never be filled. You’re closer to filling it than any of her husbands or lovers. Whatever mischief she’s up to, killing you is not a part of it. I hope she doesn’t cause any more problems at the hospital. Dr. Willis is the only person in our corner, at the moment. If Mom keeps aggravating the woman, she’s going to recommend a trial, and no telling what will happen then.”
The two men sat in the parking lot, each lost in similar thoughts: Was Ramona really psychotic, or was she acting out to avoid prison? What made her make confessions of murder to the police?
Ramona knew she’d been hospitalized for six months, or incarcerated as she preferred to call her captivity. Today, she sat just outside her cell by an oversized window. She peered through the metal bars that were affixed to the outside frame. Behind her, several nurses gathered to discuss ways to get the recalcitrant woman to take her medications. Ramona sat motionless as she strained to hear the gist of their conversation.
Lucinda Ross was the charge nurse who never lost an opportunity to engage in a bit of gossip. It made working with the mentally unstable bearable. Ramona Wilbert was an enigma and had been since the day she was brought in. According to her chart, she confessed to murdering two of her three husbands. She believed the dead men were still alive and conspiring to murder her.
Lucinda snickered behind her hand when she recalled some of Ramona’s antics. When they removed the restraints from her wrists that bound her to the bed the first two weeks of her residency on the ward, she went missing. Every staff member on the ward was deployed to find her. A janitor was adjusting the curtains when he looked down to watch the start of the May Day parade. He laughed out loud. Standing in front of the Waldorf High School band, shaking bright-yellow pom-poms and high stepping, white boots stood Ramona, readying herself to march down Parnassus Avenue.
Dr. Susan Willis was summoned. She gathered three orderlies and exited the building discreetly. Two hours later, Ramona was once again tethered to her bed. She worked herself into a lather over not being able to march with the school band. Dr. Willis had no choice but to sedate her.
“See that she is given 100mg of Seroquel tomorrow, Lucinda. Ensure that she doesn’t chew or crush the pill.”
“And how am I to do that?”
“You’re a professional, you’ll figure it out.”
The nurse couldn't remember disliking a patient as much as she did Ramona Wilbert.
Once when one of the Licensed Vocational Nurses pulled a hand mirror from her purse to apply makeup, Ramona went berserk. She leaped from her chair by the window, and before anyone could subdue her, she wrestled the poor woman to the floor. When staff got her settled, the Nurse Director, Maribel Ramos, explained that Ramona’s experience with mirrors was the reason she was there. She issued a memorandum, citing staff members were not to use mirrors around her. They even covered those in the restroom in the room she had shared with another patient during the first two months of her residency.
One rainy night, after two months of listening to Melody Jenkins' snores, Ramona sneaked over to the sleeping woman and placed a pillow over her head. Jules Morrison, a floor nurse, heard the commotion and raced in the room to find Ramona straddling Melody, and pressing a pillow over her face. She appeared to be in some orgasmic frenzy as she yelled obscenities at the top of her lungs and bounced about on the woman’s chest.
He pulled the madwoman off the frightened woman and subdued her in her bed.
The floor was buzzing the next morning about Ramona’s attempt to murder her roommate.
“She’s not crazy, I tell you.” Lucinda said with an air of authority.
Angela Morris, a psychiatric nurse, looked askance at Lucinda. “What makes you think she’s not insane?”
“Her eyes. I tell you her eyes are just as sane as yours or mine. She never wanted to share a room, so now she gets to be alone.”
“Poor Miss Jenkins. She really is loony as all get out, but she didn’t deserve to be scared out of her wits. Mrs. Wilbert does have her moments.”
Lucinda looked around to ensure she and Angela were alone, before she leaned in, and spoke in a whisper, “I think she’s capable of murder. I’ve seen hardened murderers come through here with more compassion in their eyes than that one. Be careful, will you. I’ll watch your back if you promise you’ll watch mines, Angela?” Lucinda still talked with a bit of a brogue even though she’d been in America for over fifteen years.
