“Bridgette, it’s time for your pills, I think.” Fear fills her expression, and she skitters away before I can even utter a goodbye. There’s a darkness that tickles the back of my neck in warning as I turn to face Mrs. Blackwood, feeling like I should apologise, even though I’ve done nothing wrong. She totters past me, her expensive red-soled heels tapping across the marble floor tiles. I stay silent, trailing behind her, the command in her expression enough to keep me in line.
The next room is as brightly lit as the first, and while it offers none of the personality the other one had, the colourful stained glass inserts in the vast skylight above paint every surface with shimmering rainbows of colour. The sterile white walls are stark. Its occupants attired in scrubs with the samePatient of Blackwoodbranding as I had seen on Ezra earlier. The minimal vintage dark wood furniture is complemented by modern metal tables and chairs, all bolted to the floor, much like the vase had been. I try not to stare too intently, but I smile and dip my head in greeting to those who glance my way.
I wonder what brought them all here, but I quickly realise that some stories - mine included - are best kept quiet. For a split second, i’d considered telling the truth on my job application. But thankfully a reality check and two shots of tequila straightened me out. If I were honest, my work experience section would’ve read,Whore for hire.Not exactly the fresh start I had promised myself. So I kept it simple -bar work & waitressing- leaving out my mafia boss captor, the other sex slaves i’d call sisters and all the juicy details of my life before today. Suzy and Jax happily agreed to be my references, but Lenora hadn’t even called before offering me the position.
Lenora shakes me from my thoughts by clearing her throat - a habit i’ve noticed in the short space of time that i’ve known her highlights her frustration at being kept waiting. With her lips pursed, her brows pinched and her crossed arms, I can tell I’m already rubbing the all-powerful Lenora Blackwood up the wrong way; again. If I’m sure of anything since arriving at this place, it’s that her shit list is not a place I want to be. I’m grateful when I notice Simon is nowhere to be seen.
“You noted no family on your transcript.”
“No, ma’am,” I mumble. It didn’t feel necessary to note a dead mother and an absent father responsible for my abandonment issues. Any mention of any found family along the way would only lead to more questions, so I stick with the little white lie.
“Close friends?” she presses.
“Just little old me,” I say with an air of finality. My second necessary lie. She doesn’t need to know the version of me that existed under Doc’s rule. “Looking for a fresh start at life,” I add, sprinkling some truth into my answer.
‘Destitute douche-bag magnet with a mouth like a hoover would certainly add a shock factor if we’re opting for the truth.’
Telling her my murderous best friend and her grim reaper serial killer lover live two towns over probably won’t seal the job for me either. Of all the questions I answered on the four-page application, the fact that I come with as few emotional ties as possible seems to be the most prevalent for securing the position. I have zero poker face, so the less information I give, the less chance I have to put my foot in it.
“A fresh start—we can work with that,” she softly retorts on a rushed breath, her face hiding what she really wants to say behind her taut smile. “Town visits are limited to once a week, ideally on weekends; we’re a family, Miss Morgrieves, and this position takes dedication. We don’t like to invite theoutside world beyond these walls—for the patients’ sakes—you understand?”
I understand this woman is a control freak, but I’m not about to push my luck since the uniform issues, whatever that was outside with Ezra and my general existence, have already managed to royally piss her off.
“We like to broaden the patients’ horizons. Art classes, workshops, and exercise are just a few of the extra-curricular activities you will be expected to assist with.”
I’m suddenly distracted by thoughts of extra-curricular activities I’d happily indulge in with a certain patient in particular, but I manage to get out a firm “duly noted,” and she seems content with my answer. Either that or she knows I’m lying out of my arse about everything, and she’s waiting for me to fall on my face. Glancing down at my application form in her hand, I wait for the next question, but it never comes. Folding it, she tucks it away into her pocket and continues with the tour.
