White Walls

By Lauren Hammond

Adelaide Carmichael knows that she's lost her mind.

She's aware that she's being sent to The Oakhill Institution, but she's been told that she's being sent there to get better. She's been told that the staff is there to help.

And it doesn't take Adelaide long to discover that she was very, very wrong about The Oakhill Institution. Patients roam the halls like zombies. Electric currents vibrate through the plaster walls. Patients are fed sedatives like mashed potatoes and now Adelaide knows one thing for sure, she wants out.

And she'll do whatever she can to escape.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lauren Hammond
• Release date: Mar 20, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310673979

Lauren Hammond

S.B. Addison Books is a small traditional publisher with an independent edge. Our main focus is quality not quantity. We love books and we love the people who read them.

Book preview

Prologue

January 1954

Only God can judge me.

That was one Daddy's favorite things to say to Mommy whenever she was trying to get him to change something about himself.

What do you think the towns-people say when you walk into the liquor store and spend over twenty dollars every week? Mommy asked. She was trying to get Daddy to understand the severity of his problem.

He replied with, I don't give a damn what they think, Monique. Because only God can judge me.

But you're wrong Daddy.

So very, very wrong.

Because a jury of your peers can judge you too and something tells me that God would be more lenient.

Especially with the prosecution's secret weapon.

Me.

~ ~ ~

It's during Daddy's trial that I recall the first time he ever hit me.

When Mommy was around she talked him into building me a sandbox. I remember watching him build it. He spent four days straight, outside in the hot blistering sun. Sawing and hammering. Sawing and hammering. When he finished it and I dashed out the back door to play in it. I remember seeing a twinkle in his eye. He seemed happy that I was happy.

But I was wrong.

He didn't build that sandbox for me.

He built it for Mommy because she asked him to. Later I realized that he was on his best behavior during that time. Mommy was already drifting away, a glittering particle of dust in a ray of sunshine, and he was trying to catch her and keep her.

Forever.

Sometimes Mommy would stare off. She seemed lost in a world that no one else was invited to accompany her to. At the time she might have thought I was too young to notice, but I wasn't.

And I did.

I did notice.

Once I asked her, Mommy, what's wrong? You look so sad. We sat at her vanity and she dabbed lavender roll on perfume on my wrists. It was a ritual of ours. I frowned up at her through the mirror and grabbed her hand.

The sad look quickly evaporated from her face and Mommy replaced that look with a bright smile. She squeezed my hand. Nothing my little bird. Then she crouched down beside me, kissed my forehead, and took my wrist in her hand, sniffing it. You smell lovely.

So do you Mommy.

Another bright smile.

I knew she was lying and I knew she was lying to protect me in her own way. After dusk, I used to lie in my bed with my pillow wrapped around my ears to drown out the screaming from Mommy and Daddy as they argued and the sound of our household items shattered against the hardwood floor.

Then one day, after one of those arguments I woke up, and Mommy was gone.

A few days later, I was playing in the sand box Daddy built me. All of a sudden I looked up and Daddy was next to me. He didn't look right. His eyes were rimmed in red. He kept sniffling. All the color was gone from his peach colored skin. I hurt because Daddy hurt. And because I loved him, I wanted to do something to make him feel better. Daddy, I'm building sand castles, I said in a light-hearted voice. Come build some with me.

Daddy dropped his gaze to my hand as I extended it, reaching for his. When he raised his eyes, it was like something inside of him had snapped. He wasn't sad anymore. He didn't look hopeless. He looked mean. His eyes narrowed and he jerked me to my feet by the collar of my dress. You don't have any buckets. His voice was hoarse. Gravelly.

What, daddy? I didn't know how to react. I'd never seen him like this.

Then he brought his hand down and cracked me across the jaw. The slap stung. Tears welled in my eyes. I kept asking myself where my nice Daddy went. But before I could ask him that question myself he shoved my face in the sand and screamed in my ear, You build sand castles with fucking buckets!

I never played in that sandbox again.

The courtroom where Daddy's trial is being held is small. There are rows of wooden benches. Eight on each side. I'm sitting in the first bench on the right. The room is filled with hushed chatter and as my eyes sweep over every bench I realize that I'm looking for two people that I know won't be in this room.

Mommy and Damien.

In the last bench on the same side of the room as me are Damien's' parents. Seeing them sends a surge of pain through my heart. I clutch my chest, my eyes water, and I have difficulty breathing. I gasp out as the pain spreads to my side and center my gaze on my lap, watching as the tears fall from my eyes, dotting my daffodil colored dress.

Suddenly, all of the chatter in the room cuts out. The doors in the back of the courtroom swing open and I see my daddy. He's dressed in a jumpsuit the color of slate. His hair is long and shaggy. He has scruff on his jaw line. Two police officers escort him down the aisle and his hands are cuffed behind his back. His feet are shackled and the jingling of chains ring out through the silent courtroom.

And his eyes are locked on me.

There's no love in them.

No remorse.

Once again, to him, all of this is my fault.

The only thing present in his eyes is pure hatred.

I keep my gaze deadlocked with his because I realize what he's trying to do. He's trying to get me to submit. He's trying to abuse me in an emotional way, by terrifying me from testifying against him. He thinks that his deadly stare will cripple me, turning me into a blubbering, pleading mess of the past. And his look does strangle me, but not because I'm afraid. No. I'm done letting this man terrify me. His hateful glare strangles me because I realize that to Daddy, I'm a nuisance and that he doesn't love me at all.

I drop my gaze to my lap, sucking back tears. All I've ever wanted was Daddy to love me in some way. But I know somehow that some people are just incapable of loving. Daddy is one of them. How can he love someone else if he doesn't even love himself?

