Asylum (19 page)

            Moving
a great deal slower, Chloe sighed and stepped off the elevator.  Sam was
behaving like an angry child, but Chloe hadn’t exactly handled the situation
with the greatest level of maturity either, and getting caught in the rain
after missing the bus to the library certainly hadn’t helped matters.  Now they
were soaked, exhausted, and ten minutes late for their first meeting with Dr.
Willard. 

            Down
the hallway echoed the slam of a door, announcing to Chloe that Sam must have
found room 28B.  Sam would cool off, Chloe decided.  She would calm down and
see reason, nobody could stay “silent-treatment-mad” for very long.  Especially
if you lived with that nobody. 

            Chloe
found the room and tried to open the door without making a noise.  She slipped
into the room and stood behind Sam who didn’t bother glancing back.  Dr.
Willard was already talking to Sam when he noticed Chloe.

            “Oh
good, good!” he commended them.  “This is it!”  Dr.  Willard held his arms open
to indicate the room.  It reminded Chloe a lot of his office, only the small
basement space held even more of the cardboard filing boxes.  They were stacked
along the walls and clustered in random groups, leaving little space to
navigate.  Some of the boxes had dates written on the outside along with some
sort of letter code. 
TCSH 1890-1900
, she read,
EIA 1850-1875
. 
From what she could see of the walls, they displayed well over a hundred
photos, almost all in black and white.  Some were framed, some were tacked up
with push pins.  All seemed to be of old brick buildings which resembled their
own Kirkbride Hall.  An old, battered, wooden bench supported a laptop, and
something that looked like it might be a printer or copier.

            “This,”
Dr. Willard continued, “is my collection.  It’s the largest collection of
asylum writings in the world.  At least, that I know of!  Mostly it’s comprised
of journals, letters, logbooks, doctor’s notes and newspaper articles from or
pertaining to patients of American asylums, with special emphasis on Michigan
asylums, but I do have a few parchments from Bedlam itself!”

            Dr.
Willard paused, grinning expectantly, as though he were waiting for both girls
to shout, “Oh surely not!! Bedlam??? How amazing!!”  When he noticed that the
girls continued to stare politely and silently at him, his grin dropped into an
almost pout.

            “It’s
the oldest asylum in the world? In England…the...uhhh…Bethlehem Royal
Hospital?  It’s quite famous really, I mean bedlam has become an adjective… The
parchments are from the seventeenth century…it’s really quite something to
have…” he trailed off, watching both girls for any trace of enthusiasm.  They
kept polite poker faces.

            “Never
mind.  The oldest bits, like the Bedlam writings have been scanned and are on
file here,” he pointed over the stacks towards the laptop.  “Eventually I mean
to have all the pieces scanned and accessible by computer, the less these
artifacts are handled, the better.  But right now we’ve only gotten through
1840.  Everything else is here, in these boxes.  Now!” he clapped his hands
together and regained his excited smile.  “Here’s how this works.  Each box has
the period of time the material inside it is from, and generally they encompass
between five and ten years.  The letters in front of those dates refer to which
facility the material was recovered from.  For instance, TCSH, is Traverse City
State Hospital, PSH is Pontiac State Hospital, etcetera, etcetera.  There is a
list here,” he said and poked one stubby finger at a sheet of paper tacked to
the wall next to him.  Chloe and Sam nodded.

            “It’s
probably not a very good system, and I mean to improve upon it once everything
is in the computer.  Even the naming is kind of haphazard.  Each of these
institutions has had several names, so it can be rather confusing.  The Pontiac
State Hospital, has been referred to as the Eastern Michigan Asylum for the Insane,
the Eastern Michigan Asylum, Michigan State Asylum, Clinton Valley Center.  In
fact, when I rescue these documents from places other than the asylum they
originated from, it’s hard just to place them!  Michigan State Asylum can refer
to many of the hospitals actually…but I digress.  For now, this is the way it’s
set up.  I expect both of you to use extreme care in handling each and every
one of these papers.  You will wear gloves, which I will provide, and you will
do your best to leave everything in the exact order that you found it in.  You
understand?”

