Trick of the Mind — 29 & 30 by Maeryn Lamonte Melanie Ezell's big closet ultimate writer's challenge — Written From The Heart Thanks to Wren Erendae Phoenix for editing/proofing. The hospital and courtroom scenes depicted in this chapter are fictional and bear little or no resemblance to real life (as far as I'm aware). Warning: This chapter deals with Richard's time in the mental hospital and may be disturbing to some readers. The chapter has been printed in red and there is a short synopsis at the end to cover the basics and maintain continuity in the story should you prefer not to read the full thing. Barely ten minutes after being locked up, the key turned again and I was led out of the cell and the courthouse, and handed up into the back of an ambulance, where I was made to lie down on the stretcher. A couple of burly male nurses sat in with me, intimidating enough to keep me in my place simply by looking at me, and we drove off for destination unknown. There was no urgency so we shuffled through the lunchtime traffic at the same frustratingly slow pace as everyone else.

-oOo-

The ambulance turned through a gate and pulled up under a concrete awning. As soon as we were stationary, one of the nurses opened the doors, while the other all but lifted me bodily off the gurney and handed me out.

“Hey guys, I can walk,” I said indignantly. They ignored me and strong-armed me through a glass sliding door into a large reception area. One of my escorts exchanged a few brief words with a bored receptionist and they marched me past into the labyrinthine interior.

I was led down an endless succession of magnolia corridors, all the while struggling to keep up and cursing my subconscious for hobbling me with this skirt and these shoes. Eventually we reached another set of double doors — wooden this time, with bars over frosted glass and a keypad lock. On the other side I was led to a small, empty room and locked in.

I don't know how long they left me there. Their brutal lack of anything approaching civilised behaviour had me off balance, and scared me so much that I didn't even think to look at my watch, instead I hunkered down in a corner and sort of shrivelled up into myself. If this was the sort of treatment I could look forward to for the rest of my life, I wasn't sure I would want to survive long. I thought of Jen, the one bright spark in my life, but even that was marred by what her father had done to me. How could he hate me so much that he was prepared to consign me to this?

“Take off your clothes.” There was a tinny quality to the voice as though it were reverberating around the insides of a metal box.

“Wha...?”

“Your clothes, Richard. Remove them.”

I caught a movement in the corner of my eye and looked up into the face of one of the nurses from the ambulance. He was standing behind a window staring in at me, a microphone on the desk in front of him.

I'm not sure why I did it, some sort of deep seated, instinctive recognition of an alpha male type or something, but I stripped. Shoes, tights, skirt, blouse, bra, everything until I stood, huddled and self-conscious, in a pair of lacy, powder blue knickers. I folded my Chinos and shirt, balled my socks and put them in my shoes. When I was done, I looked up at the window again, feeling, if anything, even more cowed and vulnerable.

“All of it Richard.” The voice was implacable, emotionless but insistent.

I slipped off the last of my underwear and folded my boxers before adding them to the pile.

“Jewellery as well, Richard. Watch and chain, take them off.”

I slipped the watch off, feeling neither sentimental attachment, nor pressing need for it, but the chain was my link to Jen. I felt the vague stirrings of rebellion.

“No, not this. You can have the rest but not this.”

“Richard, if you don't take it off yourself, we'll be forced to take it from you.”

“No!” I yelled.

The man behind the glass sighed, but the glint in his eye betrayed a malicious anticipation rather than any sense of regret. A moment later, he and his colleague entered the room. The later very rapidly putting me in a full nelson, straining my arms and neck painfully even though I knew better than to fight back. The former took hold of Jen's pendant and yanked it hard, breaking the chain in two places. He dropped it with the rest of my things and picked up the bundle.

The one holding me let go, deliberately pushing me off balance so that I collapsed in a hopeless, helpless heap. The two of them marched out of the room, throwing a set of thick, white canvas pyjamas back into the room with me before slamming the heavy iron door home once more.

“Get dressed.”

The voice and the voyeur were back. I crawled over to the new clothes, catching the silvery glint of something as I went. I diverted just enough to scoop it up, then pulled on the pyjamas. The long, ankle length Victorian night gown seemed appropriate to the austerity of this place, with its high neckline and long sleeves. The elegant lace down the front of the bodice was beautiful, but it was an otherwise very practical, purposeful garment, leaving nothing exposed. I felt comforted , almost protected, by it as my two minders led me back out into the main ward.

