Confinement Read online

  All the gates were patrolled by guards in khaki green uniforms. In the past five years, only one inmate had escaped. He'd been caught two days later, accidentally shot in the throat by a guard, and died an hour later. That sent a chill through the rest of the hospital. It quieted us inmates down good.

  After my time outdoors, when I came back to the dayroom, Sharon wanted to make bets about the verdict, but I refused to play games. My heart was in the courtroom with Duffino. I was waiting for them to send her to me.

  On the day of the summation I went running down to the entrance gate to get the paper the minute it arrived. The guard at the main gate grinned when I grabbed one from the pile.

  "What difference does it make what they decide?,” he said. “She's on trial, not you. She’s not getting out and you’re not either.”

  I tucked the paper under my arm, "You never know," I chuckled and ran upstairs to a couch in the dayroom.

  That morning there were no pictures of Duffino, only of the prosecutor standing in front of the jury, smirking. Under his picture was his speech.

  "There were plenty of people there when the stabbings took place. There was not one witness on the defendant's behalf. Not one person has come forward to say she didn't do it. She, herself, refuses to speak. When the police arrived, she was there with the bodies. The evidence is overwhelming. You must come back with Murder One."

  Duffino's attorney was quoted as well.

  "Be merciful ladies and gentlemen. There was tremendous confusion when the stabbing took place. It was late, hot. A few people there thought they saw her do it. But can they really be sure? Kids were yelling, falling over each other. Once a rumble like this starts, there’s no stopping it. Maybe one person's hand held the knife - but the entire gang wanted it to happen. How about the spectators? Did they want it too? If there is even a chance, that someone pushed her hand, you cannot find Duffino guilty of Murder One.

  “What’s happened to our children? Who’s fault is it? Duffino is still only a child, raised in a good Catholic family with no previous history of any offense. She was a model student, a loving daughter. What makes something like this happen? What turns a kid’s life around? I say this was a crime of circumstances, committed in shock. I say we’re all guilty for the state of our kids. Call it Temporary Insanity. She has refused to speak in her own behalf, doesn’t understand what’s happening, is not in her right mind now. She is not fit to be sentenced. Is it right to execute a person who has no idea of her crime?"

  Sweat must have poured down Daren Logen's face while he spoke, his hands must have been shaking. The court fan must have whirred grimly, as the jury listened stone-faced. The entire courtroom must have been deathly still.

  "At the very least," Daren Logen summed up, "if Duffino has to be confined, do not send her to prison. Send her to a hospital with perfect treatment for cases like this.

  "YES," I shouted as I was reading. "Duffino’s coming. The Princess of Peace."

  It only took the jury two hours to decide.

  "The evidence was not foolproof, there were unanswered questions in everyone's mind. Until Duffino spoke, no one could be certain. Duffino was found Not Guilty by reason of insanity, then as I had known, sentenced to Bingham. Her family was willing for her to experiment with the Cure."

  Some inmates smiled, some grunted. Lanny was thrilled and ran right over.

  "Good job, Charlotte," he yelled, "it was you who did it!"

  When the announcement was made officially at dinner, the inmates finally got excited. Everyone started to clap.

  Dr. Whitney stood at the front table in the dining room, holding the microphone in his hands. Before he spoke, he tapped his glass with a fork. Everyone stopped talking.

  He lifted the paper and started to read.

  "DUFFINO FOUND INSANE: SENTENCED TO BINGHAM. Bingham Mental Hospital for the criminally insane opened it's doors six years ago. It is an experimental institution for those who have been found guilty of crimes and yet still judged to be amenable to the Cure.

  "Headed by the brilliant Dr. Ephraim Whitney, author and founder of Insulin Therapy, Bingham is supported by a unique staff, top experts on the innermost secrets of the criminally insane. This extraordinary institution has agreed to take Duffino in."

  Dr. Whitney put the paper down, scraped his throat slowly and smiled.

  "This is wonderful news. We have been singled out to receive one of the nation's most unusual cases. We must all be very proud. "We all will be watched very carefully now. Reporters will be coming regularly to write about her progress. Don't let that upset you. Be kind to Duffino, she's been through an ordeal.”

  A long, brooding silence followed his words.

  ** ** *

  For a few days after that, the phones in the main office didn't stop ringing. Dr. Whitney, delighted, made a statement to the press:

  "We are proud to accept Duffino to Bingham. And I personally guarantee that within one year of her being here, Insulin Therapy will no longer be considered experimental. She will prove the effectiveness of our unique treatment. Years of research and development will all be proven to be true. Duffino will speak again! She will be on her way to a Cure."

  My heart couldn't stop pounding as I read his words. Given their unique methods! That grated me the most. What did they really know about us? Tell me one time any doctor here touched our hearts? I was the one who would help cure Duffino. That much was clear.

  After I read and re-read his statement, I folded the newspapers I'd collected into tiny bits and hid it under my narrow, steel frame bed. I did this at some risk to myself, too, because patients are not allowed to hold onto magazines, newspapers, scraps of papers, or stories with grim endings.

