The Institution

The Institution

By Kristen Rose

Published by Kristen Rose at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Kristen Rose, revised edition

*****

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

‘Retiring! What do you mean you’re retiring?’ I sat up in my seat, glaring at him.

‘Jennifer, I’m sixty-two next month. I’ve been working here for twenty-three years. It’s time for me to sit back and relax, enjoy life a bit. I think I’ve earned it.’ Huey spluttered, leaning back into his aged, grey leather recliner.

‘Enjoy life? What do you think weekends and public holidays are for? And why do you get to go and enjoy life while I have to be stuck in this stupid place surrounded by nut cases?’ I leaned closer towards the coffee table dividing us. There was a Rubik’s Cube in the centre of the rustic table, a pile of assorted magazines and some Sudoku puzzle books. I reached towards the table and collected the Rubik’s Cube.

‘Jennifer, I think you and I both know you can leave here whenever you want.’ He sung, tilting his head and puckering his bushy moustache. I leaned back into my chair, concentrating on the Rubik’s Cube, saying nothing.

‘I’m sure my replacement will be just as good, maybe even better.’ He intertwined his fingers, smiling lightly.

‘Huh!’ I laughed. ‘You’re terrible. A dog would be just as good as you, maybe even better.’ I said to the Rubik’s Cube, twisting it around and successfully getting all of the red cubes onto the one side. Huey sighed.

‘So,’ he began after a short silence, ‘would you like to talk about something today?’

‘Nope.’ I said to a yellow coloured square. Huey sighed again, leaned towards the table and picked up a fishing magazine. He began flipping through its pages as though he had flipped through them hundreds of times; barely looking at each page before flicking to the next.

‘So,’ I said, breaking the silence half an hour later, upon my completion of the Rubik’s Cube, ‘when are you retiring? The end of the year?’ I tossed the cube towards the table. It bounced off the corner, landing on the floor a metre away. I ignored it and stared up at Huey, who had replaced his fishing magazine with a gossip one while I had been fiddling with the Rubik’s cube.

‘Uh, well no, not exactly.’ He looked up at me, his face redder than usual. ‘Actually Jennifer, today is my last day.’

‘What! What do you mean today is your last day?’ I paused. ‘You can’t just spring that on me like this! I could have a break down. No, even better, I could sue you’ I thundered out of my seat and started to pace around the room, sporadically glaring at Huey.

‘Well, I just ... I didn’t ... I thought this would be better ... easier.’

‘Easier? Oh sure, easy for you! You tell me, right before our session is about to end, that you are leaving. I don’t get to have any time to prepare for a new psychologist or get used to the idea?’ I walked up to him, he cowered back into his chair; matted bits of stuffing began to bulge out of the top cushion. ‘I’m your patient, I’m important!’ I pointed to my chest. ‘My thoughts should be taken into account. What do you think I’m paying you idiots for?’

‘Calm down Jennifer.’ Huey raised his pudgy hands, shaking. ‘I knew you would take this badly, I guess I just ... put off telling you.’

I bent down so we were eye to eye. ‘Big mistake Huey.’ He gulped loudly. I turned and went back to my seat.

‘So, what will you be doing while I’m stuck in here?’ I asked, crossing my legs. Huey pulled a ragged blue hanky out of his pant pocket and wiped a few beads of sweat off his forehead before answering me.

‘Well, my wife and I were thinking of going on a ... ah ... cruise, around the Caribbean.’ He coughed deeply a few times and began to wheeze heavily. His face reddened even more. He returned his hanky towards his face and began dabbing it all over, finishing with one huge wipe over his greying moustache.

‘Huh! Typical.’ I folded my arms and looked out the window, frowning.

‘Well, that is if we can afford it.’ He muttered.

‘Afford it? I’m paying you very well to sit here and watch me play with Rubik's cubes all day, what the hell have you been doing with your money?’

‘Well ... my wife is ... ah ... often partial to designer brands and expensive lunches it seems.’ He spat.

‘So? Whip her into shape. Tell the woman not to spend your money, that’s what I tell all my men.’

He snorted, shifting in his chair. ‘You don’t know my wife.’ A pained expression appeared on his face. ‘She’s scary’. He whispered.

‘Scary? Gee, you’re a bigger wimp than I thought.’ I laughed thumping backwards into the couch. A huge gust of air burst out of its cushions. I folded my arms and stared up at the ceiling. There was silence for another minute until Huey began to speak again, changing the subject.

