Jack looked around the room, trying to decide which bed was his.
“You can have either,” Edgar said. “That one there belonged to Lawson but he was taken to the ER last week. They came and got his things a few days ago. Some say he’s in a coma, others say he’s dead. Either way he won’t be returning, so help yourself.” Everything Edgar said was slow and stretched out.
Jack didn’t have anything to put in the closet as the clothes on his back had been taken four months ago. Seeing an opportunity, Cowboy swung his legs off the bed and tossed the magazine. He spoke in a thick Texas accent. “You need anything, just come to me. I can get it.”
Jack got up and checked the grated windows. They were locked and couldn’t be opened without a key. “I was told there was a commissary for that,” Jack said without looking at him.
He chuckled. “Hey Stretch,” he said referring to Edgar. “You hear that?” He looked back at him. “Commissary doesn’t hand out cigarettes, alcohol or… well you know…” He looked around the room. “I would say more but they’re listening.”
“Staff?” Jack asked.
“No, the others.”
Jack frowned and Edgar filled in the blanks. “Cowboy here thinks the CIA has this place tapped.” He put a finger up to his head and twirled it around a few times.
“Hey fuck you, Stretch. I know what’s going on. I’m not crazy.” He returned to reading his magazine.
Right then the door unlocked and a young psych tech came in, early twenties, his head was shaved and he wore a scowl. “Is that chewing gum?”
“It’s from the commissary,” Edgar said.
“Yeah, from Lawson’s commissary. I saw your list, Edgar. Gum wasn’t on it. You know the deal about sharing.”
Edgar groaned.
“Besides. It should be in the commissary box.”
“Come on, Seth, give me a break. Just this one time.”
Seth gritted his teeth and raised a finger at him. “One time. That’s it.”
“Ah you’re golden, Seth.” He looked at Jack. “Seth Adams here is the only decent one on the unit. It’s Jenkins and Porter who let the team down, isn’t that right, Seth?”
He rolled his eyes and jerked his head. “Winchester. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“The doc wants to see you. Give you the welcome tour.”
“More like a warning,” Cowboy muttered without looking. “Don’t let ’em break you, Jack,” he said. “He acts all meek and mild but he’s the devil in disguise.”
Seth thumbed towards the door and Jack looked at the others before reluctantly heading back into the hallway. It was calm, quiet and many of the doors on the dorms were now open. As they passed by the day room, Jack cast a sideways glance. Two nurses were clearing up around the guy who was still mopping blood.
They continued on past the nurses station and to an office at the end of a long hallway. In gold lettering on the outside of the window was the name: Dr. Chapman. A quick knock and a male voice beckoned them in. Adams opened the door and held the handle as Jack stepped inside the cramped room.
A rough-looking, overweight, middle-aged man in a creased gray suit sat in front of a single opaque window, behind a metal desk that had one chair in front of it for visitors. In front of him was an aging computer, with a phone to the side. Directly in front of that was a heaped pile of charts, and paperwork stuffed into yellow folders, a red stapler, a container of pens and an overfilled wastebasket on the floor. “Please, take a seat. Excuse the mess. They’re a little behind in getting everything digitized,” he said rising to his feet. He placed a folder inside a dented gunmetal cabinet. “But we’re getting there. Slowly,” he said. Jack took a seat and glanced at the photos of a family. Two children, teen girls, and a wife that looked as if she’d been convinced into taking the photo. Chapman took a seat, set a yellow folder in front of him in and shifted his thick glasses on the bridge of his nose. He sniffed hard and squinted. “Jack Winchester. I must say I have been looking forward to your arrival. How are you?”
A pause.
“Is that meant to be a joke?”
He smiled and adjusted his hands in front of him. “Of course not. I’m sorry you had to witness that today. Ms. Harvey was the head nurse here at Holbrook for the past nine years. A real loss. She’ll be missed, that’s for sure.”
Jack frowned. “Missed?”
“I’m afraid so. Died on route to the hospital.”
“I thought this was one?”
“Different. We can handle small matters — scrapes, minor cuts, bruises. Our focus though is on mental illness. The ER in Saranac Lake is setup for trauma.” He gave a pained expression then thumbed a few pieces of paper. “Anyway, why did you intervene today?” he asked before peering over his spectacles.
“It was the right thing to do.”
“Huh?” Chapman said leaning back and removing his glasses. He chewed on an earpiece. “And yet you didn’t know what was right or wrong when you murdered the Lewis family.”
Jack shook his head and blew out his cheeks. “I didn’t do it.”
He glanced down. “Well, that’s not what your chart says. Then again it does say you were on meth at the time.” He glanced up. “Probably impaired your memory of the event.”
Jack snorted and smiled. “I’ve never taken meth in my life.”
“Well that’s not what your…”
“…chart says, right,” Jack said, cutting him off. Someone had set him up, of that he was sure.
Chapman stared at him for an uncomfortable length of time like he was some lab experiment. He scribbled on the sheet but covered it before Jack could see what it said. “Tell me, Jack, are you hearing any voices?”
“Only yours.”
“Experiencing hallucinations?”
“Not so far unless you’re one.”
Chapman cracked a smile.
“What about hurting yourself or
