“Didn’t you hear me?”
“I heard you.” She kept her voice low so the rage wouldn’t show.
“You heard me, yet you were going to leave without minding my instructions?”
Clara threw a quick glance at the door. About twelve feet away. She backed another step, but for every one she took away, he took one closer. Suddenly, Mister Royal placed a hand on her shoulder. His fingertips dug in and he guided/shoved her toward his desk.
“I-I’m hungry and I want to go t-to dinner,” Clara mumbled.
“You’ve been in my class for how long now, Clara?” His voice was calm and soothing, a tone she had not heard from him in a long while. She hoped her quaking knees weren’t visible.
“T-two years?” There was a slight stutter in her voice. Sweat dribbled down her armpits. She could smell it already. Royal moved in closer, close enough she could detect his non-pleasing body odor. A startling giggle almost squeezed between her lips. Maybe it wasn’t her who smelled after all.
“I find it amazing that in two years, you still are not applying yourself so you can pass these tests, or my class.” Royal shook his head in disappointment. “In fact, your performance has actually regressed. Now, how would your grandmother feel about that kind of behavior out of you?”
She didn’t answer. He didn’t expect one. He was just baiting her, trying to make her mad. Well, this time she wouldn’t bite. She wouldn’t give them reason to lock her in that room again. She eyed the exit again. The key was in the lock. If only she could get there.
She took another step back. Royal took two steps forward.
“Two years,” he said. “It feels like so much longer. And how you’ve grown in that time.”
She couldn’t back up any further; the small of her back pressed tight to the corner of Royal’s desk.
“You’re how old now, sixteen?”
“F-fifteen.”
“I know you don’t want to remain in my class another year, Clara.” Royal’s breath was hot on her neck. She tilted her head away.
Royal rubbed the back of his middle finger across her cheek. Clara clenched her jaws as she found herself sandwiched between his large body and the big metal desk. He brought his chin up to her forehead and blew a light breath into her hair near her temple. She edged further away, but he caught her left leg between his heavy thighs. Her heart pounded so loud it echoed in her ears, almost drowning out his words. Almost.
“I’m sure we could find other ways you could make up those grades, Clara,” he whispered. “I could make things much easier for you. I know we’ve had this conversation before, but you were just a child then. I should hope that now you’re a little older, with a little better understanding of how the game works…”
Clara screamed and swung her right fist into Royal’s left eye. The force of the blow thrust him backward. While he teetered on his heels, Clara pushed past and sprinted for the door. He hadn’t turned the key and locked it yet. Clara opened the door and lunged out of the room, falling to the floor in the hallway.
Clara jumped up and ran as Mister Royal exploded from the classroom, his left hand covering his eye. Clara’s frantic attempt to escape turned her legs into jelly and she once again tumbled to the floor.
Everyone in the hallway stopped what they were doing to watch. Miss Miller was there as well. She turned eagle eyes on Clara.
“Hey!” Miller stormed toward Clara, elbowing other students aside like a warrior entering the battlefield. “What the
hell
is going on here?”
Clara somehow got her feet under her and backed up again, this time using the safety of the red brick wall. Officer James appeared out of nowhere. From the other direction came Sharon Hefner. They joined Miller and the three loomed on Clara from three sides. She was surrounded.
Miller’s accusing eyes shifted to Royal whose cheeks were puffed up and red with rage. He still had a hand over his eye; Clara could see a bright discolored area between his fingers.
“What happened here, Mr. Royal?” Miller asked.
“This insane little brat just attacked me! I was trying to talk to her about that damn test she handed in. Trying to give her a chance to re-take it,” he speared a glance at her, “…maybe actually pass something for a change. What does she do but hit me!”
Clara felt her expression widen in disbelief. She peered from one angry adult to another. Man, was she in for it now. No way they’d believe what really happened. She wished the brick wall would open up and swallow her.
She had to try anyway. Be calm, she told herself. But when the words left her mouth, they were anything but calm. “That asshole made a play at me.” She stabbed a finger at her teacher. “He tried to kiss me. I don’t even know what else he wanted to do.”
“That’s ridiculous, I wouldn’t…”
Miller raised a hand in the air. “That will be all, Mr. Royal!”