  My mind was racing. The press would be here all the time. There was too much interest in the case to let it subside. Would I finally have a chance to speak out? Would I have a chance to tell about my crime and that I’d been found guilty and sent here without ever having been put on trial?

  My mind raced back to the convent I was raised in. I thought of Dorothea, the nun. Would Duffino be like her? What room would she be assigned to? Probably sub-basement at first. When would I see her, what would I say? What kind of strength had kept her silent so long?

  She would be here soon and I had to get ready. I rushed to my room, slammed the door shut, and knelt in prayer besides the far wall. I looked high up through the small, barred window as the evening light criss crossed in, making shadows on the wall.

  "Jesus, help her," I murmured over and over. Outside, the trees rustled and the sky turned from gray to black. I must have knelt like that until early morning because all the next day my knees were sore.

  * * * * * *

  No one knew exactly when Duffino was assigned to arrive, but a few nights later, after dinner, Lanny came running up to me.

  "Duffino's arriving first thing tomorrow morning."

  "What?" My fat hands got cold. I rubbed them on my sides.

  "And she still hasn't spoken a word," Lanny said. "I overheard them down at case conference. They're putting security on special alert. Reporters are coming with her.”

  "Victory," I blurted suddenly, and raised my two arms, like flags, to the sky.

  I was admitted six years ago, right after my fourteenth birthday, when Bingham had just opened its doors. The head sisters in the convent I was raised in brought me over with trembling hands.

  I remember the day clearly. It was hot and humid with a sweet scent of clover in the air. The windows of our car were open, and I put my face out to feel the passing breeze. As we drove through the rolling, green hills I wondered where we were going.

  As soon as we arrived we were rushed to Dr. Whitney's office.

  "We don't know what else to do with her," they whispered to Dr. Whitney, who wore a white uniform and looked at me from far away. "She's too young to stand trial."

  He nodded his head.

  "And we can't let this news out of how the sister died," the h
ead nun, Margaret, spoke very fast. "It would be disastrous for the entire convent."

  I saw Dr. Whitney take a few steps back. Even though he was interested, this whole thing made him nervous. It was easy to see.

  The sisters went on pleading anyhow, "Do it for us, Doctor Whitney. Please. Just take her in quietly. No one can understand how it happened. Charlotte's an orphan. She's still only a child. She was a perfect child until this happened. She was left on our doorsteps as an infant. We watched her grow through the years."

  They couldn't bring themselves to speak further, however, about my heinous deed.

  Dr. Whitney scraped his throat firmly.

  "This is an experimental institution, you realize?"

  Sister Teresa lowered her head. Sister Margaret did not.

  "Our entire existence is based upon Insulin Therapy," Dr. Whitney continued. "When they are ready, we put patients into a series of comas, so they can re-live their crime. It is powerful in cases such as these."

  Once again he looked oddly at me. I must have looked very peculiar. The sisters had forgotten to brush my hair, and my lower lip drooped uncontrollably. It wasn't that I was insane. It was that I never really had a chance to cry.

  "I trust you'll take fine care of her, doctor," was all

  Sister Teresa could say.

  "Believe me, Sister Teresa," he answered, "Charlotte will thrive here. We are on the verge of finding a Cure."

  "God be praised," she murmured. "Our entire convent would be forever grateful to you."

  "Charlotte is accepted." Dr. Whitney proclaimed and motioned for the nurse who had been standing in the corner, to come and take my pudgy hand. I watched the sisters band together, turn their backs and quickly leave.

  * * * * *

  At first, I could not sleep here at all. Many nights I stared at the ceiling, with no idea where I belonged. Finally when I did sleep, Dorothea came to me in my dreams. She told me she was watching over me now. She'd been assigned as my guardian angel. I didn't believe her, even in my sleep.

  She didn't look much different than the day I killed her. Softer maybe, a little more peaceful. But her eyes still had that same haunted glare.

  "Get away," I yelled. "You're not my guardian angel," I told her. "Someday I'll have a guardian angel, though. And I'll know it the minute she comes to town."

  * * * *

  Duffino was scheduled to arrive early next Monday morning. Usually new patients spent the first few days alone, but rumor spread all over Bingham that she would be placed with a roommate immediately. She was to have constant care and supervision. She was going to be observed by the press frequently. This case would put Bingham in the spotlight. The staff was thrilled.

  For a few days no one talked about anything else except who Duffino's roommate would be. Most thought it would be Else, who was calmer, and ready to be discharged. Then there was a rumor we were all in for a big surprise. This case was so unusual, they were going to try something different, right from the start.

  Lanny came running to me the night before Duffino arrived. I was just walking into the dayroom. He was breathing hard.

  "Charlotte, I can't believe it."

  "What?"

  "You've been chosen,"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You're gonna be Duffino's roommate."

  My heart started pounding, and would not stop. "Me, why?

  "Nobody knows."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Believe me. Probably because you read about her so much."

  My entire body began trembling.

  "Because you've been here so long time, are the same age and both were raised Catholics."

  "That's not why," Sharon barked, walking in behind him. "It's because Charlotte talks all the time, keeps us up day and night - they think this will be good for someone who won't talk."