“I sure will, Lucinda,” fresh-face Angela replied. At age twenty-two and just out of nursing school, she was happy to be taken into Lucinda’s confidence.
Ramona turned around furtively just as Angela and Lucinda walked in different directions. She knew from day one, the hospital was plotting with her devilish ex-husbands to take her out. Her only recourse was to pretend a fascination at the street activities below her seventh-floor room window. She sat there every day listening and seeing what was said and done around her. The place was horrible. She argued with her son about being placed with all the nut cases. She hated the place. Everything was too damn sterile for her taste. No one had any fashion sense. She railed against wearing the drab hospital garb, and insisted on wearing its colorful scrubs. The staff relented to her demands. Her bellicose behavior caused them to handle her with extra care, and except to feed and medicate her, they left her alone.
“Mrs. Wilbert,” Nurse Ross said sweetly as she approached the willowy woman. Ramona kept staring out the window. She gave no indication she heard the nurse speaking to her. Nurse Ross sighed heavily. She was in no mood for Ramona’s games. She’d been kicked, bitten and cussed at, and it was not yet noon.
“Mrs. Wilbert, I need you to turn around right now so you can take your medication. I said now.”
“Who are you?” Ramona asked as she stared unblinkingly at the woman standing beside her.
“Did you come here to take me home? Where’s Henry? He should have been here by now. I
wonder why he let them place me in this desolate place. Everybody here is so fat and ugly. Where’s my son?” Her slight frame pulsated with suppressed anger.
“Perhaps your son can see through your ruse,” Nurse Ross said as she placed the tray containing Zyprexa and Seroquel on the end table near Ramona. She walked behind her chair and swung her around to face her. “I said, I want you to take your medication, now.”
Ramona eyed the medication, and became agitated. “I will not allow you to poison me, you, you… big person.”
Having struggled with weight gains all her life, Lucinda was finally feeling good about herself. The weight she gained during her last pregnancy was all gone, plus an additional twenty-five pounds. Her doctor recently congratulated her on her accomplishments. She was not about to allow this murderer to take away her self-confidence. Had she not been the sole breadwinner in her family, she would have pushed the scrawny old crow out that window she was so fond of staring out of. She motioned for Jules and Angela to join her. When the two nurses reached her side, she motioned for each to stand on either side of Ramona.
She clenched Ramona’s chin in her left hand, and applied pressure to her cheeks, as the two nurses held her arms.
“Let me goooo…,” Ramona screeched before her mouth was forced open. Seeing she was losing the battle, she feigned a faint, which caused the nurses to relax their hold on her. Before either of the three staff members could discern what was happening, Ramona leaped up and raced down the hall. She stopped briefly at the open door to access the situation before turning left and running toward the stairwell.
“Who left that damn door open?” Nurse Ramos yelled. “Don’t stand around gawking, go bring her back here. This is it. If she wants to play games, then games she’ll have.” After sounding the alarm, she charged off in Ramona’s direction.
Ramona sprinted down the stairs, careful not to bring attention to herself as she descended the stairs quickly with her back pressed against the walls. She felt a sense of elation when she reached the first floor, but despaired when she noticed two beefy cops stationed at the double doors. The next floor down was the cafeteria, so she decided to try her luck there. She knew time was not on her side; she could hear the commotion behind her. The cafeteria was empty except for the cooks in the back. There were ladders and tools at the far side of the room. She took off once more. Just as her captors were about to enter the cafeteria, she noticed a small door near the base board. She eased her tiny frame through it and closed the door behind her.
“I know I saw her come in here,” Nurse Lucinda said as she looked around her.
Nurse Ramos glanced over the large room. She noticed ladders, buckets of paint and other remodeling supplies pushed to the back of the room; she headed in that direction.
Ramona could hear footsteps coming in her direction. In a panic, she looked around. Right behind her was a ladder positioned against the wall. She had no idea where it would take her, but she stepped onto the first rung and scaled upward.