            Chloe
and Sam nodded again.  Dr. Willard took a file folder from under his arm,
pulled out two sheets of lined paper and handed them to the girls.  Upon each
was an identical list, handwritten by someone who must have studied
calligraphy.  The cursive words were perfectly formed with little
embellishments and thick, black ink.

            “These
are specific things I need you to look for.  At this point, I have very exact
topics in mind.  You’ll notice that there are several names on the list, with
dates and the institutions that they may be associated with next to them. 
These people are mostly transients that have been found registered at three or
more institutions in their lifetime.  I am currently completing a study on what
I like to call the roaming mad.  Mostly these are drifters who are admitted and
released or escaped from different asylums over and over.  It is my theory that
there are a great deal more of these than we previously thought, and it is of especial
interest to me to find any of their personal recollections, as their having
experienced several institutions makes them connoisseurs of sorts.  Also,
you’ll note several organizations on the list as well.  These are all societies
formed by ex-patients, outside the walls so-to-speak.  You’ll notice the
Anti-Insane Asylum Society on the list, which was formed by an ex-patient
committed by her husband for arguing against his religious beliefs.  Any
reference to this by a patient would be interesting, as it would gauge what and
if patients had understanding of reformist actions on the outside.  Finally,
though I have no actual names to search for, any reference whatsoever to
patient groups inside the asylum…and by that I mean groups formed by patients for
patients…any such groups should be tagged immediately.  It does not matter to
me whether it is a group formed for music practice, or philosophy or what have
you,
any
group is of great interest to me.  It seems to me that with the
number of people confined to this system, living under the conditions that many
of them lived under, such groups should be ubiquitous, though I have yet to
find a single one.”

            Chloe
and Sam continued to nod stoically.  Sam’s eyes were glazed over and unfocused
in an expression that suggested, at least to Chloe, that she probably hadn’t
heard anything since Dr. Willard began talking.

            “So,”
Dr Willard said, clapping his hands together again, causing Sam to wince, “You
can begin however you want.  Remember to use gloves when handling the material.
Umm…you can use the copier on the bench for any documents you find relating to
topics on the list.  The computer, as I mentioned has all the material pre
1840, it’s arranged by year and by facility, and when you start it up it will
be the only icon on the desktop.  Of course I ask that you attach a note to
each piece explaining what it is and what it relates too.  We’ll try to meet
weekly to discuss your progress and…I think that’s it.  Any…any
questions…comments…thoughts?”

            Sam
and Chloe glanced at each other and then quickly away.  It seemed to Chloe that
Sam had, for a moment, been about to communicate a silent thought, a faint
smirk playing around the corners of her lips seemed to say that she had a slew
of comments, mostly about his moustache, but she had immediately remembered her
anger at Chloe and looked away before Chloe could smile back.  Dr. Willard
rubbed his hands together nervously and watched them both.

            “None,”
Chloe said quietly.

            “Very
well, then you can begin tonight.  Here are your keys, come as often as you
like at whatever time you like, the library is open generally until midnight. 
No questions, none?  Alright, thank-you ladies, and we’ll see you tomorrow
morning!”

            Dr.
Willard exited, leaving Chloe and Sam alone.  For a moment they both stood
still, not looking at one another.  Then Sam marched across the room and ripped
a top off a box.  She snatched a handful of papers and dropped to the floor,
sitting cross-legged.

            “Gloves,
Sam” Chloe reminded her gently.

            “Oh
blow it out your ass, Clo!” Sam snapped.

            Chloe
sighed, but instead of arguing, grabbed a pair of gloves off the bench, sat
down on the floor, and pulled the nearest box closer to her.  She lifted the
cardboard top off the box and set it aside carefully.  The box was stuffed with
folders, each displaying dozens of age-yellowed papers, and leather-bound
ledgers.  Chloe slid on her gloves and reached for the first folder.  It
contained a stack of letters, each sent from Traverse City State Hospital.

