The drugs given to Irene have worn off. She is waking up from a daze and is coming to a realization of where she has been put. She feels herself laying down on some sort of uncomfortable surface. Opening her eyes, she stares at a blank ceiling. A faint amount of light is there. Her eyes trace the path of the light to look for the source. A tiny window supplies this light. The thick black bars guarding access to the window was a wake up call to were she was. Heritage Oaks Mental Hospital.
Irene can feel her heart sprinting and her lungs moving up and down rapidly. She wiggles her fingers and toes to check if she is in any kind of cuffs. Thankfully not. But she is still panicking at the fact that she has been trapped in a small space in between insanities. Irene sits up from the most uncomfortable bed she was placed onto from the ambulance and feels the cold cement ground for the first time. She can feel the energy of old, crazy, abused patients here before her. A huge rush of fear enters her body as she takes a large inhale of the musty air. The air that she will be breathing for god only knows how long. Irene exhales; her body shakes as the carbon dioxide leaves. The voices and screams of other patients enter her ears. She lets out a few cries herself. She doesn't want this, at all. Irene is completely terrified and cannot think of anything other than the fact that she is here. She is here, in this terrible building. A loud, piercing scream exits her mouth. Just after, she looks straight ahead at the big steel door to see a visitor.
***
Donny's journal entry number 4:
May 17, 2003
My mother has probably just woken up in the hospital around this time. Before I go visit her I would like to write in my journal. I expect her to be mad, to be furious, with me. I was the one who decided to put her in there. I know that. I'm hoping that giving her a visit will be the right thing to do. When I called the hospital they told me she did not do well and they're going to have to keep her there until she is well again. I feel completely terrible and I'm not at all sure how I'm going to deal with this. I don't really have a plan. I'll keep you updated.
***
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Nosocomephobia
Mystery / Thriller"The sound of sirens muzzled, and the scent in the air was similar to a doctor's office. Irene was getting a headache from the bumpy roads. The crunchy blue pillows were no big help to that either. She wanted to speak, but something was disabling he...
