So the staff at Redwood slowly slipped. If you look in the hallway on the second floor, near the break room for the staff, there is a wing dedicated to the doctors of Redwood. Photograph after photograph of white coats and stern faces grace the intricate wallpaper in carefully crafted gilded frames. A few are smiling demurely at the camera. Many wear spectacles. Their names are inscribed on tiny plaques. Some names are still remembered, some forgotten. But several are, above all else, notorious.
Not all their smiles are out of concern for the patients. It is well-known that in the history of the asylum, some have used their power in the hallways of Redwood for malice. Some have taken on a self-proclaimed god-like stance in the meddling with their patients. Some have gone downright mad themselves. One, a Dr. Woolstone, was even murdered within the walls. Many felt he deserved it for his wicked practices. Others claim that the black-haired girl who did it was demented in her own right.
Several doctors now preside over Redwood. Dr. Righthound, who almost failed out of medical school but was saved by a last-minute awareness of the importance of studying—and perhaps his father’s connection to the dean at the medical school. Dr. Mason, who is genuinely quiet and seems to have a care for his patients even though he is approaching the age of eighty and struggles with mobility. And then there is Dr. Bluefield, who does not technically earn the title of doctor, but the staff refer to him that way in spite of his lacking credentials. He never completed his studies at medical school, but his father is friends with the current owner of Redwood, so exceptions were made. Technically, he is simply a medical assistant. Practically, he is used as a doctor for all intents and purposes. Laws and legal ramifications and moral codes of ethics are, after all, used as guidelines at Redwood as any staff quickly learns.
The doctors don’t have the wickedness of some of their predecessors, true. But over the years, working with those deemed insane and dangerous will plague a person. A surge of power is difficult to squelch, so if one were to keep vigil over their actions, one would perhaps see examples that appear to be cruel, ruthless, and unnecessary.
The staff—the nurses, the cooks, the maids, and the assistants—hail from a wide range of walks of life. When looking for workers, the asylum tends to seek those who will not run a confidentiality risk, who will do their job, keep their noses down, and go home to sleep. For Redwood to truly remain tucked away, this is crucial. Selfie queens, those chasing larger-than-life dreams, and those with big families to gossip with need not apply. The asylum certainly values medical experience, but more than that, it values those who are looking to blend in and be forgotten, much like the residents at Redwood. Drifters, ex-convicts looking for a second chance, loners—these are the gilded qualifications sought by the Redwood higher ups. Unsavory workers to other institutions are treasured in Redwood simply because those with little will do a lot and put up with a lot. They are easier to be silenced by any and all means.
The wealthy families who pay for their family members to reside at Redwood look the other way when it comes to the staff. They are not fools, of course. They just, perhaps, do not care as much as one would think they should. Better tucked away with unsavory workers than put on display in their own mansions, the tabloids of social gossip squelching their reputations.
And how do the criminally insane, the wardens of the state, end up at a private institution? Money talks. It is something the founder, Francis Weathergate, knew. It is something the current board knows and those charged with carrying on the Weathergate legacy understand. You can cover up any sins with the right bribes, with the right amount of money, or with the best set of resources. Who has time to investigate a few criminally insane psychopaths, after all? And who will even want to invest the energy?
Prestige is a fantasy, isn’t it? It can be spun and finagled so that anything, from a decrepit stone building to workers of ill-repute, can appear as the chosen ones, as the elite.
Redwood has always been an expert, after all, at covering up, at making things glitter that really should scream.
Chapter Five
Ispent the next night studying 5B whenever I had a free moment—which wasn’t often, in truth. I learned that although the staff at Redwood were discreet, they weren’t always reliable. It seemed that the Friday flu was extremely contagious in the asylum—and so was the Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday flu. Luckily, the loneliness of my apartment and the curiosity surrounding the patients made it easier to come to work, even on my days off. When I was busy, there wasn’t time to be lost in the past, either, which was an added bonus. Quickly, I found myself consumed by the asylum. It sometimes felt like I actually lived there, too. I did, truthfully.
When I had a chance to take his meds to him, I decided I would try to memorize the phrases he spewed. I needed to write it all down and see if I could piece it together. I had taken
