Captive

Chapter 12

Bridget slowly came out of her catatonic state as Matthews pushed her down the hallway. Her head swayed with each stimulus, her eyes followed the nurses in white lab coats, and bright colors grabbed her attention. She was slowly re-entering the world of the conscious, but the after-effects of her therapy would take a toll on her. The guard knew what would follow because this had happened to other patients before. It would be unpleasant for her, and if she did remember the viewing room, she would refuse to go back for her next session with Doctor Spencer. Thus would begin the vicious doctor/patient rapport that could possibly land Bridget in a strait jacket and padded cell. Matthews hoped she would be able to keep her cool; if she really believed that her behavior dictated when she went home, then perhaps she would try to be good so she could leave.

"My arms hurt," she slurred. Bridget tried to lift her forearm to Matthews, but the handcuffs kept her fastened to the chair. She continued as she lifted her free arm, "Look. It's all red." The arm slammed down with as much effort as it took to raise it to him. "Why does it hurt?"

Matthews was relieved she was talking again. "It's red and hurts because you just completed a treatment session. You'll be okay. I'll have the nurse look at it when we get to your room."

"My room?" If she were drunk and they were in another setting, the guard would find this cute. Instead, guilt flooded his heart.

"Yes. Remember? You're staying here for a while."

She looked around and asked, "Where is here?"

"The rehabilitation facility. Doctor Spencer is taking care of you." Matthews found himself talking at her like she was a foreigner who spoke little useful English. He continued to push her down the corridor with little effort; her tiny figure was virtually weightless in the chair.

"Doctor Spencer?" Her mouth hung open as she worked to remember the man. Short, brief images of his features popped into her mind. Eyes, five o'clock shadow, mismatched shoes. Bridget's brain denied her ability to process any further thoughts. Her mouth forced, "Is he nice?"

The guard rolled his eyes—she really could not remember. It would be a few hours before she was normal Bridget again. Until then, he had to humor this watered-down, prepubescent version of her. He responded with a simple "sometimes."

"I don't like him," she blurted. "He hurt me." She raised her free arm once again.

"Yes, he hurt you, but you'll be okay in a little bit. I promise. Now, relax and sit quietly, and we'll get you back to your room. Okay?"

She looked up at him, half-disoriented and half-dreaming and said, "I like you. You're nice." A sappy smiled formed on his lips. He wheeled the chair the rest of the way in silence for fear he would say something that might be overheard or he would later regret.

Matthews pushed her into her cell and undid the handcuffs. Bridget tried to stand on her own, only to fall into his arms. Her glassy green eyes met his beautiful slate irises, and she gave him a dopey smile and laughed. Matthews steadied her and helped her to her bed where she collapsed and sprawled out with one leg dangling over the side of the mattress. She continued to giggle and sway like a drunk teenage who had just came home from her first house party. He pushed the button on his shoulder walkie and radioed for a nurse. Bridget's burns were superficial and could be treated with topical cream. He hoped that Doctor Spencer would cut her a break and spare her during her next session.

The nurse entered with a portable laptop and first aid cart to assess the damage. She was an older woman familiar with Bridget's injuries; she cleaned and dressed similar wounds on a regular basis. Bridget was not the first patient to suffer irritation from the electroconvulsive treatment. Matthews watched as the blonde woman sterilized the marks on the patient's arms and legs. She then applied an over-the-counter burn cream and wrapped the areas in loose gauze. Bridget's head flopped in the direction of the nurse, but the words she muttered were senseless. After the nurse finished, she checked Bridget's vitals and made several notations on a chart.