Chapter 11
I eventually awoke from my nap feeling somewhat well rested and continued my day with my usual routine. I stretched for a few minutes and settled into the meditation-like pose I used only for my visions. I usually searched for important matters—things that would affect the country or simply Mary Alice Brandon—or entertainment. I preferred songs or radio shows, but I'd also get a glimpse of an occasional game broadcasted from nearby.
I didn't really See anything especially noteworthy today, though except for part of a pre-All Hallow's Eve special:
~0 0 0 0~
An assistant on the night crew in the asylum was taking a—probably unauthorized—break and was listening to a radio in the staff rec. room. It wasn't a large room, but at least it had a few windows. It was dark outside, though, so I couldn't see the sun anyway. A bell on the show chimed once…twice…………ten times, signifying the hour. Suddenly, an enthusiastic male announcer's voice came through the speaker.
"Hey all of you folks out there! You're listening to Dennis'n'Dan!"
At this point, a catchy jingle started playing before Dennis or Dan—I had no idea as to who was the one speaking—continued.
"All right folks, to celebrate the arrival of October and to anticipate the coming of All Hallow's Eve, we've got something very special in store for you, tonight. Why don't you tell 'em what it is Dan?" Dennis—apparently—said.
"I'd love to Dennis!" Dan said a little too enthusiastically. "Starting this week, we are going to hold a—" and here music played on the air followed by a high-pitched scream—"Haunt Hour!"
"Forgive me, Dan, but you help me tell the folks back home what exactly is 'Haunt Hour'?"
"Of course, Dennis! For the rest of October, we'll be airing a new series of scary stories from 10:30 to 11:30 every night."
"What do you mean, Dan?"
"Simply that we'll be hosting a different type of radio theatre each night in the spirit of the holidays. You know, Dennis, suspense stories. Thrills! Chills! For example, tonight's segment is a ghost story called 'Highway 11.' Speaking of which, we have a special guest on the show tonight, don't we, Dennis?"
"Yes, we do, Dan. Folks, it's my pleasure to introduce to you, famous voice-actress, Veronica Marshal!"
An applause sound track played over the radio in the dark room. The man sitting in the chair, I realized, must have been sleeping because he groaned and rolled over. . . . . . .onto the floor. This promptly woke him up. He slapped his hand over his face and started rubbing his eyes as the radio show hosts continued with their rambling.
"Thank you, boys, you're both just too kind," said a woman—presumably Veronica Marshal.
"Not at all! Anyway, Miss Marshal, I hear that you've done some work in the segment we're featuring tonight."
The slacking assistant had picked himself up off of the floor and was checking the time on his wrist-watch. He started cursing and ran out of the door, slamming it on his way out.
What made the vision interesting was not the first part, though—it was what happened next. I had been expecting to See the rest of the segment on the radio. Instead, the vision followed the careless employee. It could have just been that my visions had to follow someone, but I had to pay attention regardless. It wasn't worth my energy to tear away from the scene.
The assistant turned into the dimly lit hallway and started sprinting down the hallway, right into Ward 36. He slowed down to a jog, but kept going passed the cells in the ward. I noticed mine with number 0360725 printed on the door as he jogged by it without giving it even a passing glance. He ran another minute down the dim hallway before stopping abruptly and adjusting his uniform into a tidier and more professional state before continuing down the hallway, walking this time—but quickly.
He stopped outside of a room marked 0361019, took a deep breath and put his hand on the doorknob. He grimaced, but placed a sympathetic expression on his face and opened the door.
The room it revealed would have looked exactly like mine except it held more. There were a couple of extra blankets covering the inmate sleeping on the bed as well as a nail on the wall with a large coat hanging off of it. In terms of furniture the room also held a shabby little chair sitting next to a stool. The stool evidently had served as a makeshift table for patient 0361019, for it had the remains of an evening meal on top of it and an extra lantern. To anyone else, the room wouldn't really hold any significance, but it was easy for me to see that for whatever reason, this inmate was getting some extremely special treatment. Could this be because of Whitlock? Was I really not a favorite after all?
The assistant poked his head into the room.
"Mister Grant," he whispered, "you asleep, sir?"
The figure on the mattress stirred and sat up, looking extremely irritated. He looked familiar, but I couldn't remember where I'd seen him. Surely I should have been able to recall someone who was so obviously an Attendant's pet.
"Dammit, Charles. What the hell took you so long?!" Grant snapped before taking in the look on his assistant's guilt-ridden face.