‘You know, in a strange way, I’ll miss you Jenny.’ I turned away from the ceiling and stared at him.

‘Well, duh.’ I replied. ‘Of course you will. I’m quite an amazing person. I’m glad there is at least someone here smart enough to see that.’

He chuckled to himself, before glancing at the clock above the couch. ‘But, it looks as though it’s time for you to head back up to your room Jenny.’ He sighed.

‘Thank god!’ I flung myself up off of the couch. ‘You’re starting to smell, I thought the time to leave would never come.’ I finished, strutting towards the door.

‘Goodbye Jenny.’ Huey called towards me in a gruff whisper.

‘Huh. Oh, yeah ... bye.’ I half raised my hand behind me without looking back at him and continued to strut my way out of his office.

*

Detective Peter O’Connell paces backwards and forth, backwards and forth, from one end of his dark wooden office to the other. Each trip lasts a few short seconds. Jaw stern, eyes focussed, fists clenched. Plump, webbed veins bulge out through his skin. His focus alters for a second as his eyes dart to the generic clock high above the door. They catch the clock in time to see its thin hands shift; the long one stretches up towards the twelve and the short one tilts down towards the eight.

O’Connell ceases lapping the room, strides over to his desk, diverts around it and peers through a narrow window out onto the lengthy street. The traffic stretches down endlessly, head to tail. O’Connell scans the cluttered mass of metal and lights for the familiar sight of flashing red and blue. He lets out a sigh; his blue eyes reflect only yellow light. He turns and slowly sits down in front of his miniature desk, picking up a golden pen resting amongst a disorganised stack of papers. He fiddles with it, mesmerised by the reflection of moonlight bouncing off the pen’s glossy surface. Time flows, his mind remains bewitched by the beauty of the pen.

His focus remains unaltered until a dull knock on the door forces him back. He drags gaze away from the reflecting gold and looks up towards the door. He stares through the glass window and observes his colleague; still, patient, waiting for a reply.

O’Connell glances at the golden pen one last time and places it back amongst the papers. As he does this, his eyes move with purpose towards a photograph. It rests in the centre of O’Connell’s chipped desk; isolated. Two hours ago he had pulled the photograph out from the bottom of a deteriorating cardboard box, now dumped in the far corner of the hollow office. The words ‘THROW OUT’ written across the top of it in faded black ink. The photograph is of a woman; a woman with an enticing smile, flowing dark hair and emerald eyes.

Her name is Jennifer Barns.

#1 The Brown File

Eight fifty-two P.M. Two police officers, tired and bored, escort Marcus Verdad into a high security interrogation room. They ask him to sit and wait quietly for the detective then leave; sealing the door behind them.

Verdad sits down behind a cold metallic square table fixed in the middle of the room and waits. Sandy hair neatly styled, a handsome face cleanly shaven. His large athletic frame takes up the entirety of the seat; retaining its elegance in a black designer suit, white collar shirt and satin red tie.

Verdad takes a deep breath, sucking in the room’s clean, sterile odour. He checks out the space, moving only his eyes, identifying video cameras cleverly hidden in the ceiling and walls. His eyes stop and stare through a two-way mirror flanking the wall opposite the door, complementing the surgical colour scheme.

He returns his eyes to the table and rests an ankle on top a knee before casually crossing his hands. A contemplative grin on his face; eyes thoughtful.

Silence.

When the door finally stirs Verdad jumps a millimetre; his composure regained within a second. Fresh, threatening air from the outside corridor leaks its way into the room, followed by Detective Peter O’Connell.

Droplets of sweat trail their way down O’Connell’s forehead, the mid-summer weather only partially to blame. He slips his lean figure effortlessly through the door. His dark wavy hair dances slightly in the artificial breeze created by his quick pace. His straggly appearance is matched with an un-ironed tan suit, a bulky nose, and fair skin. The dark hollows underneath his focussed blue eyes a permanent feature.

He steps into the room and seals the door in silence, walking forward; footsteps echo eerily off the grey and black linoleum. He stops in front of the chair opposite Verdad, averting his gaze, before dragging the steel away from the table and resting himself into it. O’Connell inhales a long silent breath, effectively slowing his heartbeat. His focus shifts towards his shaky left hand barley clutching onto an unmarked brown file. He places it briskly onto the cold table in front of him, disguising the rapid tremors. With one last silent breath he alters his head and stares unflinchingly into Verdad’s eyes.

The silence drags.

Verdad returns O’Connell’s gaze with a light grin.