I was given a quick orientation, which more or less consisted of showing me the main communal area, which doubled as the canteen, before pushing me into my room.

“The rules here are simple, Richard. You eat when we say you eat, you take your medicine when we say to take you medicine, and you don't make any trouble. Break any of these rules and we get to show you how unhappy that makes us. You understand?”

I wanted to stare him in the eye, but something about the place, about my predicament, was getting to me and I could barely bring myself to raise my eyes from the floor. I nodded, defeated.

Mr Loquacious managed a laugh that was almost all sneer. “You'll fit in just right here, Richard.” and with that, he shut the door, leaving me to the horror of my private thoughts and imaginings.

-oOo-

The next two weeks were a gradual descent into nightmare. The first day I was there, I was given a paper cup with an assortment of pills and a glass of water. I asked what they were and, for my troubles, ended up in an arm lock again while the medication was forced onto my tongue, and my mouth and nose held closed until I couldn't help but swallow them.

“You take your medicine when we tell you to take your medicine,” one of the thugs said as he released me.

The drugs left me feeling nauseous and withdrawn, as though I had somehow retreated inside my head. I could barely even taste the residual foulness of the tablets on my tongue so far was I removed from reality.

The next day, I tried to hide the tablets under my tongue, but either I didn't do it very well, or these guys were better trained than I expected at spotting such things. Strong fingers dug into my jaw, forcing my mouth open, and what felt like half a hand disappeared under my tongue, rough nails scratching my gums and scooping out the tablets. Yet again mouth and nose were clamped shut until I had no option but swallow. Yet again the rules were hissed into my ear.

I gave up then, turning into the meek little drone they wanted me to be, willing to do whatever I was told, whenever I was told. I gave into the drugs too, receding further into the depths of my mind until it seemed I was watching someone else play out their life in front of me.

Pyjamas were changed daily and, as I swapped one identical set of canvas whites for another, my mind went into overdrive. Floaty chiffon in a riot of colours turned me into a pastel rainbow one day, the next a bright pink Power Puff Girls tee-shirt, barely covering a pair of ruffled pink panties. No two outfits the same, no warning of what the next twenty four hours would bring. Outlandish or sensible, long or short, loud or subtle.

In the early days as I lost control, I would find myself flouncing and pirouetting down the corridors, giggling and grinning like I belonged. Then the paranoia set in and it seemed that everyone, inmates and staff alike, were glowering at me, staring into my heart and soul, seemingly unearthing my secret and radiating their disgust at me. That was when I took to cowering and whimpering in the corner of whatever room they led me to. The worst was yet to come though.

Before long the faces around me changed, blurred and lost their distinctness, then reformed into some caricature of my own. The bodies altered as well, as did the clothes, until I was surrounded by grotesque imitations of myself. Fat, thin, tall, short, young, old, hairy, bald, made all the more ludicrous by the endless stream of beautiful dresses they all wore. The parade continued, moving in to become more crowded, more frenetic, until I started screaming and wouldn't stop until two bulky versions of myself — one in a pink tutu, the other in a long, white wedding dress — dragged me to my room and left me alternately giggling and weeping.

In my rare lucid moments, my mind turned to Mr T's betrayal, and Jen's desertion, just as painful as that of my family. I had no concept of the passage of time, but in however long I had been there, I had not had one visitor. Not my parents, not Alice, not Jen, no-one. I fell tumbling into a deep, dark pit of despair, where the anguish and terrible loneliness became so great, I almost welcomed my next cup of pills and their promised return to madness.

My one safe place in all this was in bed, in the few minutes before I fell asleep. The newly administered drugs would be prowling around the edges of my sanity like malignant smoke, probing, seeking a way in. I would wrap the small piece of chain I had rescued from my pendant around the fourth finger of my left hand and stare at it, directing every last iota of my will into believing in Jen, in hoping she was safe, that she was only being kept from me, that somehow she was still fighting for me. At times the silver chain would shimmer and transform into a golden band, separating and encircling a single sapphire, which glowed with an inner fire and the same deep, clear blue of Jen's eyes. In my mind I held onto the image of her tear-streaked face the last time I saw her, and in my heart I refused to believe she would give up on me.

