Chapter 18 - The Palace of White Walls
Deep within the cold,
sterile,
and heavily secured walls of the state psychiatric hospital,
Evelyn Sterling sat on the edge of her perfectly made,
stiff single bed,
staring blankly at the solid,
unbreakable white wall of her tiny,
windowless room.
She was wearing a shapeless,
scratchy hospital gown that smelled strongly of industrial bleach,
her bare feet resting on the freezing,
polished linoleum floor,
her hair cut short and practical by the ruthless,
impatient nursing staff.
The massive,
sweeping mansions,
the crystal chandeliers,
and the endless flow of expensive,
imported vintage wines were completely gone,
replaced by a terrifying,
monotonous reality of timed medications,
plastic spoons,
and the constant,
unnerving screams of the other disturbed patients echoing down the long,
fluorescent-lit corridors.
But Evelyn did not hear the screams,
and she did not feel the freezing floor beneath her bare feet,
because her fragile,
egotistical mind had finally,
completely snapped,
locking her inside a permanent,
inescapable hallucination of extreme wealth and power.
She raised her hand gracefully,
adjusting an invisible,
heavy diamond tiara that she believed was resting firmly upon her head,
a delusional,
arrogant smile spreading slowly across her pale,
wrinkled face.
"Henri,"
she called out sharply,
her voice echoing loudly off the bare,
padded walls of her small room,
"Henri,
you incompetent fool,
my tea is absolutely freezing,
and I specifically requested the beluga caviar for my afternoon snack!"
The heavy,
reinforced metal door clicked open,
and a tired,
heavily built nurse named Brenda stepped into the room,
carrying a small paper cup filled with three brightly colored,
heavy sedatives and a small plastic cup of lukewarm tap water.
"Time for your medication,
Evelyn,"
Brenda stated firmly,
her voice bored and completely devoid of any sympathy,
having dealt with Evelyn's delusional,
arrogant outbursts every single day for the past three months.
Evelyn glared at the nurse,
her eyes flashing with intense,
toxic indignation,
seeing not a medical professional,
but a disobedient,
insolent maid who dared to interrupt her luxurious afternoon.
"How dare you speak to me in that tone,
you wretched,
miserable peasant!"
Evelyn shrieked,
pointing a shaking,
bony finger at the exhausted nurse,
"I am Evelyn Sterling,
my son is a billionaire,
and I will have you fired,
thrown into the street,
and blacklisted from every wealthy household in this city!"
Brenda sighed heavily,
rolling her eyes,
stepping forward and grabbing Evelyn's arm with a strong,
unyielding grip.
"Open your mouth,
Evelyn,
or I'm calling the orderlies to restrain you again,"
Brenda warned coldly,
shoving the small paper cup toward Evelyn's cracked,
dry lips.
Evelyn violently swatted the cup away,
sending the pills scattering across the sterile floor,
her face twisting into a mask of pure,
unhinged fury.
"Guards!"
Evelyn screamed at the top of her lungs,
thrashing wildly against the nurse's strong grip,
"security,
arrest this filthy woman,
call my personal attorney,
call the mayor,
they are trying to poison me!"
Within seconds,
two massive,
muscular orderlies rushed into the tiny room,
grabbing Evelyn by the shoulders and pushing her forcefully down onto the stiff mattress,
ignoring her hysterical,
delusional threats.
Brenda calmly picked a backup dose of the heavy sedatives from her cart,
stepping forward with a small,
sharp syringe filled with a thick,
cloudy liquid.
"I am the queen of this city!"
Evelyn sobbed uncontrollably as the cold needle pierced her thin,
fragile skin,
her delusional empire crumbling instantly under the heavy,
crushing weight of the chemical restraints.
"You are a patient in ward 4B,"
Brenda replied flatly,
pulling the empty syringe away,
"and nobody is ever coming to visit you,
so you better get used to the quiet."
As the heavy,
suffocating darkness of the medication washed over her frantic,
broken mind,
Evelyn stared at the blank white ceiling,
still dreaming of crystal chandeliers and velvet gowns,
forever trapped in a padded,
May you like
inescapable throne room of her own pathetic,
miserable making.