‘I bet you didn’t expect to see me.’ O’Connell breaks the silence. His Scottish accent fainter since the last time Verdad heard it.

‘No, but, I would be lying if I said I was surprised.’ Amusement lingers in Verdad’s smile.

O’Connell pulls his fist into a tighter grip, ignoring the pain his nails create as they gouge into the warm flesh of his palm. He retains a strong and impenetrable face; the focus in his eyes unaltered.

‘Last week,’ he begins, ‘a woman was found murdered. She was dumped in a parking lot; the cause of death a single bullet straight through her heart.’ O’Connell’s tone remains steady, factual. He stops and waits for a reply. Verdad removes his grin before speaking.

‘Horrible world isn’t it?’ He places his foot back onto the ground and leans forward in his chair, resting his left arm onto the table’s cold, solid surface.

‘Oh, don’t jump to conclusions too quickly, there are a few more gory details as well.’ O’Connell pauses. ‘Her hands and feet were also tied up, tightly, with barbed wire and her mouth had been sewn shut with an old bit of fishing line.’ O’Connell picks up his clenched fist, releasing it and moves it towards the brown file splayed exclusively on the table. He opens it, pulls out photographs of the murdered woman and tosses them towards Verdad’s end of the table. The photographs glide along the smooth reflective surface, stopping in front of Verdad’s arm. He picks them up with a calm hand and studies each one closely with an un-altered expression. After a brief minute he deposits the photographs back onto the table and in a separate movement slides them back towards O’Connell. O’Connell watches as they skate along the table, coming to a stop centimetres from the brown file. He stares at the image of the woman’s lifeless, tortured body. After a few seconds of contemplation he faces Verdad once more and continues.

‘The autopsy report states her mouth was sewn up whilst she was still alive and conscious, no surprises there. Her hands and feet were also bound together before she died.’ O’Connell looks at Verdad, inviting him to speak.

‘Well, that information is very thorough, and I’m sure you find it very useful, but why are you wasting your time telling me?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. I figured you might like me to refresh your memory.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, you killed her.’ O’Connell is serious. Verdad lets out a short laugh.

‘Come on, that’s one huge accusation. You must be pretty cocky, bringing me in here and calling me a murderer. What evidence could you possibly have to make you think I murdered this poor girl?’ Verdad leans his head into his left hand, expectant.

‘Well, I’m sure you would love to know the answer to that question, but you don’t need to, so I think I’ll keep that bit of information to myself.’

‘O’Connell, you know I’m not stupid. I don’t know why you’re using your bluffing tactics on me. You know as well as I do that you have no proof of what you are accusing me of.’ He leans back into his chair, supporting his head with his hands.

‘Come on Verdad, why can’t you be an honest guy and clear your conscience?’ O’Connell pleads.

‘I don’t have anything to clear from my conscience.’ He chimes, returning his grin.

‘Then you’re a far worse human being than I thought.’ Again, O’Connell stares into Verdad’s eyes.

‘That’s harsh O’Connell. You know, you used to be my friend.’ Verdad pouts for a moment before returning his grin.

‘I was an acquaintance not a friend. I fail to see why any kind of past relationship between us should prevent me from doing my job.’ O’Connell is stern.

‘Just an acquaintance? Now you really have hurt my feelings.’ The pout returns again for a few moments before breaking into a large grin of perfect pearl teeth. A manic laugh bursts deeply out of Verdad’s chest and echoes around the room. ‘How sure are you that I killer her?’ He asks once his laughter subsides.

‘Sure enough.’ The reply is quick.

‘I don’t think sure enough will do. You need a little something called ev-i-dence.’ Verdad mockingly emphasises each syllable. Once again a manic laugh fills the room.

O’Connell waits for the laughter to settle before speaking again. ‘Tell me, where do you keep your spare fishing line and barbed wire?’ His head leans in.

‘I don’t fish, and what on earth would I do with barbed wire?’ Amusement returns Verdad’s smile. He removes his hands from the back of his head and covers his chest with them.

‘Make fences I suppose.’ O’Connell smiles for the first time, resting his hands neatly on the table, allowing his fingers to wander mindlessly.

‘Come on, you didn’t bring me in here just to talk about barbed wire and fishing line or to accuse me of a murder I didn’t commit.’ Verdad’s face reddens.

‘Well, I did want to personally see what your reaction was when I showed you the photographs of the murdered woman.’

‘And was it what you expected?’ Verdad sits rigid, anticipating O’Connell’s answer.

‘Yes, perfectly unemotional and innocent.’

