Chapter 60 Westbridge
\-Lucien-
“Good afternoon, I’m Lucien Blackwell. Financial Advisor at Echelon Properties, and the appointed project lead,” I began, slipping my card across the reception desk.
The nurse blinked at me.
“I’m here to carry out an operation evaluation,” I quickly added.
Before I could say anything, my phone rang for the third time.
Jackson.
I had been avoiding his calls, but it was clear he wouldn't stop calling.
I quickly excused myself and stepped outside to answer him.
“What’s going on? Why am I just now receiving an email about an expansion project at a Westbridge psych facility? What is this?” He barked the moment I answered.
“That’s probably because you don’t check the company’s mail,” I replied flatly, unbothered.
“We… we didn’t discuss any of this,” he said with a resigned sigh.
I could sense his frustration over the phone. But I couldn't explain anything till I trusted myself enough that it was certain.
I cleared my throat. “We’ll discuss it later.” I hung up before he could say anything.
When I returned, the director was already waiting, holding up my card with an exploitative glint in his eyes.
“We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Blackwell,” he said, outstretching his hand as he introduced himself as Doctor Howe.
I took it as he firmly gripped mine.
He didn’t waste any time in admitting that he’d been skeptical about the email until he looked up the company.
I gave him a reassuring smile. “It’s a new development, and luckily for you, the facility was one of the few selected.”
“Well, I’m honored. Your company said you’d have to evaluate our mode of operations here.”
At that moment, he called out to a nurse that was passing.
“Nurse Amy, this is the project lead for the project I told you about. You’re going to give him a brief tour of the facility.”
Turning to me, he added, “Let’s have a chat once you’re finished.”
“Thank you, Doctor Howe.”
The tour began in the relatively normal reception area, then led us to a section behind a heavy bar gate.
She shut the gate behind us. It felt like stepping into a correctional facility. No wonder the rest of the surroundings seemed so free.
As we walked, Nurse Amy spoke, explaining things I already knew. I paid only half attention, my eyes scanning the building’s layout—I had a feeling I’d be back.
We moved deeper into the facility. I kept her engaged in seemingly meaningful conversation about staff routines, welfare, and facility policies. Then, she mentioned guardianship. I seized the moment.
“Does your facility have any?” I asked casually.
“It’s not common, but we do have a singular case at the moment,” she replied.
I didn’t need a name. That confirmation alone was enough.
Nurse Amy seemed really nice, chatting away as she led me through almost every nook and cranny of the facility.
Finally, we reached the lounge area, and it suddenly felt like a miracle had fallen right into my lap.
She was saying something about how they allowed calmer residents to stay here, but I wasn’t really listening.
My gaze had landed on someone.
Her hair was short and grey, crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes as she smiled faintly in the direction of the television.
She looked like a spitting image of Celeste.
Just older.
“That’s Ivana,” the nurse said. “She’s a new resident here. Quiet most days.”
Without thinking, my legs carried me toward her.
She didn’t stop me. She only watched. Maybe she thought it was part of my evaluation.
Up close, the resemblance was even worse.
Familiar…too familiar.
She turned and looked at me, her eyes lingering on my face for a long moment.
“Are you… my son?” she asked with a small smile.
The nurse let out an awkward chuckle.
“Oh, don’t mind her. She doesn’t have a son.”
I crouched slightly so we were at eye level, keeping my expression calm.
“Do you have children?” I asked.
She nodded immediately, like the answer was obvious.
“Yes.”
Then she paused, her brows furrowing as if she was searching for something. “Celeste… my daughter.”
My pulse jumped, but before I could react, she added,
“And a son.”
Nurse Amy shook her head gently. “You’re mixing things up again, Ivana.”
The woman frowned, stubborn. “No… I have two daughters… and a son.”
Her gaze drifted away again, like the thought had already slipped from her mind.
Something was wrong. Clearly wrong.
“Can I get a glass of water?” she suddenly said, pointing toward the dispenser at the corner of the lounge.
“Of course,” Nurse Amy replied and walked off.
The moment she was out of earshot, the woman leaned slightly closer.
“My name isn’t Ivana,” she said quietly.
“I’m not her, but they don’t believe me.”
A cold feeling ran down my spine.
“Do you remember your name?” I asked.
She gave a small chuckle, eyes darting as if trying to catch the answer before it disappeared.
“My name…?”
I hesitated, then said carefully, “Do you know Camille Lemonnier—”
Her eyes sharpened instantly.
“Yes. Me.” She pointed to her chest. “I’m Camille.”
My stomach tightened, but I kept my face neutral.
“Ashford?” I said, like a question.
She blinked once, then the words came out slowly, like she was putting them together piece by piece.
“Camille… Ashford.”
She said it again.
Then again.
And suddenly her head snapped up, realization flashing across her face.
“I’m Camille Ashford. Wife of James Ashford.”
For a moment, I didn’t react. This was why I came here.
Every lead, every arrangement, every lie — all of it led to this.
And still, hearing her say it herself made my chest feel tight.
So it was true.
She was alive.
Right in front of me.
She frowned at me suddenly.
“How do you know my name?”
Before I could answer, her hand grabbed my shirt.
“If you know my name, then you know who I am… you have to get me out of here.”
Her grip tightened.
“Let me out… let me out of here…”
Her expression twisted without warning as her voice dropped into something hoarse, almost feral.
“Let me out of here, you vile beast! Haven’t you done enough?!”
I didn’t move.
Didn’t even try to pull away.
The noise around me faded, my focus locked on her face, on the way her eyes looked at me without really seeing me.
“Ivana!”
Nurse Amy rushed over with another staff member, grabbing her arms as she struggled.
“No! Let me go! Let me go!” She spat.
They dragged her back while she kept shouting, her voice turning into broken, incoherent screams.
I stayed crouched there, staring at the empty space in front of me.
“I’m sorry,” Nurse Amy said when she came back.
“She’s usually calm, but she gets confused sometimes. Schizophrenia. She believes things that aren’t real.”
I straightened slowly.
“It’s alright,” I said.
My voice was steady, but the pulse in my ears wouldn’t stop pounding.
The meeting with Doctor Howe after that was a blur. I answered when spoken to. Signed what needed to be signed.
Walked out when it was over.
By the time I reached the car, her face came in her flashes, her voice was still echoing in my head.
My name is Camille Ashford…. Let me out… Haven’t you done enough?
I stopped beside the door and tugged at my tie, suddenly feeling like the air was too tight around my neck.
So it was true.
After all these years… Camille Ashford was alive.