You can’t find love at the bottom of a bottle, daddy. All you’ll find is a headache and maybe a worm.

The judge leaves his chambers and every person in the courtroom rises to their feet. Daddy's eyes are still on me. They cut through my skin and all the hair on my arms stand up.

I exhale and throw my shoulders back.

I won't let him intimidate me.

For once I want him to know what it feels like to be treated the way he treated me all of these years. I want justice for what he's done and I'm thankful that he's going to get what's coming to him. And because I'm nothing like him, because I'm not full of hatred, I pray that when the judge reads the verdict that God has mercy on his miserable soul.

Chapter One

My cell is a hot box.

It is filled with a barrier of smoke so thick that I can’t see past it. Help! I shriek, twisting beneath the restraints of my straightjacket. Help!

Marjorie came in earlier and fastened me into the straightjacket. She told me I’d be safer that way.

Fuck Marjorie.

Fuck this straightjacket.

Why?

Because it’s going to be the death of me.

Every time I yell, I suck more of the vicious, gray smog into my lungs. I can feel it burn as it travels down my throat. I can feel the smoke cover and char my lungs, poisoning me with every passing second. I should be holding my breath and trying not to inhale. But I can’t. I am desperate. The fire bell has been tolling for the last thirty minutes and no one has come to rescue me.

I shriek again, this time louder, trying as hard as I can to punch through the fabric of my straightjacket. Tears have welled in my eyes from the smoke, panic is rising in my chest, and I realize it’s no use. The thick fabric on the straightjacket is like burlap. There’s no way out of it.

The sad reality hits me.

I'm going to die in this room with white padded walls. I'm going to die, stuffed into a straightjacket like meat and rice into a pepper.

And there's not a damn thing I can do to prevent it from happening.

My heart beats with a vengeance.

My lungs clench.

I place my back flat against the metal door to my cell. More smoke flits in from the crack beneath the door and I listen to the panicked screams as they filter in from the hall. Now is one of the times where I wish I'd see Damien, but sadly the illusion of him never comes.

I give up on holding my breath, eager to get this over with and start inhaling the musty gray smog that's taken up my entire room. It stings my throat, brings more tears to my eyes, and I cough as it snakes its way through my lungs. Part of me wishes I could speed up the process of dying. It's taking longer than I thought it would.

Lying back on the floor, I try to make out the ceiling, but I can't see anything. The smoke in my room reminds me of the four white, padded walls of my cell. It's a barrier, I can't escape. And just when I think I'm about to succumb to a miserable death, the smoke begins to evaporate. I watch it swirl, hang down then slowly exit through my open door. I roll over, elated and weak from all the inhalation and I see Aurora with a mischievous smirk sprawled across her freckled lips.

Well, why are you lying there? she snaps. Get up! This is our chance! I roll onto my stomach and she notices the straightjacket. She moves swiftly into action undoing the straps and buckles. Finally she yanks the cream contraption off of me and chucks it to the side. Then she helps me to my feet. Come on! We don't have much time!

I'm on my feet, using one of the padded walls as a crutch and I stumble after Aurora down the empty hall. Everyone must be outside all ready.

Aurora moves quickly, snatching a knapsack from the floor and takes my hand. She pulls me down the darkened hallway, making a quick left at the fork between the rec room and infirmary. Smoke is suspended against the ceiling and I can feel the heat from the fire even though it's somewhere behind us. I can still hear it snapping and hissing as it rips through the rooms and causes devastating damage. Hunks of plasters fall behind us and crash into the wood floor. We need to get out of here and fast.

Where are we going? I shout. I don't know why I bother asking I know where we're going.

The basement!

Of course. We mapped this plan out weeks ago. We sat in the rec room during free time, and I’d said to Aurora in a voice barely above a whisper, I’m going to try. I’m going to try and escape.

She quirked me a devious grin and replied in a sing-song voice. Not without me, you’re not. She set down the red crayon she was coloring with at the time and went on. And I know just the kind of diversion we’ll need to get us going.

I knew she was planning something crazy, but a fire?

I never thought she’d actually start a fire.

How did you do it? I ask, shouting over the snap and crackle of the roaring flames behind us.

She gives me another mischievous grin over her shoulder. You know I have connections. She’s been here so long that she’s started this barter system with some of the staff members. She must have traded something for a book of matches.

I don’t ask what she traded and I don’t want to know.

I’m the one who found the window in the basement for us to escape out of. The lone window in the entire asylum that doesn’t have bars on it. What I had to do to find that window…

That isn’t something I’ll ever want to talk about.

At the basement door, Aurora whips it open and heads down first. I hesitate for a second then follow, closing the door behind me. Aurora is already at the end of the stairs when I finally start down them myself. I’m moving much slower than she is, probably because my lungs have been bogged down with smoke.

The cement walls all blur together when I reach the last step and I inhale the musky, damp odor of wetness and mold. Walking swiftly, I walk straight down the narrow, pitch black hallway to the fruit cellar at the end of the hall. Aurora stands below the window, piling a few books on top of one another. The window is long, but wide and she already has it opened.

She motions me over with her right hand. Here! she yells. You go first!

I’m not going to argue. I’m the weaker of us both and if I go last I’ll slow us down.

I step onto the books and stick my arms out the opening of the window.

I tell my feet, don’t fail me now as I shimmy out the basement window onto the cold damp earth.

Aurora has her hands on my backside and she grunts, giving me one final shove. Once I'm all the way out, I bend down and reach for her. First she hands me the khaki burlap sack she packed for us with items she managed to

Reviews for White Walls

[Paty · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

The narration was a little confusing, I still enjoy it sometimes, this books continues revealing things but not as much, it was a little tired to read