Chapter 1-- George
Have you ever had one of those feelings where you know you have absolutely nothing but your own thoughts and God? I’m talking no rights, no honor, no dignity, no respect (from others or yourself), nothing good in your reputation, no redeeming qualities or saving graces, nothing.
That’s where I am right now. Nowheresville, nothingville. AKA British Columbia’s mental health system. AKA the seclusion room in the emergency room at the South Suburb General Hospital. Indeed, there’s nothing in here but a toilet, a sink, a mattress, a camera in the ceiling, a sprinkler head, air, and me. I asked for soap, both to wash my hands and (but I didn’t tell them this) to smear on the camera and see if they’d notice. But no can-do; I obviously do not need or deserve soap of any kind, because I acted like an animal so now I’m being treated like one.
No toilet paper either. The mattress has a sheet on it. I’ll use pieces of that and if it clogs up the pipes I’ll tell them to send the bill to my lawyer.
I wasn’t even allowed to make a phone call, though. It might be a while before my lawyer even knows I’m here.
I sit down on the mattress and wait. Do people who act like shit deserve shit, or deserve to be treated like shit? I didn’t treat any particular person like shit. I just said I felt like shooting up a school.
In anger after being brought here by the cops I told them I had meant it. And that’s what made them keep me.
I spit in my hand, speed-walk over to the corner with the camera in the ceiling right above the stainless steel toilet-and-sink unit, stand on the toilet and then the sink, and smear spit over the camera lens. I then wash my hands without soap.
Nobody notices the spit on the camera. Nobody comes. Nobody cares. The security guard outside the door is just standing there absentmindedly holding the door lever to keep the door shut. All he cares about is that the door is closed and locked.
Let’s do an experiment. Let’s see if I can flood the emergency room. I drag the sheet over to the toilet, then I get a better idea as my eye falls on the sprinkler head, glinting in the dim light.
Chapter 2—Normalene
The moment I stepped into the emergency room, and saw that it was flooded with water, I knew I had come just in time.
This had to have something to do with George. Only George would do this. And he would only do this if he was in a great amount of distress.
I followed the water straight to an area where police and security were gathered outside a steel door with a porthole in it.
Movement from inside the porthole catches my attention. It’s Georgie, passing by the porthole and then doubling back when he sees me.
“…Give it to him in the gluteus maximus,” someone is saying, and then that guy, a doctor in a white coat over a suit, hands a younger guy in scrubs a syringe full of who-knows-what.
I’m just in time.
George waves and laughs behind the porthole, but I see fear in his eyes.
Just in time.
I know what I have to do.
I grab the pepper spray from my purse and mace the bastards.
Chapter 3-- Charla
Norma’s not come home yet, and I’m starting to get nervous. I pictured her coming home without George, and it was a struggle to work myself up to accepting that that is what would happen. But none of them—both of them?
Suddenly I think I know what happened. Norma has always been very protective of George. Maybe she lost it on them.
I call her.
The “Hi” coming from the other end isn’t Norma, though. It’s George.
“Where are you!” I say, though I almost capitulated to my emotions and asked what happened, or what was happening. They might be in trouble and need me to pick them up somewhere. I’ll ask them what happened once we’re at a safer location.
“Ssssssh!” George says. “We’re hiding in the staff dressing room at South Suburb General.”
In a flash, I know what happened. He escaped his captors, and is hiding out. And Norma is with him, and is okay.
“Well, what are you waiting for! Break into someone’s locker, put on some white coats and name tags, and get out of there!”
Chapter 4—Aimee
There’s a new resident, or someone, putting on his blue scrubs in our unisex locker room.
“Hey,” I say, coming up to him. Best to be friendly. “I’m Amy. So you’re a new resident?”
“No, just an orderly,” the guy says, smiling.
A toilet flushes in a nearby stall and a girl comes out. She’s also wearing scrubs, but purple ones, but I haven’t seen her before. She puts on a white coat over the purple scrubs.
“Hi!” I say, smiling. I hold out my hand. “I’m Aimee. I’m a nurse here. I work post-op, Emerge and ICU. You must be new here.”
“I’m another orderly,” the girl says. “I float. I go all over the hospital. Or that’s what I’m supposed to do as of today.”
“Cool,” I say. “We should meet for lunch sometime.”
Why is she wearing purple scrubs though? Purple is reserved for the head nurse. And nurses don’t normally wear lab coats unless they’re a nurse practitioner. This place is really going downhill... their lack of supply of staff uniforms is going to confuse everyone and cause chaos.
There’s a ruckus outside. Then my friend, Dr. Arun Baum, comes in.
“The patient in the seclusion room flooded the ER,” Arun says, laughing. “I don’t blame him, locked in there.”
“Well, we’ve gotta get going,” the girl says. “I’m Lucetta, by the way. And this is my friend Gregory.”
They leave by a door at the far end, leave Dr. Baum and me alone together.
“I wish I could change the way they treat the patients on the psych ward here,” Arun says. He looks depressed. “I feel like I contributed to their pain when I went there, saw the conditions and didn’t do anything about it.”
“Maybe you can’t do anything about it,” I say. “Maybe it’s up to activists to change it. You have enough on your plate already; you’re a freakin’ doctor, and you still think you aren’t doing enough.”
“I’m having a mid-life crisis, though.” Then he drops a bombshell.
“I—I think I need a career change, Aimee.”
Chapter 5— Sarah
“I need you to do us a favor.”
The solemnness in Charla’s voice spells trouble.
And I’m an immigration officer. I’m not supposed to tolerate trouble. I’m supposed to turn in anything troublesome. If I see something, I say something.
Then the truth comes pouring out of poor Charla, and poor me, I have to go pick up my sister—in my official vehicle at that—and transport her and her two friends who got themselves into trouble but are admittedly innocent in my book across the border into Alberta, so that they can get George more humane psychiatric treatment, and so that Normalene doesn’t have to go to jail for saving him from abuse.
Chapter 6-- Tirzah
It’s my first outreach assignment for the International Incident Instigation Initiative. I hope it all goes well. I’m nervous as fuck.
Why did they suddenly want to stick me with the Outreach department? I can milk cows. And I did. I can bake bread, and I did. I can and did teach kids how to build a fire in the woods. I even painted the mural on the big outside wall of the dining hall. I can do anything.
Anything but outreach.
So why outreach?
They have no shortage of people who can do outreach.
A chilling thing comes to my mind. Maybe all our past outreach workers have been banned from the schools and hospitals and shelters and charities because we’re somewhat of a cult. So we need new people to infiltrate the system by doing groups at those places and passing out our pamphlets.
Which is what I was expecting to do, not go to someone’s house.
But that’s just what I’m about to do. I was contacted by a family on the internet, in the Facebook group, asking me to relieve them of their family member whom they couldn’t feed or hide any more from the authorities because it was too much trouble. He needs his meds apparently, and can’t get them while on the run from the psych system.
Thank God we’re here.
I guess SOMEONE has to do outreach.
And I guess that someone might as well be me.
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