“Here at Blackwood, we pride ourselves on our patients, our family,” she reiterates, and I can’t help but mentally log the irony of the old woman rocking in the corner humming anElvisclassic while removing all her clothes; the young orderly who looks seventeen at most begging her to stop as he tries to re-button what she’s already slipped off. I reckon Lenora would get a kick out of the history lurking in my family tree.
I remind myself where we are and offer the poor orderly a sympathetic smile as he administers the woman a sedative via a needle through her arm. She goes lax in his hold, and there is already a wheelchair waiting.“I imagine it’s never dull here.”
“I guess that depends on your definition of dull,” Lenora states stone-faced.
I wonder how my new boss makes it through the day with that mighty large stick up her arse, but I decide to keep that question to myself.
“Your position as a ward assist is basically pill pusher status, with some minor babysitting tasks. I’m sure that isn’t too hard, even for you. We don’t want you worrying your pretty little head with learning a new skill set.”
I note the condescension in her tone but don’t react. My appearance shouldn’t matter, yet her critical appraisal of my physique makes me suspicious of her intentions, like I’m a thoroughbred she’s considering entering into the Grand National. It also begs the question, what had happened to the women in this job before me? Ezra’s reference to the former female employees continues to bother me. Thoughts of the alternative and Mr. Marlowe back in town waiting for me to come crawling for a job means i’ll push back any concerns I have for now.
Stroking her fingers down the length of my plait, a breath hitches in my throat at her unwanted proximity. Her stifling floral perfume filling my nose. If callousness had a scent, it would be whatever lingers beneath Lenora’s attempt to mask it withChanel No 5.Lowering her voice, her breath caressing my throat, her face close enough that I can see the icy puffs of slate darkening her crystal blue eyes, she whispers, “Administer the drugs that will make them less likely to converse with imaginary demons and make sure they aren’t hanging themselves from the rafters, and you’re good to go. A monkey could do your job, so let’s see to it that I’ve no need to remind you of your duties. Here at Blackwood, I don’t enjoy having to repeat myself.”
Her word is final as I gulp down the lump lodged in my throat. Tightening my gloved hands into fists, I offer her a simple smile to let her know I understand.
“You will have today to settle in. Clive at reception will provide you with your room key, Jeremy will check your bag for contraband, and then the Knox brothers will show you where you are staying.”
“A well-oiled machine,” I chirp with a thumbs up. I could kick myself; even now, I’m trying to appeal to the softer side of my new boss. Alert the papers—she clearly doesn’t have one. Surly with a side order of bitch face is all she’s willing to give me.
“I expect nothing but excellence, Miss Morgrieves, you’ll do well to remember that.” Her attempt at a smile is laughable and does nothing but increase the unease swimming around in my belly. “The gloves?” she asks mid turn.
Her criticising stare focuses on my hands as I wind my fingers together, my skin prickling. I quickly avert my eyes, taking a deep breath to calm my anxiety. I subtly shift her attention away from my gloves. Memories of Doc ordering his second-in-command to continue slicing at my fingers until three of them dropped to the floor engulf me, bile rising in my throat as the acrid stench of the smelling salts hits me as vividly as it did that day when I’d begged him to kill me. The comforting warmth of my spilt blood when I could finally wallow in unconsciousness, because Doc had tired of my cries was a strange, yet soothing, feeling. The gloves will stay. I’ll fight for that if I have to.
“I have sensitive skin. I must wear them at all times. Doc’s orders.” I shudder at the double reference of using my dead captor’s name in a remark that to most is a light-hearted quip. I’m overselling the smile I’m plastering on my face, and I know it, but if I lose the smile, my tears will betray me. Lenora eyes me shrewdly, the tip of a genuine mocking smile lifting the edges of her thin mouth briefly. Her insistence for me to fall in line lingers on a bated breath. Thankfully, she takes pity on me and lets any conversation regarding my gloves die on her next hurried exhale.
“I have standards, Miss Morgrieves. Fail to abide by them, and you might not favour the outcome.”
I nod obediently and say nothing more as I watch her turn and leave.
For someone who doesn’t like repeating herself she’s damn good at it.