Angela was the first to notice the small door, and motioned for the group to follow her. She opened it and peered in. Ramona was stepping off the last rung when Angela spotted her. “Oh, my goodness. She’s in the ceiling, Nurse Ramos."
“Call Dr. Willis. Now.”
“How in the hell did she get up there?” One of the cops asked. As Angela explained what happened, Dr. Willis entered the cafeteria with a team of doctors. Angela pointed her to the small door through which Ramona had gained access to the ceiling.
Dr. Willis called out to Ramona. “Mrs. Wilbert, I need you to come down before you fall and hurt yourself. I promise, whatever is bothering you, we can talk about it.”
“You are a silly bitch; you're just like all the others. You want to fill me up with medications so Sam and Dave can kill me. They told me they would do it,” she finished as she looked around her, feeling like a caged animal. She knew in a few minutes they’d be up there and haul her back downstairs to kill her, especially Nurse Ross. She couldn’t even rely on her own son. He’d brought in that imposter, pretending to be her beloved Steve.
“Mrs. Wilbert, we’re coming up to get you. I want you to stay put," Dr. Willis said as she tried to enter the narrow door, but decided against it and eased herself out .
Ramona took a tentative step onto the first tee grid. The building was old, and was well constructed. The tee grids that held the title were made of heavy metal and allowed her to stand on them without bending. About ten feet out, she felt more at ease.
“Oh, my goodness. Will you look up there, will you?” Lucinda said, covering her mouth in shock.
Fifteen staffs and two cops watched as Ramona walked from panel to panel. They followed her trek about the ceiling, each holding their breath in anticipation.
“Dr. Willis, sooner or later that woman is going to fall through the ceiling, and we’re going to have one hell of a law suit on our hands,” Nurse Ramos offered.
“I know, Maribel. The way I’m feeling right now, I think I need a rest from Mrs. Wilbert.”
"I know that feeling," Nurse Ramos grunted.
Lucinda sent a knowing look to Angela, who shrugged her shoulders and continued walking, and trying to keep track of Ramona's zigzag ambling across the ceiling.
Dr. Willis directed four orderlies to follow Ramona. Each held a corner of a sheet to catch her should she fall. She followed close behind with syringes filled with Haloperidol.
Ramona soon tired of walking from grid to grid. She discovered there was only one exit, and a cop was standing in it. Through tears, she saw Dave and Sam standing beside him. Both were glaring at her.
“Get out of my life. Why won’t you stay dead?” she screamed.
The cop stood looking at the woman, surmising she was a certifiable case.
“We are out of your life. You killed us, remember?” Dave yelled back.
"You asked for it, you losers. “You, you bastards, I’d kill you again if I had a chance, you, you…” so great was her anger, she failed to navigate the carefully charted path she’d walked for more than two hours. She slipped through one of the panels in such a way, her butt wedged into the small opening. No matter how she struggled, she could not right herself enough to extricate her butt through the narrow opening.
Dr. Willis climbed atop one of the workmen's walkup ladders and injected a dose of haloperidol into one of Ramona’s hanging cheeks.
The woman shrieked and cussed and railed against the doctor. “You incompetent witch. I’ll have your license for this.
Dr. Willis stood waiting. Ten minutes later, she injected another dose of the medication into Ramona's other cheek.
Feeling totally defeated and humiliated, Ramona grew more and more lethargic. She knew she was dying and hated the two men who were causing her untimely death. Her body grew limp and formed a perfect “U," which caused her to slip through the panel, and onto the sheet held by the orderlies.
| Author Notes | This story is a follow up to Wall of Mirrors. I was asked by several Fanstorians to extend it. I hope I made it worth your while to read. There will be several more chapters to explain Ramona's strange behavior. Thanks for reading. |
By Titanx9
Dr. Willis sat at her desk across from Steve Wilbert and peered at him between the stacks of files and documents on her desk. The man was as much an enigma as his crafty wife. Yet, she saw in him an authenticity that belied her suspicions. How could she share months of clinical testing of Ramona and not hurt him further? He continued to care for his wife, even when she pushed him away. Dr. Willis knew he was looking to her to vindicate Ramona, so he could take her home.
