piano man; d.h [discontinued]

poisoned ribena

The uniform was uncomfortable, but I put it on anyway. I was told I would have a week of training before they gave me a permanent patient to look after. In my opinion that didn't feel like enough time, but I was not prepared to argue with Madame Seamly. After I had gotten dressed, I left the dormitory and started walking towards the main building. There was a separate door for the nurses to enter through.

The place was dark. You could still see and everything, but it just felt dark. There were people walking past me back and forth scrambling to get things together for each of their patients. I made my way to the north wing of the building where the nurses' locker rooms and bathrooms were. The Madame had given me a card with the locker information on it. Locker 58: 20 left, 60 right, 3 left. I twisted the stubborn lock until it opened before putting my coat and phone in the small locker.

"Hi, you must be new?" a girl behind me spoke. I turned around to face her, as she opened up her own locker to put her things inside.

"Yeah," I said hesitantly. "I'm Eliana Coldwell, but I go by Lia." I smiled at the blonde in front of me.

"Don't let Madame hear you talking like that. You're Nurse Coldwell now," she giggled. She was right. I needed to be more careful of that. "But it's okay around me. I say, as soon as you hear the high heels clicking, you know to shut your mouth," she let out a little chuckle. "I'm Ruthie Smith." The name was familiar to me. I had read her name in an email regarding my training.

"Well, Nurse Coldwell, I believe I'm supposed to be helping you with training," she reassured. She motioned for me to follow behind her as we walked up the stairs to what she described to me as a pharmacy.

"This is it, where you'll be spending the beginning and end of every single work day," she laughed. I smiled as I looked around the room while Ruthie seemed to be pouring different concoctions in separate cups.

"Looks like ribena," I mentioned subtly.

"Poisoned ribena, more like." Ruthie's expression changed slightly. She seemed much more serious, like she was thinking of something, or someone.

"You okay?"

"What? Oh, yeah I'm fine," she let out with a little chuckle. "Here," she said as she handed me one of the cups. It looked like medicine of some kind but I couldn't make out what it was. "Follow me." She began walking swiftly back down to the main hall before turning toward the east wing. It got really quiet, to the point where you could hear a pin drop. "Just in here. You can put the cup on the table there," she motioned to a little table as we entered. I placed the cup down and watched as she approached the other person in the room, obviously a patient, who was crouched up in a ball in the corner next to the bed.

"Go away," the man spoke. He was very quiet, his black hair covering his eyes as Ruthie walked over to him. His head bolted up abruptly, eyes brilliant blue eyes staring me down. "Who is she?" his voice suddenly got more worried than it had previously been.

"She's just here to help me. That's all. She's friendly, Phil." I smiled at the man in the corner, who only gave me a slight attempt at a grin. "Nurse Coldwell, would you hand me that cup please?" Ruthie asked while she tidied up Phil's room. As she turned around, I gave her the cup and watched as she helped Phil drink it. It was hard to look, in all honesty. Ruthie clearly didn't want to make him take it, but she had to. It was her job.

"Anything else?" I asked calmly. She turned to me and shook her head.

"Not for the next little while. I'll take Phil to breakfast, but you can look around if you want. Just stay in sector two." She walked back over to Phil.

"Sector two?"

"There are four sectors." Phil's head cradled back into his knees at the word 'four'. "The first sector is where the less aggressive patients stay. The ones that aren't on long-term programs or ones that have mild anger management problems. Nothing that's too major." I nodded to show that I understood. "The second sector is for people like Phil. Patients with PTSD or worse anger problems that need long-term treatment. And the third is for people on suicide watch and things like that." I threw her a questioning look before she turned back around to help Phil up off the ground.

"I thought you said there were four sectors. Am I wrong?" I noticed Phil pull his knees in even closer to his chest. I glanced back up at Ruthie, who gave me a concerning sigh.

"No, you're right. There are four sectors." She glanced back toward Phil, who was clearly not interested in hearing this conversation. Ruthie looked back at me, putting her hand on my shoulder, "I'll tell you later. Three o'clock? In the lounge."

I smiled. "Sure. Do you want me to come down with you and Phil for breakfast?" I was still unsure if I was welcome to Phil.

"I don't see why not. Is that okay, Phil?" He gave her a little smile, his lips pressed together. She smiled at him before helping him up off the ground and giving him a little hug. He had obviously been through a lot, and it was really nice to see how well Ruthie treated him. I smiled to myself as we all left the room and Ruthie lead all of us down the stairs to the mess hall.

As soon as we got down to the mess hall, Ruthie motioned for me to sit at a table as she and Phil went to go get food. They arrived back at the table I was sat by with toast and eggs. Ruthie handed him the plate and sat down next me, Phil to the other side of her. As Phil began eating, she leaned toward me to whisper in my ear while the rest of the room was loud enough that know one would hear her. "Lia, the fourth sector is where they keep the real crazies. Killers and stuff." She pulled her head away from mine. I just kind of looked in her general direction, wondering why Phil was so skittish about the word 'four'.

I needed to find out.