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Mike walks me back to my room Thursday evening after the dinner time. I'm already feeling sleepy now, probably because of the amount of medicines I had to take. It's already starting to take a toll on me.
I haven't told Mike about me wanting to know about my records, yet. I'm actually planning on a great enough excuse to cover for that if he ever asks why, to which I am sure he would. Plus I want to gain his trust even more, because if I am planning to ask for help, I really should start on working on that.
"Please noo" a certain voice catches my attention as we're passing through near the bathroom.
"Please stop i'm beggi--" *cries*
I look around the area to figure out where is that coming from. And then another cries and wailing floats through the air.
My body tenses. I remember Annika. How she looked after the staffs had whipped her for almost escaping out the sanitarium. I remember her fresh wounds, the scars on her cheek.
I remember how puffy her eyes had been, how messed up her hair was. And the rips on her straight jacket exposing the fresh cuts on her skin.
I wince at the memory. What if some other patients is being whipped now? What if worse, that was Annika, again? Sure the girl's hella crazy, but it's unreasonable for patients to be treated like that.
Patients lack mental capacity and it wouldn't help them, maybe including me, if that's how the way we are being treated.
Last time I checked, Thayer and I was so close to being whipped.
Another distant wails and screaming echoes throughout the lonely halls of the sanitarium.
"What was that?" I ask Mike stopping on my tracks.
He stops abruptly too, looking guarded, distant, "let's get you to your room."
"No," I hesitate still looking over every corners, any possible room. I look at the path that leads to where Thayer, Annika and I had been locked up. The sound must be coming from there.
"C'mon Scarlett," Mike gently tugs me on my arms directing me to walk back towards my cell.
I yank my arms away from him quite fast, "No Mike I want to know what is happening."
"You can't Scar," he says, voice condecending, "just get back in your room."
I didn't answer, he's looking at me quite sternly and I hesitated between going back to my room or looking for the sound to see what is happening.
Another voice screams, quite painfully and harshly. But it is coming from a different voice now. It is coming from a male patient, and that voice is so achingly familiar I had to concentrate on hearing that voice.
The male patient screams again and I quickly shot my eyes open when I finally confirmed who that voice belongs to.