            My
dear brother Ernest
, she read,
Thank-you for bringing the children to
visit.  They were a bright light in my mostly dark existence. I continue to
ask, almost daily, why I have been confined to this prison, but as of yet, have
had not one satisfactory answer.  If they cannot tell me why it is that I am
here, I have very little hope that I may ever know how to gain back my freedom-

            “This
is all your fault!” Sam spat.

            Chloe
glanced up from her papers in time to see Sam fling a stack of fragile-looking
letters at her.  The stack broke into a flutter of crispy, yellowed, flapping
sheets that shimmered harmlessly to the ground well before they reached her.

            “Sam!”
Chloe shrieked, “They’re old, you’re wrecking them!”

            “I
don’t want to be here!” Sam shouted.

            “Then
go home!” Chloe yelled back.

            Sam
jumped to her feet.  Instead of going home, she began pacing in short lengths,
which was all the stacks of boxes would allow.  Chloe pretended to ignore her,
and tried to focus on the letter in front of her, but every one of Sam’s
footsteps was a staccato beat, pounding in her head.  The more she tried to
concentrate, the more the words on the page blurred.

            “I
want to talk about it!  Why won’t you even talk about it?” Sam demanded.

            “Because
it’s stupid.  It’s not worth talking about,” Chloe tried to sound calm, sure of
herself.

            “I
know what I saw!  It was initials this time Chloe!  Right in front of my face,
I was sitting there and-”

            “STOP
IT!” Chloe screamed, clapping her hands to her ears.  Sam glared at her, hands
on hips.  Chloe squeezed her eyes shut.  Block it out, she counseled herself,
block it all out, her words, the way she’s looking at you.

           
Do
you know how crazy you look right now?
laughed the voice.

            “Stop,”
Chloe whispered, more to herself than to Sam.  She felt Sam’s hand on her
shoulder, a light touch, no pressure.  She opened her eyes cautiously and
seeing Sam crouched down next to her, slowly lowered her hands.

            “Sorry,
I forgot about…” Sam trailed off and looked embarrassed, “I forgot how much
this scares you, why it scares you.  I didn’t mean to- but just…just let me ask
you something.  Did you ever consider, did you ever think that maybe the voices
you were hearing, the things you were seeing were real?  That maybe you weren’t
crazy, that maybe you could see things that other people couldn’t?”

            Chloe
snorted and shrugged Sam’s hand off her shoulder.

            “Of
course I did!  How do you think I ended up in a mental hospital?” Chloe gave a
harsh laugh.  Sam’s face was sheepish.

            “Well,
did you write any letters?  You can add a postscript about patient groups,
donate it to Dr. Willard’s collection and then we’d have something to show
him.”

            Chloe
gave her a weak smile.  Sam sat down next to Chloe and wrapped her arms around
her knees.  She watched quietly as Chloe replaced the file she held in the box
and slid her gloves off.

            “Alright,”
Chloe spread her hands in a gesture of surrender, “I’ll listen.  I can’t tell
you I’ll believe you or that I’ll want to talk about it, but I’ll listen.”

            “It
was initials this time,” Sam said quickly, as if she were afraid Chloe would
change her mind, “and I saw it happen.  I came in, dropped my bag on the floor
and I noticed that your desk drawer had been pulled all the way out.  It was
upside down on the floor, and I knew right away.  I just knew that it was back,
that it was doing things again.  I picked the drawer up and there was stuff all
over the floor, pens and pencils, paperclips, scissors, and…and push pins.  So
I turned the drawer right side up and I started putting everything back in it,
and then…then I noticed that one of those little thumb tacks, or push pins,
whatever you call them, it was stuck in the floor.  I went to pull it out, and
it moved!  It moved, like in a straight line, away from my hand.  So I watched
it and it scratched the letters A and then M right into the floor and then it
fell over and was just lying there, looking normal.”