by
Mary E. Overstreet
Julia was disappointed in hers and Willie's progress. She had been trying to find out what Willie had been through in the ward and was having little success, though she had pinpointed, by going through the employee records, who worked there then. Interviewing other employees hadn't helped, and she was left with trying to talk to the ward patients that had been there when Willie had. So far none of them admitted remembering Willie or the orderlies that had worked there at the time.
Willie himself was equally uncooperative. He seemed tense and agitated a lot of the time, and his communication difficulty had not improved. He was having bad dreams according to the night nurse who checked on him several times to find him awake and terrified or tossing and turning in his sleep.
Julia tried to push him into responding to her questions. She never threatened, only badgered him till he was obviously upset. It was the questions she asked and her persistence that affected him. Willie could hardly stand to have her guessing about what might have happened to him. The only way he knew to keep her from finding anything out was to not answer at all. Meanwhile, his restlessness and depression grew. His mind was always dwelling on some dark event and his dreams reflected this. He wanted to be over it and to get away from it. But the ugliness wouldn't leave him. He sank into despair, not knowing how to get out of it.
Almost a week had passed since Willie discovered he couldn't talk, and so far, Julia had heeded his desire to allow no visitors. But when Carolyn showed up in the afternoon after Julia had had a pointless session with Willie, she decided to defy him. She warned a nervous Carolyn that he had not changed and was not expecting her.
He sat in a wooden chair at the small round table in the visiting room. Willie had almost tried to run away when he realized where he was being taken. They had come and gotten him for the dayroom, tricking him into coming here.
A nurse admitted Carolyn after he had been waiting a few minutes. He looked at her and stood up out of politeness. He nodded in greeting, never meeting her eyes.
Carolyn smiled nervously, but with genuine feeling because it was good to see him animated. He looked very embarrassed standing in his robe and pajamas and looking at the floor, she thought.
"Hello, Willie. I hope you're feeling better." He shrugged and turned away. "I'm so sorry you're having a problem." Emotion crept into her voice and she had to clear her throat. "Look, why don't you sit down? You look so uncomfortable."
Willie didn't move. He didn't want her seeing his face, and he didn't want to be tempted into trying to talk. Just being considered a patient here was humiliation enough.
When he remained so closed off from her, she felt a familiar sting. It made her deeply sad for him, not angry. "Willie, I know you didn't want to see me. But I had to let you know I still care about you." She approached within a few feet of him. "I just want to help."
A week's worth of anger and frustration over hearing that last phrase made him whirl around and glare down at her. "I-I-I. . ." He struggled to make his mouth work, "—d-d-donnn'. . ." He panted from the exertion, realizing he was doing exactly what he had wanted to avoid. Shame washed through him, replacing the anger, and he turned away again, a shaking hand on his face, his eyes squeezed shut.
"I'm sorry," she said, shaken.
Willie went to the door that led out for him and banged on it. The nurse was standing right by and opened the door. He went through it toward the access to the stairs. The nurse and a guard followed and accompanied him to his room.
Carolyn knew she shouldn't've been surprised, but she was. Of course he was embarrassed, she thought. He'd probably never want to see her again. She felt terrible for him.
Several hours later, Julia sat at her desk, her hands together and her eyes far off in thought. She was feeling terrible for Willie as well. There was a heavy load of guilt on her shoulders, because she knew more of less what had happened to Willie—in her hospital. And it wasn't just Willie or those two orderlies. The screening process in hiring was not nearly strict enough. Nothing like that would ever happen again at Wyndecliffe, she vowed.
There was still the problem of how to handle Willie. His refusal to communicate was only prolonging his inability. Plus he had not cried since before the withdrawal. She was certain his bottling up his emotions was contributing to his speech difficulty and nightmares. He had good reason to cry—she wished he would. And if his not crying was involuntary, getting him to do so could be traumatic. But it might be the only way to help him, yet causing him to break down might trigger another regression. There was a lot to consider, a lot that she did not know about Willie. That he was not telling was his nature, unfortunately for him, she thought.
She decided to talk to him again, after dinner.
Willie was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring toward the window. It was dusk, and he really couldn't see anything outside. It didn't matter because he wasn't thinking about that now. He never would have guessed he would end up like this. He'd always felt he would end up someday in trouble he couldn't get out of and be killed then. For a long time he had thought it was being Barnabas' slave. Now he didn't know what was going to happen. He was miserable and confused, tormented by his memory night and day. The very fact that he was at Wyndecliffe aggravated his feelings about what had happened here. He could not help but think that he would fare much better away from all reminders of Barnabas, Collinsport, and Wyndecliffe. And he wished Julia would leave him alone. Her questions brought up the worst to hurt him, when he spent every moment trying to avoid that pain. At night he was helpless, dreams held him like the strait-jacket. More often than not he wore one in them, and they largely centered on the ward. It was terrifying to wake from a nightmare in which he was in the institution being hurt, and then see bars on the windows and a uniformed nurse standing over him. If only he could keep it from bothering him, but it made him feel so much he wanted to give up.
