Mad House

"I wish," inmate librarian Darcy sighed, "I could get authorization for pen and pad to record your poetic gems almost as much as I wish I understood what you are saying."

I smiled. It was best to leave it vague and indefinite. "Just a meaningless jarble of words," I assured her.

Inmate librarian Darcy turned on her unshod heel sending the hospital gown into a swirl around her body to approach the plexiglass enclosure to request approval. Her round bottom peeked out of the open tail of the hospital gown as she strode to the transparent fortress where the real salaried librarian sat in imperious detachment. The hair on her head grew back sufficiently to allow her to create a puff on top, reminding me of the pretty pixie bob she sported when she was apprehended.

A lawyer before she was unceremoniously yanked out of her office and dropped in here, Darcy was elegantly dressed as she presented a stoic face in the holding cell. Hands in cuffs behind her were adorned by gold bracelets. A matching gold necklace with a heart hung around her neck. Dressed in a fashionable blue pinstriped suit, with skirt and dark stockings, the epitome of professionality, Darcy looked out at the ward through wide lensed, gold -- framed glasses.

I had already been immured here at Davis Memorial awhile when Darcy was brought into the holding cell. Before Merry's arrival, I hadn't yet found any entertainment value in the ritualized reduction of an individual to psychiatric inmate. My partner Merry who arrived in the shipment before Darcy introduced me to the appreciation of the spectacle as a spectator sport of sorts. "Breaks up the day," assured she.

"Man," exclaimed Merry watching the ritual unfold, "the orderlies are going to kill each other to claim her booty."

"She is tasteful in her selection of accessories. Her jewellery does look exquisite," I appraised the tastefulness of Darcy's jewels, "nicely complementing her pin striped outfit."

Laughing Merry snickered, "Jewellery--huh? That too!"

When Darcy's pin striped jacket was removed, huge sweat stairs were visible under the arms of her long sleeve white blouse.

When one of the nurses who clustered around Darcy to claim the garments claimed the stain will wash out, Merry quipped, "I wonder if the stain in her knickers will also wash out." When head bowed, eye lids shuttered Darcy, silently dignified in her humiliation, was reduced to standing bare breasted in embroidered silk panties inscribed with her initials DD in script on the right side of front panel, "Dry," declared Merry, "it'd have sworn that after arrest, manhandling, and detention, Miss Prissy would have pissed herself or sprouted a gushing period. Balls of Steel, figuratively!"

"I wonder which one of those nurse -- vultures will swipe the embroidered undies," I remarked. "I've heard Sally cried and protested `Seniolity' when they took her out of the Portal for causing resistance from the prisoners."

"Look at that rack," Merry admired Darcy's breasts, "Double Ds definitely. And look she flaunts it on her knickers." Accompanying a wild look crossing Merry's face, Merry screamed out, "No need to advertise. You can't hide knockers like that."

Stepping out of her lacy frilly undies presenting herself naked, Darcy styled her pubic hair in a narrow, trimmed landing topped by a ball of fluffed - up hair. I cringed when Merry sang out, "Look at that sculpted pussy, it's a -- work of art. She must think a lot of herself."

"Stripped of her adornments, in the natural state," I evaluated the body on display, "a woman presents her person as she is without the polite conventions and superficialities of daily life."

"Huh--I'm not sure I understand all of what you said," Merry scrutinized Darcy as Darcy was moved forward to be shorn, "but I agree she's a political, another freedom -- loving angry political `patients,' full of self -- righteousness. More dangerously opportunistic than a crook."

"Really? You can see that much by looking at the woman forced to undress and treated like cattle," I prodded Merry.

"Take the word of a self -- acknowledged crook," Merry thought aloud, "Yeah, politicos believe too much in their righteous cause to realize a simple truth that every crook understands. A crook is an opportunist; a crook will push back to the limits, but a crook has no illusions," Merry chuckled, "A crook knows that she'll be back stuck dealing with the same people. Let's see how this newcomer handles her visit to the eh--salon, for a new coiffure."

No tears, after being shorn, Darcy, tapping her hand on the top of her head, declared, "I do like to keep my hair manageably short."

Handed the goo, Darcy looked down at her crotch. "Not much to remove down there." The nurse glared at her. Emotionless, Darcy squatted to work the goo in.