  "No," Lanny growled. "That's not it."

  I still couldn't understand it. My mind flipped back and forth. I thought back to the days in the convent, when Father Paul always said, "Do not be amazed when the hand of the Lord reaches out."

  Lanny stared at me closely.

  "I'm not ready for this, so fast," I said. "I thought first she'd be put in sub-basement."

  "They can't do that with the reporters here," Lanny said. "And think about it, who else could they choose? After all, you're both innocent. Right?" Then he looked at me through half closed eyes. "Sooner or later each of us has to have a roommate. It's better to have an innocent one."

  "You think they're both innocent, Sharon scoffed.

  "All of us!" Lanny yelled suddenly. "We're all innocent, we're all God's children." His face was getting blotchy and red.

  "It's okay, Lanny," I reached out my hand. Lanny couldn't stand it when anyone was called guilty. His face broke out in blotches, his lips got narrow and tight.

  "And, you, told me, Charlotte," he still was yelling, "that you were singled out for good behavior in the convent." He held onto that memory for dear life.

  "A long time ago."

  "Time doesn't matter." Lanny's voice suddenly had a sharp edge.

  Despite myself, I felt like crying. Lanny didn't know that Duffino reminded me of Dorothea. He didn't know I was being given a second chance.

  "I'm being given a second chance," I whispered.

  "For what?" he said.

  "We all need second chances, Lanny."

  "There are no second chances," he stamped his foot on the floor.

  "Go back to your chess game, Lanny."

  His eyes grew narrow. "Why should I? This is the best chess game. I'll be watching every move both of you make."

  * * * * *

  First thing the next morning I was summoned to the main office. My legs trembled as I walked. They wanted to run, but I wouldn't let them. Walk, I commanded them. Behave yourself.

  The main office at Bingham was open, inviting, filled with green plants and huge trees in clay pots. On the main wall, behind the receptionist, hung a huge painting of the sun. Most of the visitors remarked about the painting as soon as they came in. As I got closer, my legs slowed down, and my heart started racing again. The door was open wide and Dr. Whitney was standing there, waiting for me to come in. Beside him was a tall, girl with huge, dark eyes. She was dressed in a khaki, prisoner's uniform, staring at the wall.

  Duffino, I thought, immobile. Two nurses stood close guard behind her.

  Dr. Whitney looked up, and with a wave of his hand, beckoned me to come in.

  "Come right in, Charlotte."

  I took a tiny step forward.

  "I would like you to meet our newest admission."

  I couldn't look right at her, though.

  "This is Duffino," Dr. Whitney continued.

  He had no idea how to proceed. He didn't really know how to make her feel welcome. He was counting on me for that.

  I looked up and saw three reporters right behind her. One flashed his camera as I looked his way. For a second I wanted to grin into the camera and wave my fat hand.

  Dr. Whitney continued speaking methodically, so the reporters could take notes.

  "After careful consideration, our committee has decided that you, Charlotte, will be the perfect roommate for Duffino."

  My mind began swimming again. His voice receded into the background and sounded as if it were coming from miles away.

  "Say hello to each other, girls."

  He lifted his head and smiled for the camera.

  Neither she nor I said anything.

  "Say hello to Duffino, Charlotte."

  "Hello Duffino." My voice felt thick and garbled like old pea soup.

  Duffino just stared ahead as if I were not there.

  Dr. Whitney looked slightly disgruntled. "This is a difficult adjustment for Duffino. We all must give her time."

  "Duffino has all the time she wants," I responded as the reporters wrote everything down.

  Duffino just remained immobile.

  "Hello Duffino," I tri
ed again, a trace of roughness in my tone. I quickly realized Duffino would never answer if I spoke too kindly. Kindness would be an assault of the worst kind.

  Dr. Whitney went on briskly as well. He turned to Duffino. "It's clear to all of us that Charlotte will be the best roommate for you. She has been here a long while, and has made great progress. She's close to your age, and is very familiar with the routines."

  I felt that Duffino wanted to spit at Dr. Whitney's face. As I stood there, I could feel her feelings, watch the thoughts toss around in her mind. I could feel the ice running in her thin veins along her long, perfect arms.

  "Charlotte read about your case, from cover to cover, every single day."

  I felt my face turn beet red. Exposed, shamed, for no reason at all.

  Duffino's hands clenched tight.

  "Charlotte will help you get used to everything."

  That's not the real reason they chose me, I wanted to tell her. The angels arranged it Duffino, don't be afraid.

  "Is there anything you want to ask us, Charlotte?"

  "Nothing." I could be silent too, like Duffino. I could show her I respected who she was.

  "Fine. Just be a good friend to Duffino."

  Then he smiled right at the reporters one last time.

  No matter what he did, though, Duffino showed no reaction at all. That itself impressed me greatly. I looked at her closely to see how she did it. I saw was her alabaster skin and swan-like neck. She looked even more like Dorothea in person. Why was she being sent back to me now? Was she guilty or innocent? Would it would be my duty, one day, to speak to her about guilt? Would it be up to me to release her from this terrible prison she'd placed herself in, the walls of silence she was surrounding herself in?