He rubbed his temples. Every minute he spent here was a further waste of his life. He wished someone could understand and let him go. Yet if he tried to escape there was always the threat of being put in the ward, where there was an absolute lack of privacy and consideration of one's dignity and self-esteem. Even if he hadn't been drastically injured, the regular inspections of the beds, clothing and the patients' bodies, the complete lack of trust, and the condescension from the staff were demoralizing enough to make even someone as basically tough as Willie had been, crumble. In his vulnerable physical state—continually in pain from his back, weak, and easily subject to more intense pain from any kind of stress—and his mind bewildered and confused, Willie had been barely able to hold onto any sense of self when he was first in the ward. The regular routine, designed to make it as easy and efficient as possible for the staff as well as supposedly protecting the inmates from themselves and each other did not take into consideration their basic human emotional needs. It, in fact, discouraged individuality and self-reliance and was as debasing and humiliating as it could be without appearing unusually cruel outwardly. When he had needed anything, Willie had had to beg for it or be denied. And recovering from his injuries had had him needing to use the bathroom at all hours of the night with intestinal and stomach cramps, dehydration, and various other side effects from the medication and often needing pain killers for his back and chest pain. While the staff had been more or less tolerant at first, it soon became such a demeaning ordeal Willie had suffered long hours of discomfort and pain in his bed rather than ask for anything. Only when it grew completely unbearable or when he was afraid he'd soil the bed would he put himself through the begging and groveling routine to get relief. And protesting, however slightly he had been able, the first strip search had earned him a night and day alone in a cold, padded cell with nothing to cover up with and only water to drink. Even that had not been so terrible; he had been cold and afraid and had had no relief from the pain in his back, but at least he was away from the other patients and the sounds they made and the things they did.
He was remembering vividly what it had been like lying on the stinking, stained padding, curled up and shivering with his aching back against the wall. And crying. Before Barnabas, he never cried, but now. . .
"Willie?" Julia said softly, realizing he hadn't heard her come in.
He straightened, muscles going stiff. His dinner felt like a lump in his stomach. He didn't turn around.
"I'd like to talk to you for a little while." She tried to think of a way to say what she needed to say, but finding a place to start— She sat in a chair not quite in front of him. His face was closed, only anger showed in his working jaw muscles. "I know you must be getting tired of my questions. I'm sorry. I don't know what else to do. I want you to open up, Willie. It won't be half as bad as you think it will."
He knew she was going to upset him again. There was nothing he could do about it. But he'd be damned if he would make it any easier for her. He got up and stood with his back to her, looking out the window.
"Willie, I know it hurts you. You were in a very. . .vulnerable state when you were first brought to Wyndecliffe. It was my responsibility to see that you were given proper care. I know I failed. I failed you."
Damn right, he thought, crossing his arms over his chest.
She was silent a moment, trying to think of what to say next. "Willie, I know you're feeling a lot of anger toward me. And I can't blame you, but I didn't know what was happening."
He felt a stab of anxiety as the emotions from his memories darted in. She had already put him through this once today, why was she doing it again?
"But I know now."
He almost turned to look at her, to see if she was just trying a new tactic or being truthful. Shame, because she might really know, ate at him.
She got up but didn't approach. "Willie, I know how you were hurt. And you aren't over it, don't you see?"
He ground his teeth, wishing he could tell her to leave, not wanting the painful feelings to well up in him the way they had been.
"It's still tearing you up inside. You need to let go—to work through it and feel it." Julia forced herself to stay by her chair.
Damn her! his thoughts raved. What the hell did she know about it? He had been feeling it and going through it over and over. He clenched his hands at his sides.
"Look at you, Willie. You're trembling because it hurts you so much." She stepped toward him, and he moved away. "Willie, please, you're only making it harder on yourself. Look at me." She followed him across the room, but he would not turn and face her. "Willie, I know. It was wrong, and it never should've happened."
He hugged himself, leaning against the wall. He wanted to die now. He didn't think he could take any more of the horror and pain she was causing him to feel even more intensely than before.
"Willie, let go, let it out. Stop fighting it." She touched his arm and he shook her off vehemently. "All right." She sighed. "All right, Willie, you were taken by two men, Wallace Campbell and Steven Roccelli."
The names meant nothing to him. He shook his head, not wanting to hear her say any more, the pain in his heart growing unbearable. Willie shut his eyes hard and put his hands over his ears, but still he could hear.
