My visit to the mental institution opened my eyes to more secrets and discoveries of my stepmother's hideous crimes and how strategic she could be when someone was her target. It had been brief, eventful and elicited different unfathomable emotions.
I had walked through the gates with a stylish gait only to be thrown into a moment of shock at the vastness and beauty of the environment. The scenery had screamed precision and professionalism. The cleanliness, arrangement of the buildings and the sparkling white paint used for the walls confirmed my suspicions as to why my stepmother had chosen this place. It was her ideal place, she has a thing for careful decor that makes a statement and of course, white paint.
Nurses, doctors, psychiatrists, cleaners and other workers journeyed to and from the three different buildings in the vast landscape. One was labeled “HOSTEL” and I had checked the note I'd written the number of the room that whoever had answered the phone when I had called told me was occupied by my mother although, she'd been renamed “Reiny Clarke.” How smart can she get? Renaming? Powerful!
Stylishly and with a fresh breath of confidence, I had sashayed into the building labelled, ADMINISTRATIVE BLOCK.
Two things hit me immediately my head crossed into the room. The familiar scent of cleaning agents and the cold air that bathed my face from the air conditioner. I had been lost for words to explain the beauty of the reception room and waiting area and I still am. I had pinched myself and whispered beneath my breath, “This feels so unreal. How can a mental institution be a lot more beautiful than my room?”
Their customer service had been top notch and after a few minutes of relaxing into the cozy seat, I was told that the manager awaited me.
Just like the waiting area, the manager's office held its special taste of aesthetics and furniture which had left me tongue-tied for a short while before our conversation had kicked off. The manager had respectfully let me look around to my satisfaction before introducing himself as “Doctor Smith” and he had offered his right hand for a handshake. I had returned the gesture as respectfully as he'd done and then headed to my reason for coming down to his hospital.
“My mother is being careful in this place under the name Mrs Reiny Clarke. I know you'd be surprised but I'm sure of what I'm about to tell you.” I had reduced my voice to a whisper, “My mother had been hidden away here for a decade and two years by my stepmother but I just got to find out several hours ago and here I am to hear the full story.” I had narrated with a pointedly stern gaze into his face which he didn't react to.
“We can't let you see the patient if you are not directly related by blood. Nobody apart from family is allowed.” His tone had been professional and easy on the ears.
“I said we are related. She's my mother. How else can we be closely related except by blood?” My question had come out blunt or even disrespectful but my patience had been left on my bed at home.
“There's no proof to show that, ma'am. We are sorry.” He had concluded dismissively and had returned his weary eyes to the files opened in front of him.
“What if I tell you there's proof or are you willingly supporting the bad guys? The very person who landed her into this institution in the first place?” My voice had risen and it took a few deep breaths and an active participation of Doctor Smith to quench the raging wind of emotions blowing furiously around me.
After I had been soothed, Doctor Smith had asked me to recount my story which I had without any form of hesitation but then, he had scrunched up his face as I talked on which had made me excessively self-conscious. But what had spiraled the hatred in my heart had been his response after I had meticulously completed my tale.
“Even though this story sounds like one from a shelf in an online book reading app, I don't care about verifying the details because unlike you, my profession upholds patient file discretion and I can't let you into anything concerning her life despite your bogus claims.” He had switched from his gentlemanliness to this crude verbal abuser with a cup of scalding coffee on this hot afternoon. Such insolence! I had thought, gnashing my teeth in sheer disgust.
“Let's not get petty just yet, okay?” I had instructed in a calm tone as I had lifted up my sweater to bring the pistol tucked into the space between the waist area of my trousers and my stomach. His lips parted in shock and his abrupt nod of consent told me I had bought him over.
Quickly, he had pulled open a drawer by his left side and got out two huge files whose contents spilled onto the table. Pictures of my stepmother and my mother and other forms of incriminating evidence. I had looked at him interestingly, “These look too accurate. Why would a doctor know these about his patient unless he has more personal dealings with them?” His gulp had been loud but then placed his elbows on the table which had pushed his head forward.
“I'm not just a doctor. I work with Madame Nadine.” His words had been cut short by the sharp ringing tone of my phone. I had pulled it out and on seeing the caller's ID, I had let it ring out. It had been Damien calling yet again to advise me against the pistol threat and to employ the use of manipulation alone. But my reply will still be the same. Manipulation must be how my stepmother got him to cover up her mess and I couldn't employ the same strategy. It'd not be new and so the job won't be done.
“Go on.” I had nudged and his ever-ready mouth had started to spill again. How easy had it been? I thought he'd resist a little more.
He had swallowed, “I do projects for her. We get patients and I treat them or keep them on heavy dosages of drugs to lead to their inability to comprehend the outside world or testify against her. For most of the people I've admitted through her, she makes me give them large amounts of sedatives and other drugs that weaken the mind and body over time…”
“What are the prolonged effects of these drugs?”
“Hallucinations, violent and frequent psychotic episodes, talking loudly to themselves, forgetting their current reality and acting like they are in a dream world just how we did as children. The last stage of this descent is dementia.” He sighed deeply. “She does it to workers who've been exposed to lots of her secrets and oppositions that let themselves walk into her trap.”
“How do you see this morally? Why does it no longer surprise you? If you're found won't your licence be taken away?”
He had bent his head in laughter, “I'm not a real doctor, I only know drugs and how they affect people mentally. I fend for my family through this place. Though illegal, it chases hunger so I'll continue it plus Madame Nadine won't let me stop. Her people constitute 60% of this hospital.” He had reclined into his chair, “Are you done with your questions, Miss? I love answering questions.” His smile had been small but didn't stop the cute holes in his cheeks from showing.
“I want to know one more thing. What brought my mother here?”
“Madame Nadine after your mother had complained of death threats from her and wasn't still taken seriously by anyone, she was brought here to prove a point to your father. That point was that she was crazy and just didn't know what she was saying. Your father visited her often.”
So, there… I got to discover one of my stepmother's deepest secrets and proofs too as well as realize that my father had hidden the information from me to protect me.
Finally, I had gone to see my mother…