"Okay, look," the kid sighed, "No harm, no foul. I was just scared that my evil step-hag finally got to you. So. . .what's the news? Exactly how 'insane' am I?"
The assistant, Charles, stared at his shoes—which weren't much to look at by the way—but reached into his uniform pocket and drew out a neatly folded piece of paper and trudged towards the boy who hesitantly took the document and handed him a few bills—which explained the "favoratism"—why was I relieved about this? I was pleasantly surprised by the detail of my visions when he unfolded the page and I could clearly read its contents:
[PATIENT PROFILE]
NAME: GRANT O'DONALD
GENDER: MALE
AGE: 15
ETHNICITY: -----------
NUMBER: 0361019
DISCRIPTION:
SANDY BLOND HAIR. BROWN EYES. SHORT.
CONDITION: PARANOIA, DISOBEDIENCE, SEVERE REBELLIOUSNESS, MILD
HALLUCINATIONS, DIAGNOSED AS BIPOLAR.
CONTACTS: MRS. NICHOL O'GRANT-WINTERS
EXTRA NOTES: DO NOT ADD CONTANT INFORMATION UNLESS INSTRUCTED BY MRS.
O'GRANT-WINTERS. ONLY CONTACT BY TELEPHONE. ANY INSTRUCTIONS REGARDING PATIENT ARE TO BE SENT THROUGHT CONTACT(S).
[PATIENT PROFILE/END]
Grant studied the page, grimacing at times and at others, mumbling something under his breath. Finally he folded the page and set it down on a crate serving as a bed-side table.
"Well, it could be worse, I suppose. . ." he sighed as he looked back up at his assistant. "Thank you, Charles. Now, our next move will probably be to—"
"Mr. Grant. Umm. . .actually. . .there's something I wish to discuss with you. . ." The assistant pause and the boy's face visibly drained of all of its color. The assitant continued, "You see, I. . .What I mean is. . .well. . ." He awkwardly cleared his throat before getting it all out in a rush, "It-is-my-regret-to-inform-you-that-I-am-to-be-working-at-this-facility-no-longer." He took a deep breath and said more slowly, more quietly, "I apologize, Mr. Grant. I have decided to quit for. . .personal reasons."
"Do these 'personal reasons' have anything to do with that bitch?!" Grant spat out that last word as if it were poisen in his mouth.
"Sir, I—"
"Look, I don't care anymore. Just leave." He was trembling, but he kept his voice low and controlled.
"Shall I take these," the assistant indicated towards the forgotten, dirty, dinner tray, "before—?"
"GET OUT!" Grant thundered, his voice cracking at the last second—sort of ruining the effect in my opinion.
The assistant bolted, slamming the door behind him as the poor kid broke down and hid his face in his hands only to raise his head a moment later, face wet and fling the dinner tray and all of its contents across the room with a satisfying crash. He took a few deep breaths and then collapsed onto his mattress, utterly exhausted.
Grant closed his eyes tightly before trying to relax. It was only then, with his face looking more serene than it had throughout the rest of the vision that I recalled the seemingly unimportant scene I'd witnessed earlier. I had never seen Grant O'Donald before, but I had Seen him.
~0 0 0 0~
The vision ended, but I honestly didn't see the significance in it. He was just another patient, right? One with some unusual and unfortunate circumstances—and sure, I did feel sorry for him—but he was just another patient among hundreds.
I blinked a few times and took a deep breath preparing for the next vision, but the smell of food stopped me. On the crate next to my bed was a stew, white bread and a rare treat—pudding. My first reaction was that I was actually hallucinating. I'd only received pudding once before—on my first birthday in this place, as per request by my family apparently. Whatever the reason for it being here now, I was thankful. As I started eating, though, I realized that the last vision had been unusually long and someone had seen me in my trance while delivering my meal. I thought of this morning and knew who it probably was—Jasper.
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*Note:
Yes, it has been about two months since I last updated and I'm also disappointed in myself about this (you are not the only one). Please forgive me! I made this chapter twice as long, if that's any consolation. Something sort of funny: I started writing this chapter the day after holloween and only continued it starting the day after Thanksgiving. Okay, that's sad, not funny….
I realized that this chapter will be very disappointing because it introduces an OC as more than just a background character. . .and it doesn't have Jasper in it. . . Jasper is still in the story, though, so don't give up on my please. (I'll stop now.)
Grant will not equal Jacob either. Just had to say it in case people think that there will be some chemistry Grant and Alice. Okay.
Until Next time!!!!!
~Larry the Cucumber :( sorry.