Over the seven months Ramona had been under her care, she’d looked at as many causes of her illness as the hospital’s budget would allow. Ramona’s treatments ranged from series of psychiatric tests that also included illicit substances and toxins to general medical diseases. Dr. Willis wanted to arrive at a combination of factors in order to narrow them down by way of differential diagnoses. This included autoimmune disorders. Despite test after test, she’d been unable to establish a strong clinical suspicion for a particular disease that would help her arrive at a definitive clinical diagnosis.
“Mr. Wilbert, thank you for seeing me today,” Dr. Willis said by way of greeting.
Steve sat looking at the doctor. He sighed deeply and sat back in the comfortable chair she offered him when he entered her office. He placed both hands on the arm rests and wondered about the chair. It was plush. He had an omen he was being prepared for what was to come. The chair was gold. He wondered why the color seemed to explode in his brain. He said nothing as he continued to look vacuously at the doctor.
“Mr. Wilbert, this hospital has done everything it can do for your wife. I have consulted with our own team of experts as well as some from the outside. All are perplexed that Mrs. Wilbert is exhibiting many of the behaviors she presented upon admission, despite medication that should have inhibited most, or all of them.”
“Dr. Willis, I don’t mean no disrespect, but what has your inability to diagnose my wife’s illness has to do with me? I don’t think you realize how difficult this has been for me.”
“You’re wrong, Mr. Wilbert. I do have some idea of your difficulty, but the issue at the moment is what is to be done with Mrs. Wilbert?”
“What are you suggesting?”
Dr. Willis looked at the pencil she held in her hand, before she looked at the distraught man that sat before her. “It is the opinion of this hospital, including myself, that your wife is not psychotic, at least not clinically, because there are antipsychotic medications that can control the behavior.” She stopped and looked directly at Steve Wilbert.
“Well, what the hell is wrong with her?”
“Do you understand what it means to be psychotic?
“I believe so.”
“Psychosis is not a condition in itself; it is caused by other conditions that range from mental health issues like Bipolar disorder, or schizophrenia to physical triggers like brain tumors and Parkinson’s disease. Psychosis means an individual has lost contact with reality; it is manifest by either delusions, or hallucinations. I’ve provided you ample literature on all those conditions, Mr. Wilbert.”
“Yes, you have, Doctor.”
“Over the last three months, we’ve noticed some consistent patterns in Mrs. Wilbert’s behavior.”
“I sure as hell would like to know what they are, because one thing’s for sure, they haven’t included me,” Steve said bitterly.
Dr. Willis kept on speaking; she ignored the pain she heard in the man’s voice.
“Mrs. Wilbert has been manipulative in the way she attempts to control others for her benefit. Remember the incident when she attempted to strangle her roommate so she would not have to share the room? She encourages some of the patients to leave the security doors unlocked so she can come and go as she pleases. No matter what she does, she finds ways to make herself blameless. In seven months, the seventh floor has become practically unmanageable, and it’s all because of a war of wills between Mrs. Wilbert and our hospital staff. Your wife has demonstrated a willful disregard for the consequences of her actions. Can you imagine what can happen if some of our more dangerous patients walk through those doors she engineers to keep unlocked and reach the streets?”
Steve knew what he was about to hear would devastate him, because the doctor was stating in words what he had begun to believe. His heart pounded. “Yes, Dr. Willis. I can imagine that, and so much more."
“I’m sorry to be the bearer of this news, Mr. Wilbert, but this is my clinical diagnosis: your wife’s a psychopath. We do not have the means to continue treating her for that diagnosis. We are not even sure whether there is a cure for psychopathic behavior, which can range from an inability to experience shame, guilt or remorse to madness. Because your wife admitted to murdering two ex-husbands, the hospital’s findings will be turned over to the District Attorney as it was his decision for her to be here in our facility. I’m so sorry, Mr. Wilbert. I'll prescribe Zyprexa to handle Mrs. Wilbert’s hallucinations. We will release her this afternoon to your care.”
