A Second Of Insanity

Chapter 2

    "All of the paperwork seems to be in order. It doesn't seem like you missed even one tiny detail," Dr. Mathews compliments me. "Now we can start to talk about the patient you will be assigned. I have one in mind for you; she could make quite the paper," he continues.

    I get all giddy with energy at the mention of my patient. She's female! He gave me a hint! I smile at him eagerly, letting him know I want him to continue.

    "Her name is Abigail Wells. Quite the interesting case to be honest," he says while rummaging through the file cabinet next to his desk. "She’s probably one of the most severe child case we have here at the Winnebago Mental Health Institute," He goes on. He seems to finally find what he was looking for. "Aha! Here's her file!"

    A file is thruster in my direction,  and I take it into my hands and notice how thick it is. "Are the files usually this big?"

    "No, the files are usually not the big, but Abigail is a special case. I will tell you a little about her and her back story, and while I'm doing that, you can look through her report," I nod and open the Manila folder.

    "Abigail started her life as a normal child, beautiful, smart, the whole gist. Then she witnesses the murder of her parents and, in simple words, her brain went a bit haywire. The adults at her orphanage noticed her symptoms first. One minute she could be angry enough to murder a man three times her size, the next minute she could be so paranoid that an unidentified man was "gonna get her". Their first suspicion was that Abigail was bipolar. But they soon learn that they were incorrect. Abigail started to get worse. Though these emotions happened, they quickly passed. She always went back to normal in a few minutes. A few doctor visits later she ends up here, diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, or more commonly know as Multiple Personality Disorder,"

    When he finishes telling this "Abigail" girl's story, I'm staring at him with  unblinking eyes. This girl sounds terrifying, but also like a good source...

    “Interesting. What a horrible tragedy she has had to go through. I would like to work with her,” I tell Dr. Matthews, even though the thought of this little girl makes my heart race with fear.

    “Great! Just remember she is very… Touchy,” He reminds me. “You may go and see her now if you would like. Not talk to her, but observe her. I want you to start the appointments tomorrow. Sorry for any inconvenience, but I would like her to be helped as soon as possible.”

    “That sounds great to me. Can you show me where I can observe the patient?” I ask. He nods, stands, and walks to the door. I take his lead and do the same, then I start to follow him down the hallway.

    The warm brown walls stop all at once when we get a certain distance away from his office, and now we stand in the beige walls of the lobby. Dr. Mathews leads me to two metal double doors about 10 feet to the left of Ms. Heart’s desk. He takes out an access card and swipes it in the device next to the doors.

     We walk through the door, all I see is white and chrome. Is this a spaceship? The walls are white, the tile is white, the ceiling is white, but the railing used for peoples stability is a chrome bar. This is festive! Along the bland walls, every 15 feet or so, a door is placed. On the outside of that door there is a plaque with a number engraved upon it. Next to the plaque, a window about 2 feet tall and 8 inches wide is placed. The window isn't like regular widows though, just by looking at it I can tell there are abnormally thick. This place looks like the prison for Mr. clean who sells Magic Erasers.

    After passing about eight doors, Dr. Matthews comes to a stop in front of me. This time I make sure I don't run into him. He turns towards a door to our right. This door was different than the others, it didn't have a plaque or a window. While he digs into his pockets, he grips the metal handle of the door to keep it steady. Finally he pulls out a key, and sticks it into a perfectly matched hole.

    "This is our monitoring room. Video footage from every camera in the building, is showed here," Dr. Mathews says as he pushes open the door. I am suddenly surrounded by at least 10 screens of every size. Some of the monitors have four images on them, some only have one. The monitors that only have one picture only have people on them from the looks of it. The other monitors that are split into fours have people on them too, but there are also rooms like the cafeteria and hallways.

    "Which on is Abigail’s?" I ask, because I know it would take me forever to find her without help. He walks over to a screen that only holds one picture on it and gestures to it.

    "This is Abigail's security camera. In case you were wondering, the monitors that only have one picture one them are for our most severe patients," he answers. Once again today, information about this little girl has made my eyes widen in shock. I sit down in a chair in front of the monitor without a word.

    What I did expect to see was a little girl in a cute dress playing with toys, but I was very wrong to expect that. I quickly study the scene in front of me. A small room with walls made of soft material makes up about the whole screen. A padded cell. I come to the realization. At first I didn't notice her, but when there is a small movement within the cell, I notice the little lump in the corner. What's bothers me is that the lump is the same color of the cream colored walls. The only difference I see is dark blond hair styled into pigtails attached to it. That must be Abigail.

    Abigail sits up without warning and looks around her cell. I watch her closely as she starts to stand. When I look at her mouth I notice that it's moving. In panic, I look around me and see a headset sitting next to the monitor on a table. I swipe them off the table and put them off. Soon a sweet and innocent voice fills my ears.

    "Hello? Are you going to let me out?" She asks with a broken, tear filled voice. When no one answers her she sits down on the floor with head in her hands. She sits silently when her crying stops. Aw, the poor thing! I wish I could help her! She just sits there for a few moments, and I start to think she could sit there all day like that.

    Out of boredom, I take my phone out of my purse to see if anyone has texted me. This is exactly why I hate skirts. I don't have pockets! I rant to myself. I run my fingers along the side of the slim black box until I find the power button. I press the button and the screen lights up automatically. I sigh when I see no notifications on my lock screen. I shove my phone back into my purse and look back at Abigail's monitor.

    A startled scream rips through my throat, when I see deep, dark, brown eyes staring back at me. My heart is racing with my lungs trying to keep up, but behind both of those is my head. I don't glance away from her eyes even for a second, the fire there keeps me frozen. She looks as if anyone would stand  in her path, she would bulldoze them without a thought. My headset crackle before her vicious voice enters my ears.

    "Are you going to help me? I know you're there," she cynically accuses. I flinch back in fear. She's still watching me when it clicks. She isn't staring at me. She's staring at the camera! She just knows someone is watching her! She doesn't know it's me! I almost cry in relief, but I'm soon brought back to reality when my headset crackles again. "Not gonna come down and talk? You're just gonna sit in that chair like the fat coward you are and watch me like I am some sort of animal?"

    I look at the footage in front of me once again, and I see the little girl smirking sadistically. But as if someone has flipped a switch, her smirk drops, it is quickly replaced with a sulum look a child might get if they aren't aloud ice cream before dinner.

    "They don't let me out anymore without this thing on me," she says. I look at her body to see what she's talking about. She has a jacket on, but not just any jacket. One that has her arms fastened behind her to disable her from doing anything. They put a straight jacket on a child?! What kind of people would do that?!

    "Will you help me? I don't like this jacket," Abigail asks between sniffles. I jump up from the chair I'm sitting in and turn towards the door. I've had enough of observing her for the day. For now I'm just going to go home and record what I saw today. Then I can sit around and binge watch Netflix.