Sent away in 1954 after the death of her parents, Eleanor Anderson is left to live in a mental hospital for her depression. 10 years later, her stay in Briarcliff Manor becomes more interesting as the infamous "Bloody Face" is admitted. Shortly afte...
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Eleanor sat in the common room, her knees pulled up to her chest as she blankly stared in front of her.
"Miss Anderson?" A male voice called out. She didn't react, "Miss Anderson." He called out again, bringing a hand to her shoulder.
She flinched and looked up at the man, Dr. Thredson.
He gave a polite smile, "Are you all right, Miss Anderson?"
She shakily nodded and looked back in front of her. Dr. Thredson pulled a cigarette from his coat pocket and handed it to the girl. She took it with shaky fingers as her head twitched to the side. He struck a match and lit the stick for her.
He sat down at the table in front of her, "Are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine." She whispered, "Just... having an off day." She answered.
He hummed and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "Do you know who I am?"
"Dr. Thredson." She answered with a nod, taking a drag of her cigarette.
"Yes, I'm a psychologist. I couldn't help but read over your file." He mentioned.
"But I'm not your patient."
"That's correct. However, as a doctor here who's witnessed the horrid conditions of this institution I was curious as to what you were here for, and what they were doing to treat you." He said, gazing into her mismatched eyes.
She scoffed, "And? Did you like what you found?"
He shook his head, "Not in the slightest. As a matter of fact, I'm appalled by what I read in your file. Incorrect dosages of medications, electroshock therapy... lobotomy. All for the treatment of your neurotic depression."
"Not to be rude Dr. Thredson, but is there something you needed from me?" She asked, her head twitching up and out.
He shook his head again, "No. But I do have some questions for you, if you don't mind." He said calmly.
She scratched her head, "Fine. But only because you gave me a smoke."
He gave a slight smile, "Thank you. Your file says you were originally brought in to New-Day Mental Hospital when you were 16 for depression, can you remember why you were depressed?"
"My parents died... a few months prior, I think. I don't remember how they died." She mumbled.
"Did you sign yourself into the hospital?" He asked.
"No. My brother did."
"Do you feel as if any form of treatment you've received in the past few years has helped you manage your depression?"
She laughed, "Hell no. I would've been better off killing myself all those years ago."
He frowned at her statement, "Do you have suicidal thoughts frequently?"