Then a day came when things were different. The drugs were different, less aggressive, more calming. I slept — for the first time in a lifetime it seemed — without nightmares and panic attacks. I woke feeling rested, though still apart from everything, as though I were floating above and behind myself. On the end of the bed were my Chinos and white shirt, my socks and shoes, my watch and the broken remains of my pendant.

After breakfast I was permitted to shower, then one of the nurses had me sit in front of a mirror while he carefully shaved off two weeks of stubble. Back in my room, I operated puppet strings to dress myself and watched my smart clothes shimmer and change into a beautiful brocade ball gown, silk stockings and comfortable flat shoes. I wanted to spend time on my hair and makeup, but the nurses insisted that it was time to leave, so I followed them out to a waiting ambulance, which my addled mind transformed into a silver carriage with four beautifully matched white horses at the front.

The journey to the courthouse was gentle and passed in silence, with two burly footmen riding inside the carriage with me. I allowed them to help me down then, hitching my long skirts, I swept up the stairs like a princess returning to her palace.

I was led into the same courtroom as before and directed to a seat in a box by myself — as only seemed befitting for a princess. There were other people already there talking, but their voices were muffled and distant. I think I recognised my father and one or two of his flunkies, but I couldn’t understand why they were wearing skirts and stilettos. It made me giggle, and the judge said something to me. His voice was blurred and indistinct and he looked so foolish in his platinum blonde wig and frilly pink dress, I giggled all over again. His voice sounded angry though, so I suppressed any further reaction and settled demurely where I was.

I couldn’t understand anything that was being said around me, the voices reduced to a deep, monotonous, indistinct noise and nothing made sense. Everyone seemed to smile at me though, so I sat quietly and was grateful for even the slightest respite from the... Where was it I had just come from?

The murmuring drone went on for a long while and I sat in silence and waited. At one stage they seemed to be asking me questions, and I tried to respond saying that I didn’t understand. My mouth seemed filled with cotton wool though and I couldn't form the words. It didn’t take long before they gave up and the discussion took a different turn.

I was beginning to lose interest when the doors to the courtroom burst open and a large number of people charged in. Voices were raised on both sides, and the sudden change in mood struck my fragile mental state like a sledge hammer against a delicate porcelain vase. There was a loud scream, which I only later discovered to be me, and everything went black.

-oOo-

Synopsis of the above:

Richard is remanded to a mental institution where he is drugged with unpleasant results. Two weeks later he is returned to the courthouse, still under the influence, and unable to follow the proceedings. Part way through, other people barge into the court room, there's a lot of shouting culminating in Richard screaming and collapsing.

-oOo-

The next thing I knew was a cool hand gently stroking my cheek, though I couldn’t figure out why it felt fuzzy. I opened my eyes and concentrated for a few seconds. Jen’s beautiful face swam into focus.

“Hey Jen, it’s so good to see you.”

Her eyes flooded and she threw her arms around me, snagging tubes and wires. It was actually quite painful and the monitors to the side of my bed beeped in protest.

“Oh Richard I was so scared! I thought I’d lost you.”

A nurse came running into the room and separated us, rearranged the medical paraphernalia and left after a few warning words to Jen.

The hug had kick started my brain a bit.

“Your Dad Jen, he sold us out.”

“What!”

“Yeah, at the first hearing. He kept telling me to keep my mouth shut. If I’d fought a bit harder and said my piece, they wouldn’t have been able to have me committed.”

Jen was too stunned to reply immediately so I filled the silence with a bit of repetition.

“It’s so good to see you Jen, I’m glad they’re allowing me visitors now.”

The last bit kind of faded out towards the end. I didn’t have a lot of strength.

“Richard you’ve got it wrong. Dad didn’t sell you out, he saved you.”

That roused me a bit. “What are you talking about?”