Good, Clara thought, Miller saw through him. She was…
“Do not justify this child’s psychotic delusions by responding to them!”
The dam burst. “It is not a psychotic delusion!” Clara swatted at the tears rolling down her cheeks. “H-he t-tried…” She inhaled a ragged breath to steady her nerves. “He tried to make a play at me!”
Clara scanned the hallway for any sign of an ally. Right now, even one of those nasty kids. But the hall was deserted. Except for herself and the four adults who had her surrounded. The only one missing was the doctor with his dreaded syringe.
Miller and Royal were both red-faced. The safety officers grinned, which was probably worse than the anger. What was so funny about her situation?
“I remember her saying this once before,” Officer James stated.
“Oh, this isn’t the first time she’s come up with such nonsense,” Hefner confirmed.
“That’s because he’s done it before!” Clara backhanded the tears again, unable to stem the flow.
“Mister Royal has been happily married for over twenty-five years. He has two daughters, both older than you,” Hefner said, “so that accusation is not going to fly, child.”
“Thank you!” Royal shouted as if his position in the dispute was firmly solidified.
“You asshole!”
Clara lunged at Royal, grabbing at his ear with her left hand and swinging with her right fist. She made contact with his nose in a resounding thud. Royal shoved Clara back. Her head cracked against the bricks. Stars mixed with the tears, yet she lunged at the teacher again. This time a large hand—belonging to Officer James—took hold of her shirt. She felt herself wrenched backward. Clara’s feet left the floor. She was thrust, like a rag doll, against the wall. Somehow her feet held her up. James then used his own massive body to squish her against the bricks, his right arm firmly across her throat. “Just calm your ass down, you little shit!”
All the air was pushed from her lungs. “Let…me…go!” Clara could only say one word at a time. She wriggled, she squirmed, but try as she might, she couldn’t worm out of her predicament. For one moment, she relaxed as though she were giving up. James relaxed too, just a little.
Her left arm was trapped against her chest, but her right arm twisted free. She landed a punch on his left bicep. It had no effect except to make him mad.
“I want her in seclusion immediately,” Miller ordered. “Contact Doctor Barnes.”
“Barnes went home at four.”
“Where is his evening replacement? We are supposed to have a doctor on these premises twenty-four hours a day!”
She glared at Hefner, who became extremely anxious, wringing her calloused hands in front of herself. “I’m sorry, Miss Miller, I really don’t know where he is. I don’t know if he even showed up today.”
Clara’s struggles were no good against Officer James’s strength. She could just about feel each brick being imprinted on her spine. Soon she’d have to give in to them—again.
“I want her in a seclusion room, regardless,” Miller insisted. “Get a straitjacket around her and, as soon as someone comes in, I want her sedated for the night.”
“I’m…I’m not going in there, you bitch!” Clara’s voice came out as a rasp with James’s full weight against her. Saliva dripped from her mouth. She stifled the urge to spit it at him.
“Oh, so now Clara Blue thinks
she
makes the decisions in this institution,” Miller said to no one in particular. She then glared at Clara, the veins in the sides of her neck deep purple.
“Unfortunately, it is ‘the bitch’ who makes the decisions, not you,” she shouted in Clara’s face.
“You want me to get the straitjacket?” Hefner asked.
“No, I want you to stand around and be useless.”
Hefner retrieved the straitjacket. Clara didn’t bother fighting as Hefner and James pushed her onto the floor and wrapped her in the restraint. They were far from gentle. Twice, Clara’s head smacked against the concrete floor. When they hefted her onto her feet, blood dripped from somewhere above her right eye and into the corner of her mouth.
Despite her physical and verbal protests, Clara ended up in seclusion. For as long as she could, she screamed and kicked the padded door. It was the least inconvenience she could give them. Why the hell couldn’t at least one person believe her? Oh God, she wished she could just die and get it over with. They were going to kill her anyway.
The night doctor arrived.
For the first time, she welcomed the syringe.