Steve Wilbert crumbled in his chair as he held his head in his hands. Dr. Willis sat thinking about her own life. Why wasn’t she able to find such a sensitive man in her own life? Because she could find nothing more to add to their exchange, and wishing to spare him further humiliation, she exited the room.
**************
Henry sat by the window with his mother as he waited for Steve. Dr. Willis had asked to speak with him alone. On his days off he often stopped by the hospital to spend an hour or two with his mother. Sometimes she would talk, and other times she would stare off into space. It seemed his relationship with his mother was growing darker and darker.
Angela has grown to care for the tall, dark handsome young man. She surmised they were around the same age. During his weekly visits she never missed an opportunity to send a smile his way. Today, she sensed his despair.
“You like the young man, don’t you, my young friend?” Lucinda would say as she'd hide giggles behind her cupped hands.
Angela neither denied nor confirmed her feelings for the silent young man with the chiseled good looks. It was obvious he worked out. She did too.
In desperation, Henry turned toward his mother.” Mom, I need you out of here. I’m trying to keep things going, but there seems to be no let up. The insurance companies are on my back, and I don’t know what to say to them. I don’t believe you killed dad, but since you confessed, the police are demanding answers.”
Henry could hear the anguish in his voice, and he despised her for it, but he had to get through to her. He had been able to keep most of what was happening away from Steve, but he had to make her see what was at stake. He looked around the floor at the bustling goings-on. Some patients were being physically restrained, while others sat like babies being fed from their high chairs. Others rocked back and forth seemingly lost in their own miserable worlds. The room reeked of Lysol and piss. He felt sick to his stomach. At the moment, he felt about as alive as the plastic palm trees stationed in each corner of the sanitized room.
Ramona turned and looked at him, and for a moment Henry thought he saw a glimpse of his mother; his heart leaped.
"Mom?"
“Son, you’ve got to get outside more. You're too pale. Why are you always with that awful man who's pretending to be my darling Steve? You aren’t gay are you?”
Henry stood up and looked down at his mother. For an instant he wanted to strangle her. If not for Steve he could not have managed over the many months of her confinement. How dare she? He left without saying goodbye, or looking back.
Ramona watched Henry leave. She saw Angela unlock the metal doubled doors to allow him to exit. They smiled at each other, and she stood looking after him. Romana continued to watch her son walk quickly down the hall and into Dr. Willis’s office. Then she searched the room for Angela, she spotted her with a group of hospital staffs. She sent a contemptuous glare in her direction before turning around to watch the street activities below.
Lucinda shivered. She wanted to share with Angela what she’d discovered the night before, but she swore to Dr. Willis and Nurse Ramos she’d keep quiet. Around two that morning, when most patients were sleep, she heard low moans that made her think someone was ill. She looked in on each patient as she walked along the hallway. About halfway, she discovered the sounds were coming from Ramona’s room.
When she peeked in she nearly keeled over.
Ramona and George Pinkerton were stark naked, and in the throes of quivering ecstasy. They were oblivious to anything, or anyone around them. Lucinda pulled out her camera and snapped a picture of the couple engaged in coitus; she was not about to interrupt them. She knew without evidence, Ramona would concoct a lie to make it seem she was the culprit.
On her way to her office, she wondered how long they’d been sneaking into each other’s room at night, and causing havoc on the ward each day.
Lucinda always believed Ramona was evil, but now she knew she was also amoral. She had to warn young Angela to tread very carefully around the witch. Very carefully.
| Author Notes |
Google picture.
It was my intention to write the first chapter, but after a few fans asked me to extend this one, I got into the characters. Over the years, I've known folks like a few of my characters. |
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