“He needed you to keep quiet to stop the judge from having you and him removed from the courtroom. He needed solid evidence to take to a high court judge, which meant he needed to be there when the judge pronounced.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s kind of complicated so I’ll let him explain it more fully when he gets here, but basically your dad had some pretty high up friends in the local courts. This judge was working the system to your dad’s benefit. Conducting the proceedings in a closed session meant that there would be pretty much no chance of anyone reading the court transcripts. They made sure they were assigned a clerk who was unlikely to spot anything unusual and less likely to do anything about if she did. Then they put on a show to make the transcripts look valid to a cursory glance. Apparently things like this happen far more often at county court level than people realise, although not usually with as serious an outcome as this.

“Your dad, the psychiatrist and the judge are currently having a hard time coming up with an explanation for what they were doing and why you had been committed to the mental wing of a private hospital where you were being given some fairly strong psychotropic drugs.

“When my dad’s guys invaded the courtroom and all hell broke loose, you had some kind of psychotic break and collapsed. You’ve been unconscious for the last four days and I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to wake up for the last three.”

“You must be exhausted.”

“I am a little tired, but I wouldn’t have slept anyway. When Dad reported back to us what happened a few weeks ago, I pretty much forced Mum to drive us over here. I’m just so relieved you’re OK.”

“As am I.”

I looked up to see Mr T standing in the doorway smiling at both of us.

“I understand I have you to thank for getting me out of this mess.”

He shrugged. “I’m only glad I could help, Richard. What your Dad and his friends had planned for you was unconscionable.”

“There was a time there when I thought you were in on it. I should apologise for that right out.”

“You have nothing to apologise for Richard. You’ve been through quite an ordeal and I’m only sorry I couldn’t end it sooner.

“I’m also sorry for what I’m about to ask of you. Not immediately, but soon, I’d like you to talk about what happened to you in another tribunal.”

I must have looked panicked because he raised his hands quickly.

“Richard don’t worry, it won’t be anything like what you been through. For one thing the law says you haven’t done anything wrong so there is no risk of reprisals towards you. For another thing the people I’d like you to talk to are sympathetic towards you and what you’ve been through; they would just like to hear about your experiences directly from you. Lastly, if you’re not up to it, there is another way we can do it, called a deposition. It’s not so effective in the courtroom, because there's no option to cross-examine, but we can set up a camera in a private room somewhere and record the session to playback to the judge.

“I’m not going to ask anything more than you’re prepared to offer — God knows you’ve been through enough in the past two weeks — so please don’t worry.”

I found myself doing as he suggested and the heart monitor settled to a gentler rhythm.

He looked at us and smiled. “Right now I think the best thing both of you can do is sleep. Jen you look exhausted and Richard you look so much better than when we picked you up off that courtroom floor, but you still have a lot more mending to do.

“Don’t even think about what I said just now. You need to rest and get better. Young lady, follow me, we’re going to find you a proper bed.”

-oOo-

The next few days took on something of a routine. Jen came as soon as she could persuade her mother to bring her every morning and, since the nurses already knew how much of a fuss she was prepared to make, they let her stay with me through most of the day.

We didn’t talk much, but each of us was glad of the other’s presence. I kept drifting in and out of consciousness, but it was normal sleep and much needed as my body purged itself of the drugs and my mind rebuilt itself. Jen sat and read for the most part, every now and again reaching out to touch me as if needing the reassurance that I was still there.

Every now and then a nurse would take me off to a different part of the hospital for tests, at which point I found myself grateful for the hypnotic suggestion that had apparently survived the battlefield that was my mind. Jen had told me that I was wearing one of those ridiculous doesn’t quite do up at the back hospital gowns which did nothing to hide my modesty from behind. From my point of view, the white lace full length nightdress that I found myself wearing most days was far less draughty and less embarrassing.

I thought through what Mr T had asked and on one of his visits agreed to the court appearance.

“I never pegged you for a lawyer.” I told him.

“Barrister please. Lawyers have such a bad name.”

“Tell me about that first court appearance.”

He took a breath and thought for a few seconds.

“Most legal practice in this country is open to public review; it helps to keep it honest. There are times however when individuals involved in a court case need to be protected, either their identities kept secret or sensitive information that might affect them in matters not related to the case kept from the public. In those cases the judge can use his discretion to hold a closed hearing where only those parties directly involved in the court case hear the matters discussed.

