Page 2 of One Flew Over the Omega's Nest: Part One
"You'll go where the rest of the scourge of society go. The Thornfield Asylum for the Criminally Insane!"
My heart is pounding as I thrash against the guards. "You can't do this! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!Please don't send me there! I'll be good!" I continue my kicking and screaming, propped up between the twoguards, all the way until they toss me into my solitary confinement chamber.
"Please!" I beg incoherently, scrambling to the door before they shut it in my face. My cheeks press against the bars of the little cutout window of the door, tears flowing from my eyes. "Don't let them send me away! Don't let them—" My babbling cuts off abruptly at the sound of a slamming door down the hall, letting me know the guards have left.
Blissful silence.
Taking a deep breath, I go to the sorry excuse of a bed. I lift the mattress and stick my hand into a hole in the bottom, feeling around until I find the one possession I was able to smuggle in with me. The possession I thought to stash my first time in solitary so I'd have something to look at.
I sit on the floor, my back against the padded wall and stare at the photo of two teenage girls. One with the face of an angel. Hair so blonde, it's almost white, a delicate little button nose, and eyes as blue as the sky. My sister, Mabel.
Then there's me, all wild dark ginger hair and freckles. Fraternal twins.
I'm one step closer to finding out what happened to her. Next stop: Thornfield Asylum for the Criminally Insane.
one
Jo
Holy shit.
What in the name of all that is good and holy happened to me?
My head pounds harder than a woodpecker goin' at an oak tree. The last thing I remember…is the orderlies coming to get me for my transfer to Thornfield.
About damn time. I had to sit in solitary for three days after I stabbed that quack Dr. Nelson in the leg. I have to say though, this is the worst I’ve felt waking up after a facility transfer. Which is saying something, because I’ve gone through five othersin the last year.
Groaning as the stench of black walnuts invades my nose, I fight the urge to dry heave right then and there. IknowI'm not back by the tree Daddy used to serve my beatings against, but that scent…
"Oh good, she's awake." A man's voice sounds in the room, and I crack my eyes open. Bright light assaults my senses, and my wrists twitch, only to be caught by the harsh edges of metal.
Blinking rapidly, I try to move my wrists again to find that they are, in fact, cuffed to the hospital bed I'm currently laid up in. That's when I see the source of the scent that haunts my dreams.
"Josephine, it's nice to meet you. I'm Doctor Walter Brooks, the lead behavioral scientist here at Thornfield." The beta's beady eyes study me behind his glasses, his balding head shining with sweat.
Gross.
The room is stark white, with nothing on the walls. The omega inside me whimpers at the lack of cozy blankets and bedding. The scratchy blanket on my lap makes my teeth grate, but I’ll get over it. I don't know how long it's been since I've had anything resembling a nest.
Dr. Brooks sits on a stool a good three feet away from the bed, and there's a man—an alpha—standing in the corner of the room with his eyes intent on me. He looks different from any orderlies I've ever seen, with tattoos crawling up his neck and covering his shaved head.
There are no cameras in this room, unlike all the doctor’s offices in my previous facilities. Strange.
"Doctor Brooks." I wince as my wrists unconsciously move against the handcuffs again. "It's a right pleasure to meet you as well."
"Well, aren't you something?" Dr. Brooks' eyes shine with something that I can't place. "A regular Southern belle, aren't you?"
I almost laugh. Nobody would consider me a Southern belle, even if I do have the accent and manners to go along with it. "If I say yes, will that get these cuffs off me?"
Doctor Brooks looks almost apologetic for a moment. "Oh, yes…about those. My nurse will be here in just a minute with a mild impulse inhibitor to keep you…agreeable, and then we can take those right off. I don't want to get stabbed like your last psychologist." He gives a nervous laugh.
I have to admit, this is not what I thought I'd be walking into when I finally got transferred to the Thornfield Asylum for the Criminally Insane.
"Well, Doc," I give my best debutante smile, "as long as we call me 'Jo', I don't foresee that being an issue."
Before he can answer, the door opens, and a pretty woman with brown hair and kind eyes walks in with a metal tray. Without a word, she swipes an alcohol pad over the inside of my elbow, uncaps a syringe, taps it a few times, and slides it into the vein of my arm. Her soft beta scent of fresh linen is almost comforting.
She's good at her job—I hardly feel the needle, butdonote that the vein is easier to see than normal, considering I haven't been in the sun in at least three weeks—not since I got punished for shoving that shiv in Nancy Tolstein’s boob.
