Seven

Chapter 2

Ten minutes before his shift began, Tim parked the truck at the staff lot beside the main hospital building and looked up. The facade of Crestwood Psychiatric Hospital was imposing; designed as a three-story structure, it was composed of solid red bricks laid in five-course American bond. Two large wings were spread out in 45 degree angles from the central building and served as treatment centers and wards for the patients. The wards were long corridors filled with numerous treatment rooms, although the main floors of both sections contained break rooms and dining areas for staff. 

The Blue ward, on the east side of the building housed Crestwood's non-violent or least threatening patients. Many of them voluntarily surrendered themselves to the facility to treat various mental illnesses, such as generalized anxiety or post-traumatic stress disorders, which Tim was familiar with during his brief stint in the Army. He was assigned as an orderly at the Blue ward, which was an easy job for the most part, since Tim rarely saw violence or physical outbursts from its patients. 

On the west side of Crestwood's main building was the Red ward, where the majority of its mentally disturbed patients were housed. The unfortunate people placed in the Red ward were mostly violent and disruptive. Despite the glaring differences between the two wards, budget issues dictated that third shift staffing was reduced to six people for each section, which meant they were almost always understaffed. One doctor, two nurses, and three orderlies per ward was what maintained order during the night shift at the hospital.

Two additional security staff were also part of the night shift, but they rarely monitored activities inside of the hospital. Richards, one of the guards on night duty was a fat, lazy, and cantankerous slob who complained about walking through the long hospital corridors. His partner, Stokes, was a younger fellow often bullied by the older security guard into following his orders. Still, Stokes sometimes managed to make a round or two through the hospital.

The other buildings on the Crestwood complex included a small administrative building near the entrance, a separate infirmary to treat additional mental patients on the west side, and a pavilion northwest of the hospital for physical therapy. Crestwood was originally built in the early 1900's as as sanatorium designed to treat patients suffering from Tuberculosis outbreaks in New England. Due to its isolated location in the forests surrounding western Massachusetts, the hospital was the ideal place to bring affected loved ones. 

After antibiotics for Tuberculosis were developed in the 1940's, Crestwood slowly went into decline, losing patients and staff until a wealthy business man from Boston purchased the sanatorium in the early 1960's and converted it to the existing psychiatric hospital. Although the facility had modern amenities, remnants from the early 20th century remained, such as the old turret vents which appeared on the top of the main buildings and the cast-iron ornamental stairs in the grand hall of Crestwood's reception area. Tiled marble flooring with alternating black and white patterns and a bluish-gray interior created an Old World ambiance. 

Underneath Crestwood's hospital lay intricate tunnels which were designed to move patients to other parts of the complex during the harsh winter months to avoid the cold. Tim had only been down to the tunnels once, to help transport a patient to the outter infirmary, but he knew it wasn't used much, since the staff was given access to keys to the transportation vans and ambulances. Most of the employees, including those who had been at the hospital for decades, chose not to enter the tunnels. 

Despite its large complex, Crestwood housed around 130 patients and 80 staff members. During the day, the hospital was bustling with patients, visitors, and activities that were common in hospital settings. At night, however, the atmosphere changed; Crestwood ceased to be inviting and open, and transformed into a claustrophobic structure echoing with occasional screams from patients in the Red ward.

Grinding his cigarette butt into the ground, Tim made his way into the hospital. Thinking of his earlier encounter with the figure in white, he needed to confirm that no one was missing from the wards.