Installed as Inmate Librarian shortly after surviving inprocessing, Darcy now waited patiently for the real librarians installed behind a barrier to finish chatting before she requested approval. Under her breath, Darcy apologized, "they're too busy, trading gossip and doing personal business on government time, to take much interest in what prisoners read. They're more interested in remembering the number of steps to their 'escape hatch,' a stairway to the first floor and out of the building in case of trouble."

I might have tried to attract the attention of the librarians busied behind their plexiglass fortification, but the subject of the librarian's gossip was Nurse Sally.

"Imagine, Sally's husband, a doctor, just cashed out and returned home to his country to build a big mansion over there," the chief librarian told her assistant, "And she decided to remain behind to pursue a tax -- free disability pension."

"With the amount of time Sally misses due to on -- the job -- injuries, altercations with the nuts we have around here," the assistant librarian noted, "Sally has plenty of time off to jet back and forth to visit her dream castle. And think with all that 'location' pay that she gets to work in a nut house what a disability pension would look like on top of all her compensation awards. I guess Uncle Sap has paid for every brick on her mansion."

"When her husband pulled out," the chief librarian reported, "Sally sold her house in Clinton Gardens, got a great price and took a flat over in the Woodhull apartments right nearby here on Bedlam Island.. She saves every dime; she even walks to work ...."

The assistant tapped her boss to alert the chief librarian to indicate my presence and that of Darcy. "How can," the assistant asked, "we help you, Darcy?" Informed I wanted to read, the assistant instead of inquiring into the nature of my reading, perfunctorily dismissed Darcy, "Just set her up at a terminal. I'm taking lunch."

As the paid librarians disappeared down the escape hatch, Darcy requested, "Oh Jane, what's your pleasure today? We have all the whitewash revisionist History, politically correct Testaments, properly sensitized classical literature, feel -- good made -- up news or the constitution and laws of a state of non -- law?"

"Today, I'd like to read up on Bedlam Island," I made my selection.

"Hmm, travel and tourism -- eh," Darcy quipped, "You know, I'll put you on the chief librarian's account. That way you can continue to surf the internet even if our heroic librarians," Darcy looked toward the vacant booth, "don't come back from lunch. Hmpf--those two heroes vent a lot of venom about Nurse Sally's absences due to injuries on the job, but never fear Nurse Sally gets beaten down but always returns to work."

I simply nodded and smiled.

Information from the municipal government showed that great plans were in the work for Bedlam Island. "The success of Windsor Towers on the north end of the island," the report boasted, "and the opening of the commuter service to the island has made it a fashionable commuter suburb. The values of shares in the Windsor Tower condominiums have tripled in a short period of time."

Leaning over my shoulder, Darcy remarked, "That Sally once again has lucked out. When ready to leave, Sally'll leave with more greenbacks in her pocket. Read on.."

I smiled and nodded as I continued to read the report. "Once a preserve migrating goony birds shared with the loons, the mentally ill," the report continued, "and homeless of the city of Metropolis, Bedlam Island has found funding for its struggling, underfunded mental hospital out of selling off residential plots for development. In the years ahead, the tangled reeds and refuse on the island will disappear, replaced by housing in planned communities, consistent with preserving the ecology. Now, in the Windsor Towers among the elite lives, Sally Sorvadis, a nurse at Davis Memorial who purchased her spacious ground floor apartment--1A--before the commuter station opened sending prices skyrocketing."

I looked at Darcy. Was I being fed information about Nurse Sally? Why?

As I continued reading about the history of the island back to its settlement by Jonas Bedlam who after "finding the rock laden soil inhospitable to farming, dedicated the island to the city of Metropolis for use as a haven for the poor and mentally unfit on the mean streets of the growing city."

"Once a nuthouse always a nuthouse," I commented when Darcy approached to tell me it was time for lunch.

"Hope you learned something this morning," Darcy chided me.

I nodded stupidly.

"Oh, by the way, Lady Jane," Darcy looked around to see if anyone was watching, "a word of advice. You really should start trying to get yourself out of here." In an emphatic tone, Darcy added, "Start today."

"Should I have a friend mail me a cake with a file inside?" I asked. "I could file through the bars on the windows and lower myself to the ground in a bed sheet, like in the really old movies."

