“To your room.”
“I’ve never been in this hall before. I usually stay in the blue hall.”
“Not this time. You’re here for a longer stay and apparently need the extra security.”
Squirming in her chair, her voice got louder. “Can you double-check? I’m always in the blue hallway.”
“What’s the big deal? They’re all the same.”
“Maybe I do need to speak with Conroy.”
He stopped in front of a restroom. “Stop your complaining and I’ll let you use it.”
She sat back and nodded. “Thank you.”
He helped her out of the chair and she used the railings to go inside, shutting the door for privacy. She wished she could stay in there forever, but she knew her fate was sealed while she was drugged out.
When they walked into her room next door, she instantly saw what the big deal was—there was no window. There was a bare mattress in the corner and nothing else. Shaking her head, she repeated, “No, this can’t be right. I need a window. I need a pillow and sheets and a bedframe.”
“You do realize this isn’t the Four Seasons, right?”
Jude didn’t reply. She just stared ahead as he nudged her forward, the chair hitting the back of her legs. When she was in the room, he pulled the wheelchair out and said, “Sweet dreams.”
Turning and moving, she shouted, “No! Don’t leave me in here!”
The door shut and the overhead light was left on. Looking at the walls, she didn’t see a switch. Her hands were trembling, remembering she would be here for a month. They’re trying to make me crazy. She recalled telling Hazel that and here she was in a room with no window, no way of telling the time, the day, which way was up or down. She was facing her biggest fear—complete and terrifying isolation—in a place she feared more than death itself.
Standing over the mattress, she dropped to her knees and curled onto her side. Images of her usual cell, the one with chipping paint and metal bars on her window, came to mind. She always hated that room, but it was luxurious compared to this one. It had given her an isolated form of safety. It wasn’t trying to be perfect or prim or proper. It was what is was and she valued that room’s honesty. But here… she had none of that. It was a room covered in treachery with people selling her to the highest bidder. Closing her eyes, she pushed all the bad to the back of her mind and pulled the good forward—Hazel. Hazel. Hazel. Hazel. Hazel.
WHEN JUDE WOKE, the doctor was sitting in a chair nearby. He looked up and she scrambled to the corner of the room, half on the mattress and half off, but away from him.
“Good Morning, Judith.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Now. Now,” Dr. Conroy said condescendingly. He tapped his pen against a clipboard. “Don’t be upset. We have some business to discuss and then you can be moved to a nicer room.”
“What business?”
“Money. Yours to be precise.”
“I have nothing, not a dollar to my name.”
He stood and set his clipboard down on the seat with the pen on top. She had visions of flipping into action and stabbing him with the pen… but she would never do such things. She may be in an asylum, but she wasn’t crazy. And by the way the doctor left the pen unguarded, he didn’t believe she was crazy either. “That’s where you’re wrong, Ms. Boehler. You have more than a few million dollars to your name in fact and I want a lot of them.”
“I’m not following. I have no money,” she insisted.
He rubbed his face, and grunted in what sounded like frustration.
“Have you really not been paying attention? What do you think you do when you’re here?”
“I’m supposed to be recovering, but this place makes me crazy.”
He sighed heavily and sat down again, his intense stare aimed at her. “This is about money. It’s always been about money. You were just dumb enough to drag someone else into this mess.”
“What money?”
Leaning forward, he said, “Listen up because I won’t be repeating myself. Here’s how it’s gonna go. You are going to sign this, which will allow a transfer of two million dollars into an account. When I see it’s there safe and sound, I’ll let you see your husband.”
Thinking of Hazel, she sat up, feeling ashamed of how she looked and ran her hand down her hair to keep it in place. “What two million? How am I going to make two million magically appear?”
“See, this is the story. Pretty little Judith was being molested by her big bad uncle. She tries to commit suicide. When she doesn’t die, life goes on just as if nothing had changed at all. Am I on the right track?”
Rolling her eyes, she says, “Just go on.” This has been talked to death every time she’d come in for an evaluation.
The doctor smiled. “Uncle picks up right where he left off, but after your brother died, you had nothing to lose at that point and told his little girl—your cousin—all about it. Did she believe you?” He sounded bored with the story. “Not only did she believe you, but she blamed you. The family did. Uncle commits suicide. At the reading of the will, Little Judith—tempting, beautiful Judith—hits the mother lode or what we like to call a payday.”
Bringing her knees to her chest, she stared at him, holding a steady expression of disinterest despite the shock she felt inside. She had no idea what he was talking about with the will. Hold it all in, she reminded herself. Give him nothing.
“Yes, Judith, I’ve been doing my homework, have talked to you, to your family, and since we’ve kind of masterminded this whole thing, I want my cut now. As for this unfortunate husband, what’s his name?”
Silence and a hard glare were her only response. The doctor stood and started to walk away, but Judith said, “Is he still here?”
He mocked her with a hardy laugh. “I know his name, where he lives, his age, all about his disease, and who his parents are. What I don’t get is where you fit into his life or why you call him Hazel.”
Her eyes glinted with anger hearing Hazel’s name roll off the doctor’s tongue as if he has a right to even utter it.
“I don’t understand what you want from me? How you expect me to produce two million dollars when I can’t access a single dollar?”
“I’m sure he’s nearby. You’re wasting my time, Judith. For all I’ve done, for my time and my overdue compensation, I want my cut now. So think long and hard about your choices here. Husband or money? I’ll be back in twenty.” The door closed and the light went off, leaving her alone in the pitch-black room. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. They’re trying to make me crazy.
Fight.
Fight.
Fight.
She felt for the mattress and climbed onto it. Lying on her side, she stared in the direction she thought the door was. Struggling to tell if her eyelids were open or closed, she tucked her head down and tried for sleep instead. This was going to be a very long month.
TAYLOR SAT IN the small town police station, waiting for someone to help him. When he was finally called in, he was led to a young deputy’s desk. They shook hands and the deputy asked, “What can I do for you, Mr. Barrett?”
“My wife is being held against her will at Bleekman’s.”
As soon as he mentioned Bleekman’s, the deputy sighed and leaned back in his chair. “There’s nothing we can do about that facility. They have regular inspections and pass code. If you’d like to file a complaint, Lucille can help you do that, but I have to warn you. It’s not a fast route.”