Cruel as a Queen Page 4

  “I said, ‘That’s enough.’” Daniel blocks my view the slightest amount, but I can see the rage that fills Jeff’s body, and I know that this is going to be bad.

  Instead of Jeff backing down, he swings the stick at Daniel’s face instead. I react before I know what I’m doing, flowing to my feet and jerking Daniel out of the way just in time. Instead of striking Daniel, the stick flies through empty air. Daniel stumbles and catches himself against the padded wall and ducks just in time to avoid another swing.

  My eyes dart towards the still open doorway, unprotected and open wide. I can escape.

  I hear a sickening crunch behind me, and I turn to see Daniel stumble back, a hand clamped over his jaw, a harsh cry ripping from his lips.

  “No one will blame me for this,” Jeff snarls. “I’ll just tell them you got too close to Alice. They’ll believe it, like they always do.”

  Daniel slides to the floor, and I look between the open doorway to my freedom, and the only person who has ever stood up for me. I take a step towards the doorway.

  Another mottled groan rattles me, and I turn back to see Jeff raising the stick again, high above his head, what will no doubt be a killing blow. My heart stops. Daniel’s green eyes meet mine again where he lays slumped against the wall. They’re filled with pain, anger, and acceptance. He nods his head at me the slightest bit, giving me permission to run, to escape from this place.

  Leave, his eyes tell me. Be free.

  But all I see is that stick swinging down, and I’m reacting before I know what I’m doing. I turn and rush at Jeff, a fierce scream ripping from my lips. His swing pauses midair, and he turns to look at me too late. I latch onto his back like a monkey and wrap my weak arms around his throat. I’m still too small, too fragile to hurt him like this. I can’t get my hands around his throat.

  Jeff swings the stick over his shoulder and connects with mine, sending a bolt of pain through the bone. I may not have the strength to take him down, but I have teeth. I wrench my head around and latch onto his ear, blood welling in my mouth the moment I clamp down. The metallic taste almost makes me gag, but I clamp down harder before ripping away, the meat of his ear coming away with a sickening noise. Jeff screams in agony, announcing to the entire asylum that I’m attacking, and more orderlies swarm into the room, sealing my fate, stealing my chance for freedom. I spit the flesh from my mouth as they yank me from Jeff’s body, pinning me to the floor, never gentle. There’s a knee in my back that makes it hard to breathe, and someone has their hand clenched in my hair to keep my face pressed into the padding beneath me. In this position, I can meet Daniel’s eyes, can see him struggling to breath, his jaw at an odd angle. Still, he meets my eyes, and there’s an apology there, one I don’t understand.

  We’re all just here to survive, after all. It was my mistake for being human in a place robbed of its humanity.

  “The medicine isn’t working.”

  I can’t breathe; the straps across my chest are too tight, too restricting. I can’t move at all, my wrists latched down, my ankles, thick leather straps keeping me immobile. There’s even a strap around my forehead.

  “I’ve received permission from her parents to start electroshock treatments.” I recognize the voice. It’s Dr. Taylor. What do they mean ‘electroshock?’

  “Are you sure that’s wise? She’s still a child.”

  “Which is why we had to have their permission. She bit the ear clean off of Jeff’s body, and she broke the jaw of the new kid. Even now he’s in the hospital. They don’t think he’s gonna make it. Infection, apparently.”

  “Poor kid.”

  “What are you doing to me?” I try to ask, but my throat isn’t working. I must have been sedated. I can’t feel my toes.

  “Are we starting now?”

  “Yes, prepare her for the treatment. Connect the electrodes.”

  An orderly comes into my field of vision, a woman I’ve never seen before. She gently connects something around my head, something with wires. It’s cold like the touch of metal, heavy. What is this? What’s happening?

  “We’re going to start at a lower setting, see what has an effect.”

  My mouth works up and down, begging without sound. I can’t speak, can’t scream. Panic fills my body.

  Hatter! White! Cheshire! Alex! Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?

  “Alice, patient zero-zero-four-two, electroshock treatment one. Begin test,” Dr. Taylor orders.

