Living In Shadows

Skye’s hand tensely gripped through the diamond grate covering her south facing window.

She stood petrified staring at the hospital grounds below. The freshly cut lawn was buzzing with orderlies, patients and charge nurses. It was a hot, cloudless summer day; her worst nightmare.

La Casablanca Psychiatric Hospital was one of the oldest facilities in the state. It housed anyone from the slightly depressed to criminally insane serial killers.

Nothing about this place was warm or comforting. It was as cold, bleak and bland as its name, ‘the white house.’

Since her admittance, Skye had developed several obsessive compulsive disorders and phobias caused by reliving the death of her mother years ago. This included a fear of sunlight and an obsession with odd numbers.

She was forcibly mandated through treatment to spend one hour daily outdoors to conquer her fear. This required an immense amount of planning from her third story window. Because of her illness she plotted movements to coincide with the direction of the sun and the shadows it made.

Now, I can sit in the shade of the willow tree for thirteen minutes fifty-one seconds. Then, I’ll move to the shadow of the north facing wall for three minutes seventeen seconds. Then to the gazebo’s Adirondack chair for thirty-nine minutes fifty-five seconds. Under the covered walkway; three minutes. Finally, ending at the back door; thirty-seven seconds.

It was exactly one hour, cut into five parts, made up of all odd numbers.

Perfection, she thought proudly.

“Attention please: one o’clock medications.”

A nurse’s voice rang over the loud speaker startling Skye out of her compulsive trance.

She slowly dragged herself away from the window and down the long, stark hallway. Her finger traced the grout line between every other cinder block of the wall while happily counting to herself.

1…3…5…7…

Halfway down the corridor, a note slid out from under a door. The words ‘READ ME’ were written on the outside. She opened it cautiously.

Come in and visit me. The door is unlocked. Jeremy.

It came from inside room 313. Its occupant was never seen by patients. Nurses delivered medications and meals to him through a small flap in the iron door.

Skye knocked, and then opened the door cautiously. There, huddled in the corner, was an ordinary boy of about thirteen.

“They took my Superman cape. It makes me brave. Help me.”

Skye remembered noticing the red satin cape in the orderly’s trash cart.

“I’ll help you,” said Skye.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded.

“It’s room 313, someone opened his door”, yelled an orderly, mopping the hallway.

Within a second the small boy lunged at Skye and pinned her to the ground.

“Thank you. My beautiful Lois Lane,” he was kissing her face savagely.

A nurse ran into the room, pierced a syringe into his neck and he blacked out instantly.

“What are you doing in here?”

“He asked me to help him,” Skye said trembling.

“Don’t come in here again. It’s not safe. Go get your medications.”

In front of the medication line was a large bald man with a cut off left ear.

“Ruff!” He barked at the nurse giving the medications and crawled away on all fours.

“Don’t worry,” said Nurse Redding “He’s harmless. He thinks he’s a one eared dog. So, Ms. Skye Evans, 4 milligrams risperidone, 3 milligrams lorazepam, and 1250 micrograms of vitamin D.”

“Where’s Nurse Miller today?” Skye asked.

“She says she has H1N1 and refused to come to work. I think it’s a lousy excuse. Melvin, an orderly, called off for the same reason. The rumor is they’re helping each other ‘get better’ somewhere.”

Too much information, thought Skye as she popped her meds and went to the resident’s common area.

“Hey Skye, check out this headline”, said a resident, reading today’s newspaper. “Your sister’s book is number one on the best sellers list.”

There it was, just above The Dethroning of King Stanistovia: The Fall of an Empire. Living In Shadows was a book based on Skye’s life with OCD. She was speechless that her sister published a book that was rooted in such tragedy.

Their mother, a devout alcoholic, as if it were her religion; downed a fifth of vodka’s finest and slipped into a bath. While gawking and screaming obscenities at a neighbor lady hanging wash through the bathroom window, she seized. The tub overflowed. She lost consciousness and drowned. Skye found her body later that day.

“What goes around comes around. She asked for it,” said her sister sarcastically.

Skye went into a near catatonic state a week after the death. She was admitted to the La Casablanca for psychiatric treatment soon after. That was seventeen years ago.

Sadly, Skye still sits trapped by her illness and will possibly hide in the shadows for good.