"Get attached to the brave new world, built back better," Darcy urged me, "To take the way forward, you must participate in some of the programs Davis has created for rehabilitation: diversity and inclusion," under her breath, she added, "we must learn and adopt their ways not vice -- versa;" Resuming audibility, she declared, "transgender studies," In an undertone, she quipped, "Men can really have babies." She chuckled before exclaiming, "the joys of proper politically correct pronouns -- no more he or she, him or her." In a barely audible whisper, she qualified, "We oughtn't offend the `he' who thinks he's a `she.'" Returning to a normal speaking voice she concluded, "the autism spectrum." Under her breath she backpedaled, "not everybody is that stupid."

"Better to think quietly and dismissed as a fool than speak and prove it," I replied as vaguely as I could.

"You must watch it, young lady," Darcy laughed, "dangerous thought, you quote an un-extirpated source. Mr Lincoln, an unabashed white supremist who paid black soldiers $2 less than white soldiers, quoted an un -- deracinated version of a racist, homophobic book." Under her breath, Darcy advised, "I must teach you the art of sweet talking: saying one thing, meaning another."

"To preserve sanity, activity most necessary," I picked my words carefully, "to escape the endless humdrum ordinary, and to endure the daily routine, in the library, my haven, to cipher the nuances of antique runes, and while away the hours of a dull afternoon."

"You're incurable," Darcy laughed, "and that's what the Docs will declare you if you don't circle back and engage in eh--your own rehabilitation. Think on it. You have to change."

At that Merry arrived in the library to rouse me from the dreamy realm of books.

Acknowledging her presence, Darcy pleaded, "Ask your buddy, Merry. This place has already changed you -- in some respects. And you must complete the process of transformation in accepting the new order, at least on a palatable superficial level." Darcy shouted in frustration, "Tell her, Merry, you're her partner. Jane's alternative is bus therapy between mental facilities, worse than Davis, up yonder."

Merry ran a finger through my closely trimmed scalp. "We're lucky to have each other, but you're no crook. You can't afford to stand out with a trademarked M.O." Merry planted her lips against mine, "It may take a little time but with practice you can conform just enough to make it back to the street ugh -- or wherever it is you want to go -- My Love."

I heard a chuckling Darcy, slipping away, snickered "Hmpf Jane thinks she hasn't changed," as I felt Merry's lips against mine. Her tongue slithered into my mouth. I grabbed her hips pulling her body into mine. I parted the flaps of her hospital gown to massage that muscular apple bottom. "I want to fuck," Merry pulled away and looked around furtively, "but not now. We have to wait to lights -- out."

We passed through the ward, a sea of cots bolted to the floor toward a corner where the galley was located. "What do you suppose the bill of fare is today," I asked Merry, "beans, potatoes, rice, noodles, whatever is cheapest? I hope not beans."

"Agreed," Merry affirmed, "This plexiglassed cage, a windowless hell will stink so bad most of the staff will go home sick." Shaking her head, Merry added, "Guaranteed, Nurse Sally will report in, and stay her shift until properly relieved, unless she's incapacitated beforehand."

As we wheedled our way through the cots crammed in together, Merry exclaimed, "I can see why you, as long as you've been here, turned down a bunk to keep your spot on the floor by the baseboard."

"Question," I posed, "Among the gorgeous mosaic crammed in here, who is most dangerous to a porcelain doll like Nurse Sally, the angry freedom loving political `patients,' in for attitude adjustment, the crooks, the homeless or the nuts?"

"Oh, yes Sally sure looks like a porcelain doll," the crook thought aloud, "The obvious choice the self-righteous politicos would make is wrong. A crook is an opportunist; a crook will push the doll to the limits, but if the porcelain doll won't back down, a crook backs off. Leave the doll alone."

"Why would a crook back off a soft target?" I wondered aloud.

"A crook has no illusions," Merry chuckled, "A crook knows that even walking on the current bid doesn't end it. The next trip to the lock-up isn't far behind and who's waiting there to make you suffer. In here that means: making sure you really chew up and swallow the zombie pills they force feed you -- chirping in her squirrel yelps: 'Yum-yum is good for you,' daily 'physical examinations:' squealing like a squirrel getting fucked as she chirps, 'bend, touch toes, leach behind, splead cheeks.' Service with a smile courtesy of the porcelain doll."

"Homeless street people?" I asked.