Chapter Sixteen
Monday morning came. Rick felt a lot better. Despite some other stressful issues, he didn’t experience another headache all weekend. He had chosen not to think about the Brookhill Children’s Psychiatric Residence during that time, as he’d been advised. Several times over the weekend, he had the feeling of being followed. He dismissed the sensation as paranoia caused by stress. Rick hiked to his office in a good mood, expecting a quiet day. Unfortunately, things rarely work out the way he hoped.
Rick waited by the door of the therapy suite for a safety officer to arrive. For some reason, his key stopped working the Friday before. He’d asked for a new key, but had yet to receive one. He wondered if he ever would. While he waited, Rick went over his morning caseload.
Tyrell Birkins would be his first client for the day. Rick had not seen Tyrell since the boy’s first day in the facility, the previous week. While Miss Miller had Tyrell rushed through a psychiatric evaluation with Doctor Barnes, Tyrell spent most of his day in Barnes’ office with a safety officer standing watch. The evaluation was finished and Miller approved Tyrell to attend the facility’s schooling. Rick was curious to see what condition Tyrell would be in with the drugs pumping through his body.
Rick’s second patient was Michael, a ten-year-old boy from New Jersey. When he wasn’t cursing at every staff member, he tried to take things that didn’t belong to him. His constant kleptomaniac behaviors caused the state foster services to arrange for placement in the Brookhill Psychiatric Residence. Even within the walls of the facility, Michael found it impossible to keep his hands off things that did not belong to him.
Miller devised a solution to the problem; she had his hands cuffed behind his back, both in the classroom and in the cafeteria. A young aide, whom Miller clearly disliked, was assigned to keep an eye on Michael. It was his job to take his notes in class and feed him his meals. Rick wondered what the procedure was for Michael when he had to go to the bathroom.
Clara Blue was Rick’s third session of the day. He couldn’t help but look forward to their sessions together. He found her interesting, much more so than the others. Was it because of the curious empathy he felt toward her? Or was it that her way of thinking made little sense to him and raised his curious nature? A child with a history of violence, yet she understood everything around her, despite her immature tendencies. It was hard for most to notice her natural intelligence, but Rick could see past that defensive attitude.
Sharon Hefner was the first of the safety officers to notice Rick standing by the therapy suite. She opened the door with her key and then rushed Rick into the room. She followed him in and closed the door. “Listen, as soon as the patients come down for class, I want you to get with Clara Blue and speak to her. She had a bad weekend. She flipped out at breakfast and I’ll tell you now, Miss Miller’s not in a good mood today. She will be on the warpath.”
Rick nodded. He believed Hefner when she said Miller was not in a good mood, was she ever? Hefner grabbed Rick’s shirtfront to emphasize the importance of her words. “Mr. Rasner, considering how long Clara was in the seclusion room this weekend, I don’t want to throw her in there again this morning. But I’m not putting my own ass on the line. If I have to, I have to. You feel me?”
“Okay, I’ll take her for a session first thing,” Rick promised, mentally switching his schedule.
“I’ll bring her right away.” Hefner hurried away.
Rick remained standing until Hefner ushered Clara inside. He offered her a seat, but she would not sit. Instead, she paced back and forth. Her eyes were wide and glazed. She never once looked at him. He took in a long breath, then let it out. All the work they’d done, the modicum of trust they’d formed. Was it all gone? What the hell had happened this weekend?
Rick took his seat and watched her pace. Six steps to the right, spin on a heel, six more steps. She had a bandage above her right eye. His index finger instinctively touched the scar under the combed-over hair on his forehead—in the same place as her bandage.
Rick wondered how to open up the conversation. “I see you’re wearing a new shirt. Or should I say a clean shirt.” Damn, was that truly the best he could come up with? The T-shirt was cute, light blue with a yellow happy face on the front.
Clara stopped in her tracks. She gazed down at the shirt as if she’d never seen it before. “My red one got ripped on Saturday when they threw me in seclusion again. Miss Miller was here this weekend. She let me get into my closet yesterday for a new shirt before she locked it up again.”
“What happened?”
“I just got out of that fucking room on Saturday!” Clara began pacing again, her arms swinging like pendulums. She muttered so Rick could only hear about every other word. “Friday…things happening…Mr. Royal…play.” Her fists opened and shut.