Page 4 of Unwell
‘I’m not sick,’ I said, my throat sore from the hours of crying on the journey here.
‘No one ever is,’ he said. Lifting a hand, he grazed a thumb over my lower lip as I shuddered. ‘Or so they say.’
I tugged at my arms, trying to fight off the two men who held me. The doctor let out a sickening chuckle before slapping me hard, sending stars skittering around my skull. He leaned in close, coffee-and-smoke-tainted breath tickling my lips. Any kindness fled as he narrowed his eyes, looking from my face to my stomach, heavy with child.
‘When can I go home?’ My words were a shaky whisper. I noted the tag on his coat: Dr. D. Marney.
The doctor tipped his head a touch before gathering one of my tears on his fingertip. I winced as he licked it off.
‘Never.’
THREE
NANCY
‘God damn,’ I groaned, hauling old Mr.Jenkins onto his side. My eyes watered with the smell of shit seeming to seep into my pores in the stifling heat.
My feet ached, screaming in protest from hours traipsing the corridors. Some days were blissfully quiet on the low-risk wards, but not today.No. Dr. Marney decided to amp up the experiments he’d been conducting in the basement, and while I tried my best not to let it stress me out, the state the patients were coming back in made me queasy.
Missing limbs.
Extra limbs.
Mouths sewn shut.
Usually, he kept the most vicious of his tests to the worst of the patients. The ones who didn’t have visitors. The ones who had well and truly fallen through the cracks into society and landed square in the pits of hell.
Most days I could ignore it.
That day had me near quitting.
Couldn’t even open the windows to clear the air. I could leave the room and take a breather, but poor Mr.Jenkins had no escape. Stuck in a sweltering room, sweating his bollocks off while inhaling the smell of his own acrid waste.
The conditions were criminal.
But money talked, and no one cared. Families were glad to be free of their burdens. Society preferred to crush down the nonconformities, locking them away to be treated worse than garbage.
Forgotten.
I escaped to the staff room, pouring myself a cup of bitter, tepid coffee and gulping it down. It tasted unpleasant, but I’d take anything to rid my nose of the pervasive stench of shit.
The clock ticked, and I counted down the minutes until home time. Washing my chipped mug, I dawdled, avoiding running into any last-minute duties.
Six o’clock. At last.
A weight lifted as I grabbed my bag and unpinned my hat, stuffing it inside. Sometimes it felt less like a headpiece and more like a mockery. I’d expected to go into nursing to heal people, not to extend their miseryby keeping them alive when most would rather be dead.
The rec room doors stood open, likely to encourage air to circulate. A young woman sat on a chair near the window, looking lost. Who was she?
Dirty blonde hair, a little too long and in need of washing, grazed her stomach. Herswollenstomach.
Pain and longing hit me like a kick to the back.
Her petite frame was delicate, like a glass ornament. A pointed chin and big blue eyes rimmed red, puffy from where a sleeve had rubbed away a torrent of tears. Fingers fidgeted with the hem of her starched white nightgown. New to her, but worn a thousand times by those who went before her.
My heart snagged as I stared at her. So young. What did she do to get herself shut up in this hellhole?
She ran a hand over the swell of her stomach, cradling the babe hidden within. It wouldn’t be the first time some unmarried girl got shut away because of familial shame. If that was the case, the family chose badly.