"They're manipulative, that's for sure and dangerous -- they have nothing and no trouble is plentier than a person with nothing to lose," Merry pondered the question, "With no residence, homeless are more dangerous than the craziest of the crazies. Davis has no place to release a homeless to, consequently a life sentence to Bus Therapy."

"Homeless will try to make a violent break," I prodded.

"But homeless," Merry explained, "don't think ahead. What do you do next? You overpower Dolly, knock her to the ground pulverize her. Easy enough. Now, how do you get out of here?"

"Indeed," I observed. "Even if you found some clothes, the unmanned checkpoints are opened by the staff's thump print."

"Like the air conditioning and the old-fashioned overhead fans swirling above us, dangling from a tin plated ceiling with chipping lead paint, most scanners are never cleaned, maintained or repaired," Merry advised, "the ritual stroking of the scanner is for show -- for the inmates. Only occasionally staff forgets."

"So you're out of the building with the nurse's key card on the photo id she wears around her chain," prodded, "What's next?

"Hmm," Merry concluded, "Where do you go, once you're out of the building? That and every step leading up to it must be worked out before you make your move."

At the acrylic enclosed Nurses' station in dead -- center in the sea of cots, Merry passed right while I passed left. The area was deserted. The nurses were chatting. I paused to listen.

"With all her absences--two days here -- three there--Sally spends more time in the ER here than any other person," a Head Nurse, protected by a plexiglass shield at a nursing station, told her supervising Nurse manager.

"Sally's down there right now, away from the ward since the shouting match at the portal," the Nurse Manager reported.

"Yet," the head nurse responded, "no head nurse, tied down filling out Sally's accident reports, has recommended poor Sally for dismissal."

The nurse manager chirped, "And Sally with all her seniority insists on taking Annual Leave -- six weeks. That's Sally's `light?'" The manager mimicked Sally's accent. "Looking down to her desk, she added, "Looks like one -- a couple of days -- is coming up -- starting tomorrow."

"Yet, Sally is one of the few nurses," said the head nurse to her nurse manager, "who last the test of time. Most nurses, despite the pay, won't last long at Davis. The few willing to stick it out and stay for the long haul get themselves promoted to desk work. So, as long as Sally is willing to come back after getting bashed by a patient, she has a job."

"With the heavy turn -- over, we might put Sally's talent to good use in training," the manager quipped, "teaching: `What not to do in patient care at Davis.'"

"Despite the turn -- over," the Head Nurse replied, "`The Word' magically passes among the nursing staff. Staff nurses regard Sally as a jinx who invites attack. Nurses run at the first hint of trouble and refuse to wait past their shift to assist Sally finish up, if she runs into trouble..."

"Survival of the fittest," the manager exclaimed, "the pack sacrifices its weakest member to ..." At that point the conversants both turned toward me and the conversation ended in mid -- sentence. I passed along to lunch as if I had heard nothing.

After lunch, at Merry's encouragement, I joined her for about an hour of the workout before I returned to the library. "Sign up for any programs, yet?" Darcy asked after I was seated at a console. When I smiled, Darcy sighed and looked away shaking her head as if she were signalling someone. I turned to look, I could see no one.

"Bad decision! With the overcrowding," Darcy continued, "Davis is anxious to release cooperative patients working toward attitudinal adjustment and ultimate rehabilitation and restoration to their place in society. Otherwise, you're headed to bus therapy."

"Restoration? Have you thought," I inquired, "How much of your old life is still out there?" In a sympathetic tone, I added, "Others have taken your place. If your husband was dragged down with you, his balls have been snipped upstairs, your children are fostered out, your house foreclosed and some foreigner like Sally sits in your office. If not, your husband has sued you for divorce and has a fresh playmate. Either way, you have nothing to go home to. So, enjoy your stay here."

I read into the new commuter line which connected Bedlam with the rest of Metropolis. It was now an engineering marvel which provided connections to Metropolis' most distant suburbs from Philadelphia to Providence with connection to the National Railways at several points along the way. "With the Bedlam station dead center in the middle of this coiling snake, the real estate boom on Bedlam Island should ..."

At 3:45 PM, Darcy wandered over. Reading over my shoulder, Darcy "Staff will be disappointed. Sally will hang on longer to take advantage of this new wave of updrafts in Bedlam prices." Looking up at the clock, Darcy announced she had to close down the library for the night. Though Darcy usually allowed me to stay past 4PM closing time, she received orders for me to report to the nursing station.