  There’s a sound that fills the room, as if a livewire is hanging from the ceiling, and then my body is lifting off the table even with the straps, my mind going blank with pain, my heart freezing inside my chest. I scream in agony, silent, my eyes tightly shut, and then it’s gone, my body weak and filled so full of pain that tears leak from my eyes. Something wells inside my mouth; I think it’s blood.

  Dr. Taylor leans over me and meets my leaking eyes, a tiny smile curling his lips.

  “Again.”

  Later, when I’m dumped into my room in a heap, my clothes still dirty and torn, my heart hurting, I hear someone outside my room talking.

  “Did you hear? Daniel, one of the orderlies she attacked, died today. Poor thing. Infection they said. The girl’s a monster.”

  For the first time, I believe them.

  Chapter 6

  Aged Sixteen

  Freedom is a thing so easily taken away. We’re born at the mercy of our parents, and as we grow, we’re at the mercy of the world. All it takes is a single snap of a finger for your life to be changed irrevocably. A mother who can’t take care of her child gives her baby away, tears in her eyes, aching heart, angry at the world that won’t let her earn her money in a way that doesn’t involve her opening her legs. A child that lives in a home with his seven siblings only knows a tightening cord, their mother doped up, their father unknown, his life spent taking on the job he shouldn’t have to; he’s twelve. A little girl is spoiled and pampered, told she can be anything, until she opens her mouth and tells a story, and they tell her she can’t be crazy, she can’t speak such things, she belongs somewhere else, she should be forgotten; she’s eight.

  Freedom is so easily taken away.

  “Tell me about your visions.”

  I don’t answer the new doctor sitting across from me. Dr. Taylor had finally left this shithole for greener pastures, after his years of tyranny. The moment he left, the electroshock treatments slowed, and they’ve only given me one since he left. It’s been months since that time. I’ve almost forgotten the pain of it, the shame, the helplessness.

  “Alice?” The new doctor’s name is Marcus Flint. He’s insisting I call him by his first name. He told the other patients the same from what I understand, so I’m not special in that sense. A few of the others talk when we’re allowed out in the garden. A few of them have more freedoms than I do. Those are the ones who belong here, who think this is some sort of holiday or retreat. Those patients make me sad.

  Dr. Flint is middle-aged, his temples greying prematurely, his nose crooked in a way that speaks of bar fights rather than medical school. His eyes are kind most of the time, but every now and then, there’s this evil light that enters them, and I know not to underestimate him. I know not to assume that he will be different.

  “Alice, tell me about your visions.”

  I meet Dr. Flint’s eyes and consider not answering. What will that get me? Another night without food? Another electroshock treatment? I decide that holding my silence isn’t worth those things. I’ve learned to pick my battles.

  “They aren’t visions,” I whisper, clenching my fists. I’m strapped down to the metal chair as usual, the leather straps too tight. I have permanent marks on my wrists from the leather, because they fear me, a sixteen-year-old girl.

  “Ah, yes. Tell me about your memories then.” Dr. Flint’s eyes gleam as he watches me, his glasses at the end of his nose. He scratches at his notes, useless really. My story hasn’t changed in the eight years I’ve been here. It n
ever deviates, and still they ask me the same question.

  “I’d rather not.” I clench my jaw. “They exhaust me.”

  “Your cooperation is essential to your recovery.”

  “There is no recovery to be had, Dr. Flint. My story will not change, because it’s the truth.” My voice lacks the power it used to have. It’s raspy, and weak. Screaming has damaged my vocal cords beyond repair.

  Dr. Flint stands, and I tense automatically. It’s never a good sign when they feel the need to stand, to assert their dominance.

  “You are far different from the other patients, Alice.”

  “How so?” I ask, humoring him. My fingernails bite into the palm of my hand as I clench them.

  “The other patients play along. They try to convince me they’re sane, that they’ve already recovered. And here you are. Your story never changes. You don’t ask to be released.”

  “I’m not stupid.” And I’m not crazy. I turn and look out the window, the green grass and sunshine outside beckoning me. It’s been too long since I’ve been out of this building. I miss the sunlight. “No one escapes this place. No one is let go.”

  “Perhaps, your family will come back for you.”

