Asylum - The Case of Sophia Rourke

Prologue

For years, I was told time after time that I was just imagining things- mostly by my father, a well known butcher. My mother was the same, only a bit more laid-back. "Adelaide," she would say, "your father dislikes when you speak of these unnatural things. Please, don't say those things around him. You know it will only get him angry." I always thought it was because Father's father committed suicide in a mental hospital and didn't want me to end up the same. At nine, I understood the tragedy in my family. My parents didn't think I knew as well as I really did.

When I turned ten, Mother started noticing that I was talking to myself a lot. It was very direct conversation, as if I were speaking to another person. Little did she know, I wasn't talking to myself. She held back from telling Father, fearing he would send me off. Father was the type of person to give up very easily- and it was no different when it involved his child. I was surprised that he never gave up on Mother, who cheated on him once five years after I was born. That was the time that I got the unmistakable scar over my eye. He was so furious at Mother that he decided to take that anger out on me. Then, only weeks later, Grandfather died. That was enough to drive him over the edge.

One day, Father returned home in a bad mood. He snapped at Mother, causing her to get upset and lock herself in the upstairs guest room. They were yelling at each other in Italian, which I didn't understand. I hid in my bedroom, staring at the figure cowering in the corner besides my outdated closet. Through all the screaming, I could hear soft crying- and I knew it wasn't either of my parents. Something else was in my room.

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I was sitting in the back of the car, staring out the window at the rain. My parents sat in the front, Father driving and Mother in the passenger's seat. Father's expression was completely blank. I could see no emotion in his face. Mother, however, looked upset. Thank goodness, I thought, at least Mother cares that I'm leaving. All I had was myself and a single leather backpack.

"This is for your own good, Adelaide," Mother said quietly, reaching back and taking my hand. I glanced at her for a second, then looked away in disappointment and betrayal.

"She's insane, just like my father," Father growled, sounding disgusted.

Mother said nothing, nor did I.

Father pulled into a large lot. An enormous, stone mansion was at the end of the pathway menacingly. Metal bars barricaded the windows, and a chain fence surrounded the building. I shivered and pulled my knees to my chest.

"Get out," Father demanded. I quickly sat straight, opened my car door, then stepped out onto the ground. Mother got out from the passenger's side and stared at her feet. Father still had no emotion in his face- though I was used to that, I was confused to why he didn't care that he was sending me away. An old, stone plate was above the door to the huge house, reading: Kingston Mental Asylum. Shivers went down my spine. Mother put her hand on my back and led me up to the door. Father trailed behind us, and I could tell he was glaring at the back of my head.

Mother grabbed the handle on the metal door knocker and hit it against the wooden door. It was silent for a minute, then someone opens the door. It was a plump, older woman, looking annoyed. She was wearing a maid dress, which was abnormally clean. "Who might you be?" she asked, staring me straight in the eyes.

"Adelaide Fortman," I replied in a quiet voice.

"Speak up," Father demanded. I flinched and twiddled my thumbs.

"Adelaide Fortman," I repeated, louder than the first time. The woman nodded.

"My name is Ms. Pennridge," she said, holding out her hand. I shook it, then she yanked me inside of the huge house. Mother flinched, not wanting to let me go.

"We will take good care of her until she is stable again," Ms. Pennridge told my parents. Father only nodded. Mother stared at me in sympathy. Why am I going here? What's wrong with me?