Juston stewed in the corner, playing his part without effort. Cal paged through a holo-magazine about the newest in mental health advances. The smiling couple on the cover bothered him, so he threw it back into the pile from whence it came.
Entering the waiting room, the host was all smiles, holding out his hand to Cal to be shaken. “Mr. Fleming, it’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Michael Eldritch, head of admissions here at the Red Planet Sanitarium.” Eldrich was short and bald, with a round belly. He was dressed for business, unlike the staff members Cal had seen dressed in white scrubs.
Cal took his hand and shook it. “Likewise. Please, call me Ian.”
“Of course. And this must be your brother, James?” He jerked his head at Juston, who glowered back, arms crossed over his broad chest.
“Yes,” Cal said, adopting a stricken look. “I’m afraid we’ve reached a tipping point. The family doesn’t think it’s a good idea for him to stay at home anymore. I’m hoping we can find somewhere that he can safely work out his anger.”
He heard Juston snort from behind him and suppressed a smile. His brother’s resentment was working flawlessly with the part he was playing.
“Ah, I see,” Eldritch said. “Let me show you around, and I think you’ll find that we at RPS are uniquely suited to assist with your brother’s issue.”
Following the well-dressed man out of the waiting room, Cal listened with half an ear as Eldritch gave him the rundown. “Our facility fills a need that has all but been eradicated in our day and age. Most mental health issues have been tackled by genetic therapy and drug interventions. But,” he nodded toward Juston, “there is still the occasional problem that doesn’t respond to traditional treatments.”
Cal nodded. “We’ve done our due diligence. Paid for the best doctors. No one has been able to adjust my brother’s… shall we call it a personality deficiency?”
“Oh, no, no,” Eldritch chided. “We don’t like to use language that emphasizes a lacking or absence. We at RPS prefer to say our residents are out of sync with the pace of modern life. What they need is a small adjustment to return them comfortably to the rest of the population.”
“Wise words,” Cal said with an interested look on his face, although most of his attention was focused on scanning his surroundings. “And do most of your residents experience a comfortable transition back into society?”
Eldritch’s smile was chummy, but his expression was guarded. “Many of our residents have been able to assimilate back into society, yes.”
“But not all of them?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Eldritch’s smile became smaller. “There are some with conditions that are not yet curable and may never be. A minority of RPS residents will likely spend the remainder of their years here.”
Cal felt bad for the poor bastards, left on Mars to rot. He’d yet to see one resident, though. “So where is everyone?”
“Ah, you’ve come just in time for lunch,” Eldritch said. “I’m taking you to our mess. I thought we could discuss your brother’s condition over a hot meal.”
The mess was crowded with residents and staff, who were easily recognizable in their white uniforms. The residents wore baggy clothes in a series of colors. Red. Blue. Green. Yellow. Cal was certain the color choices weren’t arbitrary.
He and Juston followed Eldritch to the front of the line, where he spoke to the staff member in charge of dispensing lunches. Three trays were delivered from the kitchen, and Cal wondered if they contained the same thing that was found on the trays on the line. Likely not. Eldritch seemed like the type to put his best foot forward when it came to marketing, and a cafeteria meal wasn’t likely to impress anyone.
Taking a seat and lifting the lid on his plate, Cal’s theory was born out. A perfectly cooked steak was flanked by mashed potatoes and asparagus, covered in a buttery cream sauce. It smelled divine. Juston was quick to dig into his own portion. Cal, however, hesitated. His eyes scanned the plates of the residents. Each contained a similar-looking meal. Perhaps he’d been wrong in his assessment?
Biting into the steak, he was pleased to find it juicy and delicious. “So, tell me,” he said after swallowing the bite, “what sort of treatment would you advise for my brother?”
Eldritch gave a tight smile. “I don’t suggest treatments myself. We have trained doctors and behavioral psychologists on staff who will devise a course of treatment.”
“And will I be able to meet with these doctors and psychologists?” It was likely the Guardian was hidden among them, unaware of his or her abilities.
“In due time,” Eldritch replied. “I’m afraid they’re very busy people. Perhaps we can arrange for you to return and discuss treatment options after they’ve had a chance to fully diagnose your brother’s condition.”
Cal cocked an eyebrow. Eldritch seemed rather presumptuous, assuming Cal would leave his brother here without consulting the medical staff first. Then it hit him. Perhaps most families didn’t even bother to meet the doctors. They just dropped off their baggage, happy that their “loved one” was now someone else’s problem. It made him faintly sick to think of the throwaway people surrounding him.
Many of them were concentrating on their plates, slowly cutting into meat and spooning potatoes into their mouths. Their slow-motion actions revealed the presence of medication.
“I was under the impression that drug treatments didn’t work on this population,” he commented. “And yet, correct me if I’m wrong, several of the residents seem to be under the influence.”
Eldritch patted his mouth with his napkin. “Regrettably, the emotional disturbances that accompany so many of these conditions require medication in order to make the patient stable enough for therapy. You understand.”
“Of course,” he replied nonchalantly. It was more difficult to act like an unconcerned asshole than he’d thought. He went back to observing the residents, scanning faces that were blank due to the overwhelming effects of their medications.
Then his gaze locked on a face that was anything but unaware.
Beautiful blue eyes in a pale face, hair so dark it created a striking contrast to her milk-white skin. Delicate features and plump lips that were ripe for kisses. The young woman was staring right at him, eyes wide as if with recognition.
Who is she?