“The high court has its own means for auditing closed cases, but county courts are a different matter. County court judges are given the same discretion to hold closed sessions, but there is no process of accountability in such cases. Many county courts do audit their closed sessions, but a great many more simply trust their judges to behave honourably. Unfortunately, while most judges do behave honourably, there are those who find reasons to justify circumventing due process. Usually they are greedy people working alongside corrupt businessmen in order to line their own pockets at the public’s expense. Only very rarely do you find situations like this one.

“I suspected something of what they intended when they sent that letter instructing me to bring you to the courthouse. I needed you to remain calm in there so they would have no reason to remove us, which would have prevented me from putting together the necessary evidence to take it to higher authority.

“They denied you your right to legal counsel, even telling you that you had no need in the preliminary hearing. They ignored existing legal precedent that recognises your mental condition as having no need for intervention. They remanded you in custody in a psychiatric institution despite your being neither mentally ill nor a flight risk. Worst of all they treated you with powerful psychotropic drugs and in doing so risked your mental well-being.

“I didn’t anticipate that last one. If I'd had any idea that they intended such a thing, I would have acted far sooner. I thought they would simply keep you locked away until the trial proper, but they seemed to think the trial was a rubber stamp on a decision they had already made, so Dr Finster decided not to wait before starting your treatment .”

“So why did it take so long? What were you doing while I was in that place?”

He shrugged. “Digging out the transcript of the preliminary to present as evidence, talking to high court judges, presenting them with enough testimony to persuade them that it was worth their while auditing this particular hearing, organising a group of bailiffs to enter the courtroom during the secondary hearing so we could catch them in the act and arrest as many co-conspirators as possible.”

“Why did they do it?” I had an idea but I didn’t want it to be true.

“We’re still waiting for the whole picture, but we think the main driving force was your father’s concern of how public knowledge of your unusual lifestyle preferences might affect his reputation and the mental health of your mother. The latter is a more laudable reason, but in no way justifies what was done to you.”

“They’d have left me in that place for the rest of my life?”

“Ignorance is bliss Richard. Your father might never have visited you there but would have accepted his doctor friend’s assurance that you were receiving appropriate medical care. He would have massaged his conscience with the thought that you were in good hands and then gone on to live a contented life without the worry of what might one day come out of your closet.”

“How’re my mum and Alice?”

“Your mother had a breakdown when your father was arrested. The doctors think that she already had a fragile state of mind and this was the final straw. Apparently she sits in a chair all day staring out the window, telling anyone who will listen how she can't believe this is happening again.

“Your sister Alice does send her apologies. She will come and see you as soon as she can, but she feels a duty towards your mother right now.”

“I caused her breakdown. This is my fault.”

“Now let’s not go down that route or I shall have to slap you, hospital or no hospital. You are the way you are and no amount of wanting to be otherwise will make you different. You were dealing with your condition in the most responsible manner possible. You've already explained it well enough to me, and I've found corroborating evidence to support your story.

“Since you can't do anything about that side of yourself, your decision to indulge yourself as little as you could bear and in private was the most sensible course of action. That things have been exacerbated by this hypnotic trance you are currently under is not your fault. That your father reacted to your confession the way he did and initiated the course of events that led to our current circumstances, again is not your fault. That your mother has been unable to come to terms with your preferences are her own problem and may stem from whoever Stanley is or was.”

“Uncle Stan? What about him?”

“Was he the one who found you out when you were fifteen? Your mother keeps saying that all this is just like Stanley. I think I may have to spend a little more time looking into him.”

I was tiring again and Mr T backed out of the room taking Jen with him as the end of the day was fast approaching.

“Thanks again for agreeing to give your testimony. I’ll schedule you for an appearance on Thursday if that’s OK?”

“I’m guessing there is going to be a defence council with a bunch of nasty questions for me?”

“Yes there will be Richard but there is no jury to convince, just a judge. CfD may try a few nasty tricks — make out that you were behaving shamefully and threatening your dad's business, that sort of thing — but as long as you’re as open and honest as you were with Sharon and myself, you should be able to tie him up in knots.”

I slept well again that night and in the morning was pestering the nurses and doctors about when I might actually leave. They told me that whilst this was a sure sign I was recovering there were still quite a few tests and observations they wanted to do to ensure I was going to be OK before they let me loose on the world again.

-oOo-