  I laugh at his words and shake my head. “My family will do no such thing. They have a new child, another little girl. Hopefully, this one isn’t crazy.”

  Dr. Flint stares at me. I can feel his eyes peeling back my layers and trying to figure out what makes me tick. I’m an anomaly in this place. My hope doesn’t rest on my family coming back for me, or for this place to suddenly get shut down, or for them to grow a conscience and let me go. My hope rests on a White Rabbit returning.

  “Maybe, there are other ways you can be free,” Dr. Flint suggests.

  I tense at his words, knowing them to precede something I really won’t like. “I don’t want any more drugs,” I mumble.

  The asylum likes to prescribe new pills all the time, trials, medications that haven’t been proven to do anything. Doctors pay for us to be guinea pigs, and if one of the pills cause the patient to go completely insane and kill themselves, well, that’s alright. There’s a room in the back of the asylum where the dead bodies go. The are pushed in whole, and come out as no more than ash, used for fertilizer in the gardens. I’ve seen it happen far too many times.

  “Not pills, Alice.” Dr. Flint squats down in front of me, and I finally meet his eyes, that evil flicker there causing me to dig my fingernails in further, no doubt drawing blood. “There are ways you can be free, if only for a moment.” His fingers wrap around my skinny knee, an attempt at a caress that feels more like steel wool on my skin.

  “No.” I don’t snarl. I don’t threaten. Just the simple word. It should be enough. In another world, it would be. His hand doesn’t move. I’ve been down this path before, but Taylor deemed me too dangerous to try the act again, and the orderlies are afraid of me. I’ve managed to escape the fate that Dr. Flint is now offering.

  “Come now, Alice. You know there’s no reason to fight it.” His fingers trail up, up, up, and I panic.

  “Get your hand off of me.” This time I can’t help the snarl that slips out. He smiles, as if it pleases him, as if he gets off on it. I grit my teeth when his fingers slip under the edge of my shirt to touch on my pale skin. “I said, ‘get your fucking hand off of me!’” I jerk hard against my restraints, the leather cutting deeper into my skin, irritating the already scarred flesh. The metal chair doesn’t even rock with my movement, too heavy for me to impact.

  Dr. Flint chuckles, and I know I’m in trouble. My heart thumps hard enough in my chest that I can feel it in my throat, my eyes, my ears. Fingers scrape against my skin, searching, defiling, hurting.

  He gets closer, pressing his body against my knees, his face too close to mine. I immediately react, snapping at his face, prepared to bite off whatever I can close my teeth around, but he’s faster than I expected. Dr. Flint jerks away with a grin.

  “That wasn’t very nice,” he chides before loosening his tie and pulling it from his neck. Before I can figure out what he’s doing, he wraps it around my head, the silk going between my teeth tightly. I jerk violently, trying to keep him from tying it, but it’s too late. I breathe hard through my nose, almost hyperventilating, my panic getting the better of me. “There now, that’s better.”

  Those fingers trail to places they shouldn’t, and I begin to scream, and scream, and scream. My voice is muffled by the silk between my lips, and no one comes running. No one comes to save me.

  Hatter, White, Cheshire, Alex. . . .

  My mind shuts down.

  Chapter 7

  Age Eighteen

  Dr. Flint only lasts a year before he’s fired. He doesn’t get dismissed because of his treatment of the patients. Someone found out he was Jewish, and this asylum is strictly a Christian organization.

  I was happy to see him go, but as how things always go, he’s only replaced with someone else just as bad, just as evil.

  I’ve stopped fighting it, only reacting when I know I will see results from my outburst. Almost every time I’m a bad girl, I receive an electroshock treatment again. I have to make sure my fight is worth the pain of electricity flowing through my body.

  I’ve developed a stutter when I talk, I’m assuming from the treatments. It sounds clear in my mind, but when I speak, my words don’t flow like they should. The doctors seemed happy about the development. They’ve been keeping the machines on a low voltage to extend the amount of time they can test on me.

  I’ve envisioned killing everyone in this building many times, ripping the heads from their bodies, bathing in their blood. But I’m growing weaker. If White doesn’t come for me soon, I won’t be here for him to find.

