Asylum

Chapter 3-1

3

If the hospital appeared large from the outside, walking around on the inside proved it to be enormous. After leaving Dr. Amoroth’s office, they made their way through winding corridors, past administration offices and break rooms, to the upper ward.

The part of the hospital where the patients lived and socialized was divided into three wards: the upper, middle, and lower. The top two floors comprised the upper ward. This ward, Dr. Amoroth told them, consisted of the most highly functioning patients and the ones the staff considered the most well adjusted. Most of these patients possessed enough social skills to participate in organized group discussions and could interact through card games and even have lunch together in the cafeteria. As they entered the ward proper through heavy double doors controlled by a magnetic cardkey pad, the hardwood floors and beautiful woodwork disappeared and were replaced by the standard white and gray tiles that adorn hospital interiors around the world. Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow along each hallway.

The lights also gave a pale and waxy glow to the faces of the kids who watched them pass. Andrew returned their stares. Some considered him with mild interest, while others stared with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. Still others gave him nothing more than a passing glance as they went about their business watching TV, playing card games, or simply staring out the window. One boy, who looked about thirteen, seemed to be pitching in a baseball game. He would wind up, imaginary ball held firmly in an imaginary glove, and pitch fastballs or curve balls to imaginary batters in various corners of the room. He did it with such intensity and control that Andrew realized he believed he was really pitching. In his mind he was probably striking out Sammy Sosa or maybe even Hank Aaron.

The boy must have sensed Andrew watching him, because he stiffened, bringing the glove and ball close into his chest. He shook his head a couple of times, then nodded to Andrew as though reading signs from a catcher. On impulse Andrew stepped sideways, spread his legs a little more than shoulder-width apart, and held his hands up near his shoulder as though holding a bat.

Surprise flickered in the boy’s eyes, and he hesitated, but not for long, because this was too important. They both knew this was it, the final game of the series. There was a man on third, and without Andrew bringing him home, they did not stand a chance. Andrew heard voices in his head again, but this time it was the gentle roar of the crowd, cheering for him. He looked at the pitcher; it was down to the two of them.

The pitcher wound up and let fly a fast one. It was coming low and hard. Andrew lifted his front leg and stepped forward, bringing the bat down, also low and hard. It was a good, solid hit, and the ball took off. The pitcher turned quickly, eyes following the path of the ball. Going, going, gone. They did not need a ball or even a ballpark for them to know it was a home run.

The boy turned from the white wall ten feet behind him, smiled, and tipped his hat to Andrew before turning in another direction to find the next imaginary batter.

Andrew hurried to catch up with his parents at the end of the hall. For no reason at all, he felt a modest euphoria. It had been a hallucination but had felt so real.

Andrew did not see the strange smile on Dr. Amoroth’s face, nor did he know the doctor had watched the whole exchange.