Conspiracy

The walls weren’t white. If there was anything that she expected, were the walls to be white and the air to be thick and filled with the sorrows and pains of the ones inside the building. However, that didn’t happen. You could hear a faint classical music playing in the background, and the walls – which were actually an old pink tone – covered in art that seemed rather expensive.

You would think that if you found someone who worked at a Mental Institution, they wouldn’t be fine and dandy, or even excited about said job. But that would happen because you didn’t know Amery Lincoln. Her supervisor walked in front of her, muttering what rooms they were passing by with a monotone that could put any person to sleep and a straight posture, whilst the redhead merely gazed at everything with a mesmerized glance and a heart filled with joy.

She wasn’t insane, though some could probably argue on the contrary. Amery was just a girl who ever since she was a child had a deep desire to help others. Ideally, she’d be spending her college days studying to become a neurosurgeon or anything of the sorts, but instead she had decided to become a nurse. Not only any kind of nurse, no. A mental health nurse.

At the young age of twenty one, she had become a mental health nurse and found a job in a small but surely well known Mental Institution in New Jersey. It was a large and tall building, capable of scaring many lesser minds. Amery, however, just became fascinated with it and everyone inside it. She had the need to make their stay a little bit better; because she knew their lives couldn’t be good if they had to be stuck in there.

“And here is where you can change your clothes.” The tour had ended just as quickly as it had begun, and Amery couldn’t remember most of the boring parts of it. The other woman nodded for her to enter and start changing.

“Thank you for your help, Mrs Mayfair.” The redhead said softly, being completely ignored by the elder that merely turned her back and started walking towards her own office. “Bitch.” She muttered under her breath before walking inside the changing room.

It wasn’t the biggest room in the building, it was remarkably remodelled to accommodate the nurses, and it actually smelled nice. There was a hint of lavender in the air, and Amery smiled at that as she quickly changed into the light orange scrubs she’d be wearing.

The only reason why she had been hired in the first place was because no one ever seemed to dare enter the chronic cases isle. Surely, she had said in her application that she didn’t fear working in any area of the Institution, but one would be rather daft to not admit that Greystone Park didn’t have a weird ghostly feeling to it. However, while ones could avoid it, the redhead embraced it.

Her Croc covered feet made their way to that isle, most of the nurses widening their eyes while they noticed where the girl was heading. Most of them were a lot older than Amery was, and that made her realize that, as you age, you could become a lot more fearful of the unknown. Most people ignore mental illnesses, and it was a blessing that just during the last couple of years did most people try to bring awareness to them.

“Good luck.” The guard that stood in front of the door to the complicated cases isle told her softly, looking nothing more than a thirty year old blonde guy that could be in the cast of Glee.

“Thank you?” She couldn’t help the interrogative tone as she entered, listening to the door closing the second after she walked inside. It was well lighted, she could admit, and it didn’t exactly scare her at all.

Shrugging off the immense and horrific things people had been trying to place in her mind, Amery grabbed the little cart with the trays filled with cups with the patients’ room numbers and pills inside, and made her way through the doors.

Most of the patients were either tied down to their bed, only being able to open their mouths and take the pills, while others were so heavily sedated that it made her job easy. Of course, as expected, some struggled and tried to slap her, but Amery wasn’t a fragile little girl. She knew how to tame them, which had begun when she had to fight for herself during school times.

The last door came quicker than she imagined. She eyed the cup, and the name seemed rather familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on the subject. Opening the door, she looked inside, finding a quiet environment.

The walls were covered with white squishy material, to avoid any of the patients to injure themselves, but they weren’t dirty of damaged like some of the others she had encountered so far. The bed was neatly made, and the person sitting on top of it seemed calm.

It was a male, tall and pale and with his hair blonde. You could see it wasn’t natural, but the roots showing kind of worked on him. He seemed like anything but a Mental patient, and Amery had to remind herself that if he was there, it was for a good reason.

“Mr Way? I brought you your pills.” She spoke softly, approaching him with care and caution. He looked up, being so focused on the little notebook he had in his hand. When his eyes met hers, she almost shivered.

It seemed as if he hadn’t eaten in a while, or slept for that matter. The dark and puffy circles under his eyes showed that there was no resting in this room for him. He sat up straighter, coughing as if he was trying to clear his voice.

He, as well as the others, was a bit droopy since he was sedated as well, but it seemed that his dose was a lot less than the others. Somehow, he didn’t seem to like nurses, and she couldn’t blame him. He was stuck in this place, how could he like anyone associated with it?

However, when Amery approached him, his defensive side faltered only a little.

“Mr Way is my father. I’m Michael, but people call…” He stopped himself, releasing a long breath. “Called me Mikey. Don’t be like those bitches that just call me patient or Mr Way. It’s horribly annoying.”

Amery nodded, surprised at his clear vocabulary, and even more so because of his tone and request.

This was going to be a rather interesting job.

Notes

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