She remembered the day—years ago—when she met Claire in San Diego. During their discussion, Meredith told her friend about a desire to tell the world the truth no matter the consequences. Perhaps Emily would choose to prosecute; however, as Meredith watched the small family disappear over the hill toward the parking lot, her mind was set. If Claire’s mental health and Nichol’s solace resulted in arrest—so be it. She’d rather be convicted for being a true sister than live her life free and allow that beautiful little girl to live uninformed.
The private mental health facility, Everwood, was as beautiful as the website boasted. It was an upscale residential mental treatment center exclusively for women located in the countryside near Cedar Rapids. On forty-eight beautiful acres it had walking paths and nature trails—perfect for Claire.
Meredith knew Claire’s initial institutionalization was the result of a legal plea. At the time of the plea, Claire had been placed in a state operated facility. That placement was short-lived, and she was moved to this esteemed private facility with top-notched security, confidential care, and a respected staff.
As next of kin and power of attorney, Emily Vandersol had complete jurisdiction over Claire’s treatment. Without Emily’s permission, Meredith couldn’t approach Claire in the facility’s guest accessible areas, much less Claire’s private room; therefore, in order to access her sorority sister, Meredith had to devise a plan. She’d always dreamt of being an investigative journalist—now was her time.
The money she’d made from the sales of her book afforded her children the best education. Currently, that was at a respected boarding school on the East Coast. Although she hated having them so far away, that distance permitted Meredith the time and freedom she needed to learn Claire’s story.
Her plan wasn’t complicated—if she couldn’t visit Claire as a guest—Meredith decided she’d frequent the facility as an employee. She didn’t have the credentials to impersonate a therapist or doctor, but fortunately, the center was in need of kitchen staff.
A small investment to a questionable source provided Meredith with a falsified identification complete with a verifiable past work history. She wasn’t sure she could remember to answer to a different name; therefore, Meredith chose to use her husband’s last name—one she rarely used. An interview and sob-story later, Meredith Russel was hired by Everwood Behavioral Center. As Meredith looked in the mirror, smoothing the white cafeteria uniform, she smirked—a bit sarcastically and thought, my life’s ambition is now complete—I have a minimum wage position.
The first few days of her new job were merely research. She needed to learn the lay of the land and the ins and outs of Everwood. Almost immediately, she learned Claire was listed as Nichols. Claire didn’t participate in group activities, group counseling sessions, or eat in the common dining room. Meals were taken to her room, and the note on the computer indicated that on occasion, feeding assistance was required.
Apparently, Ms. Nichols sometimes went outdoors accompanied by her therapist, facility staff, or limited visitors. The first time Meredith saw Claire, her long ago sorority sister was returning from such a walk...
Claire knew she loved the outdoors. She always had—the wind in her face—the smell of fresh cut grass or newly fallen leaves—kindled warm feelings. She knew it somehow connected to her past—she didn’t know how—or remember a name or a face—but something about nature brought a feeling of security. When she was led outside, she’d close her eyes, wanting to see the world as a new place. Often times, flashes of a man in uniform came and went. Claire assumed these feelings and sense of safety also came from her past. Assumptions were much easier than questions.
She didn’t question—anything. Claire understood her only access to the fresh breeze or the sun on her skin was when she was accompanied by another person. She didn’t always know the person beside her, but she did know accessing the refreshing outside without someone else was against the rules. She knew all about rules and how to follow them. Oh, it was true that, in the past, she’d made mistakes—used poor judgment—or made poor decisions—decisions that resulted in unfavorable consequences. That’s what Tony taught her—behaviors had consequences.
Claire preferred positive consequences. Yes, more than once she’d disappointed him. With each passing day, she vowed to not let him down—again. After what she’d done—she wasn’t sure it mattered; nonetheless, since it was all she had left—she wouldn’t let go—she wouldn’t disappoint.
During her days, people with different faces and different voices came and went. Their words weren’t real, and sometimes the food they delivered wasn’t either. Oh, it looked real. She could even smell the aroma as they entered her room, but if it were real, she’d be hungry. Most of the time, she wasn’t.
There were people who helped her shower, dress, and fix her hair. At first, she fought their assistance and intrusion; then with time, she chose to accept their help. In a way, it was comforting. She’d been taught the importance of maintaining appearances, and since day-to-day activities were too overwhelming, the assistance of these faceless hands helped her fulfill her responsibility.
Under no circumstance did she want to disappoint Tony. Sometimes the tears overwhelmed her. After all, she had to live with the reality—she surely disappointed him. Why else would he not make his presence known to everyone? Occasionally, people would tell her he was gone. Claire knew better.
She knew he was there. Even if the faceless people couldn’t see or hear him—he was there. When he came to her she could truly sleep and dream. She lived for his touch—it took away the suffocating ache that filled her otherwise empty life. Yes, there had been times when they were together that there was pain; however, it was nothing like the pain of not knowing when he’d return; therefore, when they were together, she’d compartmentalize that pain away. While he was there, she’d refuse to show her misery. It would remain her private agony—after what she’d done—she deserved it.
Claire remembered every word—every syllable he’d ever said. He told her the offer of a psychiatric facility was to protect her. Now, whether she deserved to be or not—she was protected.
Sometimes people asked her questions. With each inquiry, she’d hear his voice, “Divulging private information is still forbidden...”
She no longer questioned what constituted private information. Whether it was her memories, their history, or what she wanted to eat, she wouldn’t divulge. In an effort to refrain from revealing anything she shouldn’t, Claire chose to not speak. With time, that decision became easier and easier—the faceless people’s words rarely penetrated her bubble.
Then without warning, the people before her would morph into other faces, and she’d forget her vow of silence and speak. After all, it was so exciting to see long-lost friends and faces, yet as fast as they’d appear—they’d fade away. Most of the time, it didn’t matter—whether real or imagined—the people with her rarely understood her conversation. Whenever this occurred, she’d remember her disobedience. The overwhelming sense of shame instigated an internal turmoil that according to the voices threatened her well-being.
That internal turmoil would manifest in ways Claire couldn’t control. She wanted to stop—to behave—but sometimes she couldn’t make her body do what she wanted it to do, and then the faceless people would restrain her. So many images would race through her mind—she hated restraints. The faceless voices would tell her the restraints were for her own protection—so she wouldn’t hurt herself. Claire would still fight—after all, she’d never hurt anyone—but wait—she had.