I never used to be the kind of person who got so caught up in work I brought it home, but things changed. Apart from that, there was Alyssa Morgan, and I admit I’d been distracted since the day she was assigned to me. I was used to dealing with just about everything in my line of work. You get a pretty thick skin when you deal with the stories I’ve listened to. I just didn’t get what it was about this particular patient that caused me sleepless nights.
Opening her file in my lap, I looked at her photograph. The bright, beautiful young woman smiling back at me wasn’t anything like my patient. Every trace of this once lively woman was gone. Still, she was strikingly beautiful with large milk-chocolate brown orbs, her hair as black as a raven’s wings.
Alyssa baffled me. She and her husband lived in an upscale neighborhood. When I was assigned her case, I flew over to meet with the investigators on her case and assessed what I was getting into. Walking in those streets, it was evident this was the kind of neighborhood that most likely held homeowners’ meetings and had a monthly barbecue at the recreational center. Alyssa was obviously wealthy and not just because she was married to one of the most powerful business tycoons in the country but in her own right. She was a well-respected lawyer, the mother who attended every sports game and concert. She did charity work alongside her husband’s several foundations.
I picked up a picture of the couple, lifting it to catch the light, then I shook my head. The police couldn’t pick up one incriminating thing about the woman or her husband. They were both squeaky clean. They seemed to be very much in love. Anyone who knew them attested to that.
She did, however, start seeing a doctor for severe depression about a year before the incident. Her doctor’s report was nothing out of the ordinary. People went through stuff and needed an external perspective. But it also didn’t mean they would pick up a knife and stab someone they loved the way she had. I’d analyzed the information. There was an intent to kill. She’d bashed his head and stabbed the man multiple times. It’s like something happened, and she snapped, losing her sanity in the process. It all sounded odd to me.
People the police talked to liked Alyssa before this happened. Well, not everyone. Her neighbor, Melissa, seemed to think Alyssa had an eye for her husband. I somehow doubted that. These suburban housewives tended to gossipa lotbecause they had all the time in the world, having nothing better to do. I knew a thing or two about that, being married to one myself.
Audrey glared at me as if she’d read my mind. She walked over and took my file, closing it and setting it on the coffee table.
“We need to talk, Luke. I haven’t seen you all week. When you are here, you’re wrapped up in work.”
Rubbing my hands over my face, I let out a sigh. She was right. I was getting too engrossed in this case, and it messed with my mind. But my wife was the last person who should be questioning me.
“Can we not talk about this right now, okay? It’s been a really long day.” I held my hands up in front of me.
Audrey shook her head, her hands on her hips. She opened her mouth as if to say something but must have thought better of it. “I’m going upstairs to get ready for bed. See you in a bit?”
Instead of answering, I nodded but doubted I would be joining her anytime soon.
As I watched Audrey walk away, I settled back in my chair, my thoughts drifting back to Alyssa.
I was a forensic psychiatrist, and my job entailed working with state patients at the psychiatric hospital, determining if they were fit for trial and assessing their readiness for court. I’d started working at Fort Hill so I could be involved in the ongoing treatment of these patients to hopefully prepare them for the outside world. Every once in a while, I found myself stuck with a patient who just confused me. Alyssa was that person right now.
She’d done the crime beyond a doubt—there was evidence and a confession—but she did not fit the profile of a murderer. Alyssa was far from that.
She was timid, too timid, eerily so. At times, I wondered if she had heard me or had found a way to zone me out. But there were flits of acknowledgment in her eyes I didn’t miss. She hadn’t been outside in a really long time, and every time I allowed her to sit at the window as opposed to my couch, I saw her shoulder muscles visibly relax. I had to gain her trust if I hoped to help her.
There was more to this story. Something was missing, and I knew there was no way I would let this go until I knew exactly what her story was.
Earlier that day…
She walked into my office with a black eye, her face swollen, purple and yellow bruises covering most of it. She made her way to the seat by the window, staring outside, saying nothing. The nurse who brought her in gave me a run-down of what had happened, along with the camera footage. The perpetrator, Patricia Scott, was moved to the solitary ward.
Patricia was also a patient of mine. She was admitted for killing her entire family after losing her job. It was an act of sheer desperation. After a failed attempt at suicide, she was imprisoned at a temporary facility. She couldn’t account for her crimes because she couldn’t even remember doing them. It’s like part of her memory had been erased. She never even got to attend her children’s funeral.
The court deemed her mentally unstable and unfit for trial, and she ended up here in Fort Hill.
Patricia was in the wrong, but I understood the psyche behind the attack on Alyssa. The nurses here talked. Patricia probably hated Alyssa for her choices, killing her husband and abandoning her child when she seemingly had everything in the world at her disposal.
“Alyssa, you have to talk to me.Tell me what happened,” I demanded.
She merely stared straight ahead, her breathing even. I eventually turned her swivel chair toward the flat-screen television in my office.
“If you’re not going to respond to me, then you’re going to see this,” I said, my tone unwavering.
I switched on the footage of the incident, hoping it would trigger some kind of response from her. Instead, she stared ahead as if looking at a blank wall.
We watched as Patricia grabbed Alyssa on her way to the bathroom. Two other patients held the security guard in the wing as Patricia beat the shit out of Alyssa.
Alyssa didn’t make a sound as the other woman delivered blow after blow to her stomach and face, nor did she react when pushed to the floor, kicked in her head, chest, and groin. The other patients stood around screaming, “Psycho rich bitch.” When Patricia grew tired of her, which was when some security guards arrived, all the spectating patients split, leaving Alyssa bleeding on the floor. She stumbled upright and stood against a wall until a guard dragged her to the infirmary.
For failure to report an incident, they sent Alyssa into solitary confinement. I wondered if the staff did it for kicks.
They were aware she didn’t speak.
