I’m writing in the afternoon instead of my usual late night, last minute time. My hair is coming out like crazy and tonight I’m getting what’s left shaved. I’m guessing I won’t feel like writing after that. And I’m not even at home. I’m watching my son and his dog in Agility class. Sort of watching. Trying to balance everything.
Hannah didn’t understand why it was so easy to walk thorugh the halls in the dark. She looked in corners for cameras and kept glancing over her shoulder. She came up to a door that was a prettier wood and that had a brass plate at its center. Office.
The door was locked. She knelt down to pick the lock, but when the metal of her lockpick touched the keyhole, she heard a low whir. The door swung open.
Hannah hesitated. The empty office beckoned. File cabinets waited behind a large desk next to a wide window. Things of metal and glass gleamed in the dark. She entered the room.
In other parts of the Asylum, patients were waking up. In one room woke a woman in her middle years. She dreamed every night of night of shoes. Her file said she’d killed her sisters in an argument over shoes and a man.
Next to her woke a young man accused of following one too many dancing girls. And in the next room woke another young man who believed he’d been turned into a swan.
All the patients woke, but they didn’t all get up from their beds. A few were afraid. They had no memory of waking up in the night and they imagined monsters or witches in corners waiting for them to give themselves away.
A few though were thrilled at being out of bed even if they couldn’t open their doors. One woman immediately began to dance. Another woman worked at pulling her bed apart as if she were searching for something under the mattress.
The night had been disrupted, and management was about to notice.