"They took you out of the ward and to a padded cell. And they put you in a strait-jacket and beat you." She watched him press himself against the wall and put her hands on his shoulders. He didn't react to her touch. "They molested you, Willie, while you were helpless and in severe pain. And you regressed and had to be taken back to the infirmary because of the injuries from the shooting. You shouldn't have been in the ward in the first place. It was all a mistake."
His mind was full of it, the beating with the hose which nearly snapped his sanity, the rest a degradation and violation which under those circumstances helped to break his spirit. The emotions had all rushed back, and he felt something tearing inside. There was no dizzying whirlpool, just a deep well of pain threatening to drown him. He almost felt himself sliding down against the padded wall as his knees gave way, his back feeling open and raw as if someone was blowing it up bit by bit. And he could hardly breathe lying on his arms as they pushed the air from his lungs and helped to keep him from drawing more in. He was helpless, completely helpless. . .
"They hurt you more than once. You were beaten several times." Julia hated herself for forcing him to break down like this, but it was the only way she knew to get through to him. She felt him sob, his muscles relaxing, and pulled him away from the wall. He let her guide him to the bed to sit, and she stayed beside him with her arms around him.
Willie leaned forward over his lap, putting his hands over his face and rocking to and fro. There was no stopping the torrent of emotion that engulfed him. It was everything, all that he was, just one sob after another till his hands and face were slick with tears and his nose ran.
Julia tried to comfort him, holding him till her arms tired, but he didn't seem to notice her. She was afraid to say anything to him even to reassure him. He just cried on and on.
He felt he was almost drowning, his breathing was spasmodic and unsteady. He found himself unable to keep a flood of garbled phrases from pouring out his mouth. Willie hardly knew what he said, just that he was expressing his shock over what happened to him. All the hurt, frustration and anger came up and out, and he raged inside, too out of control to be coherent. His feelings about having a listener to his grief were ambivalent. But they hardly mattered. He couldn't stop himself. There seemed no end to the hurt.
The woman was not able to understand more than a word here and there of what he said, but she didn't need to. She lowered her aching arms from around him but stroked his back and hair with her hands. This was her fault, Julia thought, she would see him through it if he cried all night.
*
Willie hadn't cried all night. Lack of rest from the previous nights had made him tired. He had maneuvered himself into bed and curled up on his side, not completely acknowledging Julia's presence. But he hadn't pushed her hands away either.
He woke in the late morning and lay in bed a while with his eyes closed, thinking. That awful feeling of building tension was gone. It was over, he hoped. Not that he was likely to ever forget. He knew he didn't want to be tested. He wanted out.
Turning on his side, he noticed the pillow was still slightly damp. Remembering the way he had crumbled was still upsetting. Better not to think of it. He was weary, as though he had spent years in a dark dungeon. Maybe now he could get on with his life.
Before long, Willie climbed out of bed and put on his robe. He went to the door and found it locked still. He banged on it a few times.
The key turned in the lock, and Nurse Jackson opened the door for him. She assumed he wanted to use the bathroom and started in that direction after wishing him a pleasant morning.
Willie didn't move and waited for her to come back. "I want my clothes," he said flatly. "Please."
She was obviously surprised that he could speak easily. "Well, of course. Do you want to wash up while I see about it?"
Which meant while she went and told Julia, he thought. It was pointless to argue with her, so he went along.
Back in his room a short while later and having refused a meal, Willie paced impatiently like a caged lion. He knew Julia was on her way, he hoped with his clothes, even if that meant his suit. He could walk away then, and if he had to walk to the nearest bus station, he'd do that before he'd stay another night at Wyndecliffe.
She came in and smiled at him. "How're you doing this morning?" she asked cheerfully, hoping he wouldn't be too embarrassed about the previous night.
He met her eyes with no good humor and tense sullenness. "I want out—that's how good I'm doin'. Where're my clothes?"
She had been afraid he would be hard to deal with. She wanted him to stay a few days for observation but knew it would only make him more unhappy. "I'd hoped you might like to stay here for a while—to take a little vacation, rest up, relax a little."
"You're crazy if ya think I wanna stay in this place. You got no right to keep me here. I just wanna get the hell away from you an' Barnabas an' this whole place. I don' wanna think aboutcha any more or see ya. I just want out." Willie had stepped closer to her. "And as far as I'm concerned, none of ya exist any more for me." He turned away, feeling a little vindicated for the first time.
Julia could not help but be angry, but she was too rational to let it bother her. After all, she had not been the one having a crisis. "What about the money you stole from Barnabas?"
He faced her again. "What about the murder of Dr. Woodard?" He saw her react and quickly cover. "You didn' know I knew about that, did ya?" He spread his hands in a generous gesture but mockingly. "Look, I don' wanna tell anybody about that. As I said, you're history to me."
