Power Corrupts. Insanity Cures.

Chapter 8. Mondays and Thursdays

All storyline and characters belong to ME. Thats right ME. Not YOU. ME. So when you read: ME, don't thinks its YOU because its ME....comprende?

Oh, by the way, you say Taras like: Tah-RAZ

Chapter 8 Mondays and Thursdays  

Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.

Cary Grant

One Year Later

Jeanne Crawford blew on her nails, willing the polish to dry. It was Monday, universally the worst day of the week for everyone. It would be five long days before she could feel the weight of responsibility leave her shoulders, the weekend seemed an eternity away. She was also a little hung over from yesterday's one too many homemade margaritas.

She sighed.

Visiting hours were on Thursday, the few family and friends that came to see patients were directed into the crazies waiting arms. Either that or the arms were strapped down. Everyday business was slow lately too, the asylum was full and only the particularly wealthy could afford a place now.

Miss Crawford played tetris on her computer for fifteen minutes before the sound of the sliding doors opening caused her to look up. She raised an eyebrow.

An orderly walked in side by side a civilian.

"Sorry, visiting is only permitted on Thursdays between the hours of one and four. If you make an appointment - "

"He's not visiting Miss Crawford. He's checking in," said the orderly. Jeanne raised both brows this time. Nothing unusual about a patient checking in. But a patient checking in and walking, freely, unrestrained into the asylum? Not even relatives by his side spitting "encouragement" into his ear? Unprecedented.

Jeanne took her time to study the man before her. He was early thirties at most. His tan body carved with muscles, but still lean. His face would have made Jeanne blush, his loose bronze curls framing his attractive face, were it not for the shock of his eyes. Deathly blue, were the words that came to mind. Like they were drained of all life, leaving only a ghost behind. Surely the palest blue that it was possible to have as an eye color. And they were now observing Jeanne, with such boredom and indifference, that made Miss Crawford consider him to be as subhuman as the rest of Agnes Barkers patients.

" And...why isn't he...restrained?" she asked warily.

"He's admitting himself Miss Crawford," the orderly explained, "We didn't see the need to. Under the circumstances."

How strange.

"Oh. I see. Well, what is your name?"

She glanced at the man again. He was looking out the window now, completely unmoved by what was happening before him.

The orderly coughed. "Belikov. Taras Belikov."

"Do you understand Mr Belikov that by admitting yourself into Agnes Barkers Asylum you forego all rights to leaving? You will not be able to be released until you're declared sane by one of our psychiatrists," she said.

For a moment she didn't think she'd get a reply. Then he made a slight incline of his head without looking at her and she took that to be consent.

Miss Crawford typed in the name, reminded the orderly where a uniform for the new patient could be found, and watched them go through the doors. She mused over the mysterious man for a few more moments.

Admitting yourself into an asylum?

Now that's crazy.

As she turned back to her game, she took comfort; the odds were she wouldn't be seeing that man for a long time.