‘As it should be. I’ve never seen her before and I didn’t murder her.’ The reddening of his face subsides.

‘Oh? That is strange. Tell me then, why do my informants think she was your secretary?’ The words spoken boldly.

‘Secretary? I don’t think so.’ Verdad slowly takes his hands and wipes his palms along his tailored pants.

‘Are you sure? Perhaps you should have another look.’ O’Connell slides the photographs back towards Verdad. He ignores this action and speaks before they reach his end of the table.

‘Okay you win. She was my secretary, but I didn’t murder her.’ He shrugs.

‘Then why deny knowing her?’

Verdad drags his chair closer to the table, he leans towards O’Connell.

‘It’s harder to recognise a person when they’re dead and their mouth is all sewn up and bloody. Besides, my secretary was supposed to be holidaying in Greece.’ Verdad explains. ‘Naturally, I wouldn’t be thinking it was her, would I.’

‘But instead she was murdered ... So, are you willing, based on what you’ve said, to make a statement denying any involvement in her murder?’

‘Absolutely.’ He sits back confidently in his chair once more.

‘Good. Now incidentally you were right before, I didn’t just bring you here to talk about the murdered woman.’

‘No?’ Verdad’s eyebrows raise.

‘No.’ O’Connell picks his right hand up and loosens his coffee stained tie; beads of sweat now cover his entire face and neck. ‘Tell me, do you recall a nice girl by the name of Jennifer Barns?’ He smirks.

‘Jennifer…’ Verdad pauses. ‘I haven’t thought about her in a while.’ He looks down. ‘What’s she up to?’ He looks back at O’Connell waiting for an answer. O’Connell squints and opens his mouth, tilting his head quizzically before a guffaw of disbelief comes out.

‘Come on Verdad, you’re not going to pretend you don’t know where she is, are you?’ He is confused.

‘Why would I know where she is, she left me over seven years ago. Do you think I’m the kind of guy who stalks his exes?’

‘No, I think you’re the kind of guy who murders his exes.’ O’Connell searches Verdad’s eyes for an answer. They gloss over as they focus on the table in front of them. The corners of Verdad’s mouth drop, his cheeks turn limp.

‘I would never do anything to Jenny. If she hadn’t of decided her career was more important, we’d be married by now, maybe parents.’ He splutters. ‘I accepted Jennifer wanted to do her own thing. She didn’t want me and I left it there.’ His tone bitter. ‘I did try to look her up about … oh, a year after she left me, but I couldn’t find her. I figured you must’ve had something to do with that.’ He glares at O’Connell.

O’Connell’s head is still tilted. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I follow you.’

‘For some reason Jenny seemed afraid of me towards the end. I assumed she had gone to you and asked you to hide her. I didn’t bother looking for her after I realised that, clearly she wants me to stay away.’ He shifts back.

‘Why would she be afraid of you?’

‘I have no idea.’ Verdad’ says simply.

‘Jenny never came to me.’ O’Connell looks down towards the table. ‘She just vanished one day, by herself. I guess I assumed you had something to do with it.’ He looks up again. ‘So, as far as you’re concerned you have no involvement in her disappearance?’

‘Disappearance? Come on, she couldn’t have disappeared completely.’ Verdad snorts.

‘Well she has. No one, not even her parents, have heard from her for over seven years. She has not had a job, she doesn’t have a bank account, a current driving license, anything. Before her disappearance she put all of her belongings into storage and tied up every loose end. I would say she has successfully disappeared off of the planet and that it was a planned disappearance.

‘Now, are you sure you don’t know where she is? If you’re honest with me now it might make things better for you in the future.’ He stares, un-altered.

‘I don’t know where she is.’ Verdad says, solidly. ‘Why are you asking me though, weren’t you her best friend?’

‘No.’ O’Connell replies, louder than intended. He is silent for a moment and then continues, tone softer. ‘It sure is a mystery. I was certain you had killed her, or kidnapped her.’ He stares at Verdad again.

‘I didn’t do anything to her.’ He holds his hands up into the air.

‘Oh, don’t worry, I believe you.’ O’Connell says slowly.

There is a brief silence, then, Verdad’s eyes light up. ‘Why have you brought up Jennifer?’ He asks quickly.

‘Oh, I just thought she would’ve been a good witness to call up against you. You know, disgruntled bitter ex-girlfriends are great at testifying. I mentioned her because I wanted to know if you know where she is, I sure as hell don’t. But, by the looks of it she’s either dead or excellent at hide and seek. No matter. I’ll just have to come up with another witness.’