Willie had stabbed her in her most vulnerable spot. If he was up to playing vicious threatening games, she could reciprocate. "You're not out of here yet, Willie. There's always the ward."
Touché, he thought bitterly. The pain was still too fresh for him to hide his alarm, so he turned away. He forced himself not to say anything until he had recovered his confidence. "I wouldn't think you'd do that. Your conscience must be pretty heavy already."
"I'll do whatever I have to do, and I would like you to stay several days." She looked at him, her eyes cold and piercing from her anger. It was difficult to see his hurt past this hard rationality he had affected. Even more difficult to acknowledge it.
"Forget it. I jus' want out." Her looked at her defiantly.
"We'll talk again when you're more reasonable." She turned to leave, determined that he would stay longer whether he wanted to or not.
Willie grabbed her by the arm before she reached the door and made her turn around. "No!"
"Willie, let go of me." She tried to shake his hand loose.
"No, you let me go. I want out!" He wasn't releasing her until she would listen to him. "I want outta this place."
"Willie, you're not being rational. I know a lot more about these things than you do."
"The hell you do!" Willie was incensed.
Both looked toward the door when it swung in abruptly. Nurse Jackson stepped in quickly behind a couple of attendants. Willie immediately freed Julia, seeing that they were coming for him. She did nothing to stop them in all her anger, wanting him to "learn his lesson".
Willie retreated to the corner near the window, truly feeling irrational now. "Hey, I-I wasn't gonna hurt her."
The nurse looked at Julia, but before she could speak, Julia said, "He's upset. He needs to calm down."
"I don't belong here," Willie appealed to the nurse.
"That's what they all say," said one of the other two men.
"Go ahead, Nurse Jackson," Julia nodded dispassionately.
"Your arm, please, Willie," the nurse said.
Willie looked her in the eyes, searching for compassion and finding it. "Don't. I don' need that." He indicated the loaded syringe in her hand.
Still annoyed and insulted by his total rejection of her attempts to help, Julia went up to the other woman. "Well, what are you waiting for? I told you to go ahead."
Willie looked at the doctor with hatred, feeling himself on the verge of tears at his helplessness. The pressure of anger and frustration in his head made his temples throb and his blood pressure rise. The nurse tried to take his arm, but he backed further away. He was unable to overcome his defensive reactions. Being helpless—he couldn't take it rationally. The fear came back as strong as the anger when the two men reached for him.
Julia watched him struggle with the attendants in a scene reminiscent of his escape attempt in that they seized his arms and held him still between them long enough for the nurse to move his clothes aside and inject him in the hip.
"Goddamn you," Willie ground out between clenched teeth, punctuating the first word with emphasis when the needle went in. He ended up on his knees, the pain of humiliation far greater than that from the shot. The violation of his rights as a feeling person was crushing.
"All right. That'll be all," Julia told them, looking down at Willie who was shaken enough to be crying. The men released him and left with the nurse. He put a hand over his eyes and tried to straighten his robe.
Willie hated himself for falling apart, especially in front of Julia now. "You jus' had to do it, didn't ya?" he said, not bothering to get up. "You jus' had ta break me down." He didn't look at her and rubbed his eyes to try to stop their watering. But he was still wounded; he hadn't healed, and it was all he could do not to sob.
Julia felt the sting of his words and knew she had mishandled the entire situation. "You'll feel better in a few minutes."
He looked up at her and slowly stood up. "What kinda person are you? You can't stand for anybody to have any spirit, can ya? You jus' gotta break 'em down when they stand up to ya. I'll bet you're lousy in bed."
Shocked, she slapped him across the face. It didn't seem to faze him. He just turned away for a minute, then looked back.
"Why don' you jus' let me go?"
The pain and suffering that showed in his eyes and the desperation reached past her personal indignation. "All this time—this last winter—I've become aware of your difficulty in dealing with the past. I just wanted to help you because I never tried when I should have, and because I care. I don't want to fail you again by turning you out before you can deal with the outside world."
"Julia, there is nothing wrong with me now. I can handle myself jus' fine." He rubbed his brow, feeling the effects of the sedative. "I'd be a lot better off somewhere else."
She wanted to point out to him how relatively little it had taken to bring him to tears just now. But saying so would only hurt him. "All right, Willie. You can leave tomorrow. I'm afraid you'll be in no condition to go anywhere the rest of today. Why don't you lie down?"
He sighed and went to the bed. Another day gone, he thought miserably. Maybe she wasn't lying, maybe she'd let him go. He took his robe off and lay down.
Julia stood over him and looked down at him. "I'm sorry, Willie. I shouldn't've let that happen," she admitted. "And I shouldn't've slapped you."
Willie thought the drug was mellowing him out because he felt sorry, too. "I take back what I said." He didn't look at her and closed his glazed eyes. It didn't matter now. If he could just get out tomorrow. . .
*