  This office has become the place I dread coming to. Dr. Stevens is the newest doctor, and he’s much worse than Dr. Flint had been. He takes liberties, does what he wants, all in the name of science. There’s a cross hanging on the office wall, a mockery really. Dr. Stevens like to bring up bible verses in his conversations. That hasn’t stopped him from touching me, though. No, he can always just ask for forgiveness from his God.

  “I don’t think the electroshock treatments are doing much to curb your madness, Alice.” Stevens looks over the notes in front of him, the file thick after being here for ten years. Every time I see the file come out, it’s bigger, as if I’m some sort of lab rat they have gathered more information from. I’m waiting for the day they decide to dissect me.

  I stare at him, no expression on my face. I don’t trick myself into thinking he actually wants a response. No, the last time I had spoken out of turn, I’d been slapped across the face, blood welling in my mouth after biting my tongue. He’d smiled afterwards and taken great pleasure in watching the red liquid drip down my chest.

  “Perhaps, we should try another avenue. You’re of age now. We don’t need your parents’ permission. It says, in your file, they have vetoed the lobotomies, but unfortunately, as an adult, they no longer have any say over your treatments.”

  I’m tempted to perk up at his words. Maybe my parents actually cared after all, but then his other words settle in, and I realize I haven’t suffered the worst this place has for me. I’ve seen the patients who had lobotomies, their heads shaved, their eyes empty. They don’t survive long after the “treatment”.

  “W-why would you-you do that?” I ask, meeting his eyes. Stevens has dark-blue eyes, almost dark enough to be black. Normally, I would call them pretty, but on his face, they’re harsh and terrifying. They’re the eyes of a monster.

  “We have seen slight success with the electroshock therapy, but I’m curious to see if other avenues will prove beneficial. A lobotomy could cure your madness.”

  “It will kill-kill me. There is-is no cure for m-memories.” I curse the stutter that only seems to thicken under the realization White will be too late when he returns. I will already be dead, whether my body is or not. “I will not be-be your lab rat.”
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br />   Stevens smiles. “We don’t need your permission, Alice. You’re a ward of the asylum. You have no family anymore, and you have no rights here. Whatever treatment I prescribe goes.”

  “P-please don’t.” The words taste like ash in my mouth. Saying please to this man makes my stomach turn, but I can’t help the feeling that a lobotomy means my death, my freedom forever out of reach.

  He doesn’t humor me or make me beg more. Stevens dismisses me with a flick of his wrist, and the orderlies come inside to begin loosening my straps. They’re usually trained to never let my wrists go unbound, but one of the orderlies is a split second too late. The fear of having the new treatment makes me react before I can think on it. I jerk my hand away and grab the stick form the orderly’s waist. Before he knows what’s happening, I’ve already bashed it over his head, knocking him out cold. I swing the stick towards the other one. He’s a little faster on his feet and manages to dodge it, but he doesn’t account for the other chair behind him bolted down to the floor. He trips, and I’m bringing down the baton across his face hard enough to hear something crack, blood spurting from his nose as he collapses to the floor. I turn on Dr. Stevens who sits at his desk calmly, as if I didn’t just take out two large men. He steeples his fingers and looks at me.

  Two years ago, I would have thrown myself at him and ripped him to shreds, disabled him, make sure he can never do what he’s done to me again. I’m no longer that girl. Fear drives me now, and I’ve learned my lesson. I don’t beat him until he no longer breathes; I don’t approach him at all.

  I turn on my heel, and run through the open doorway.

  I sprint through the hallways of the asylum, heading for the exit and my freedom. A few orderlies try to get in my way, but when I swing the baton, none of them expect it, and every single one of them goes down, whether from shock or something else, I don’t know. I don’t stay to find out. I take the last turn and come face to face with the gate, the newest addition in security for the asylum. We’d had a patient escape a few months ago, and they weren’t taking any more chances of losing their test subjects. I slam into the gate, but it doesn’t move. Their new process means the person behind the desk has to press a button to release it. I turn towards the thick glass window where an elderly woman sits. Her eyes are wide as she takes in my appearance, the frantic rise and fall of my breath.