‘Witness?’ Verdad laughs to himself.

‘Yes. Did I forget to mention I’m building up a case against you? Well, I am. You might be in gaol sooner than you think.’ A smirk creeps onto O’Connell’s face. ‘Well, I think we’ve spent enough time chatting. Enjoy the remainder of your freedom, won’t you.’ The smirk on his face intensifies.

‘Freedom ...’ Verdad laughs quietly to himself.

The interrogation is over. O’Connell curls his fingers around the edges of the photographs of the murdered woman and carefully places them back inside the brown file. He wishes Verdad a pleasant evening, slowly stands up and fixes his tie. He turns and faces the door. His feet glide towards the exit while his face shifts its smirk to a frown. He opens the door in silence, turning to give Verdad one last stare before quietly sealing it closed behind him.

Verdad sits still, deep in thought. A mixture of anger and sadness etched into his perfect face.

#2 The White Ward

The guard entered my room to collect me barely a second after I put away my notebook, hands shaking, I quickly reverted into a casual seated position.

‘Parson, its two-thirty, time to see Dr Fuller.’ He spat at me. I eyed him. I hadn’t seen him before; he must only work in this ward. He looked a lot older than me, sixty or sixty-five perhaps. His eyes were red and he had greying patches of stubble on his chin. ‘And don’t even think about causing a scene today, we have plenty of guards on standby that could jump you to in two seconds flat,’ he added.

‘Yeah, right.’ I laughed. ‘I hope they’re aware I’m a black belt and could jump them in one second flat.’

‘Is that so,’ he patronised. ‘Well, perhaps you should save your karate skills for later.’ He babied. ‘Now, stand up so I can cuff you,’ he unclipped a shiny pair of silver hand cuffs off of his security belt.

‘You don’t have to cuff me. I wouldn’t waste my time trying to hurt you or anyone else. I’m better than that. Which brings me to ask why I’m even in this ward? I’ve never been placed in here before and I’ve thrown plenty of tantrums.’ I crossed my arms.

‘I’m sure the doctor will talk to you about it. For now though, I’ve been ordered to cuff you whenever you leave this room.’

I scrunched my face up. ‘Well, if you’ve been told to I guess I better obey.’ I use my best sarcastic voice. Standing up, I put my hands out in front of me; the guard cuffed them slowly, the metal unnaturally clinking shut tightly around my thin wrists. The guard grabbed hold of my forearm and walked me over to the door. He unlocked it with his security card and led me out of the room quietly.

On the other side of the door was a clean, white, long corridor; solid locked doors, identical to the one I had just exited, carpeting both walls. The corridor was lit brightly with fluorescent lights that stunned me a little upon entering the space.

The only changes in the white colour scheme were the black room numbers stuck onto the centre of each white door and the occasional surveillance camera positioned elegantly below the ceiling. I glanced back at my door as the guard pulled it shut, reading the numbers printed across it – six-zero-nine. I turned away, feeling the guard pulling again on my arm and continued to walk slowly down the corridor with him.

‘What the hell is this place?’ I asked the guard.

‘This place?’ He raised his eyebrows.

‘The white room with white furniture and no windows, opening out into a white corridor with multiple white doors and white lights. It’s like I’ve entered the twilight zone.’ I paused, admiring the brightly lit up ceiling, ‘This still is Grove Hospital, isn’t it?’ I felt my heart begin to race.

‘Yeah.’ He replied. ‘This is the sixth floor. We’re in The White Ward where high security patients are kept.’ His tone was dry, straight to the point, closed ended.

I continued walking down the corridor, arms awkwardly twisting inwards from the cuffs.

‘The White Ward, how original, I would never have thought of that.’ I said. The guard gave me a short, menacing stare.

We arrived at the end of the corridor and were met with another large white door. The guard pushed a red button to the left of the door and immediately a camera above our heads came to life, scanning us. After about ten seconds the door clicked open and he led me into a small foyer. The colour scheme identical but there was a small window at the far right of the room. I caught a quick glimpse outside and noticed the perfect weather. Near the window were two shiny silver doors, the elevator. The guard led me straight to it and pushed the down button on the left side of the wall.

Whilst we were waiting for the elevator to arrive, I looked around the rest of the room.

Directly behind us was a small seating area, two black arm chairs and a matching couch. It seemed out of place.

In the far corner on the left side of the room was a solid steel framed door marked ‘Interview Room 6A’. I lingered on it for a few seconds before turning towards a large desk smothered in