Page 10 of No Asylum Here

But putting someone who had no prior consent to this on display in a mental health facility? It put a rancid taste on my taste buds.

The head nurse gestured to a row of pink, faded plastic seats placed against the wall. "Sit. I'll inform Dr. Rook of your arrival." She spun sharply and strode down the hall, heels clicking as she went.

I glanced to my right to see a wire rack, loaded with vintage magazines.

This place was borderline medieval. And disorienting. This was a facility that housed dangerous, mentally ill inmates. There wasn’t heavy security here, not the kind you’d expect. But it was remote, far away from civilization in the mountains.

Maybe that’s why my head was spinning. The air was thinner here. Had to be the altitude.

A distant scream had my heart leaping into my throat. I sensed the heavy presence of the faux saint staring at me from his box at the edge of my vision.

Sweat slicked my hands, and I rubbed them over my slacks. Fuck. One of my anxiety attacks was descending.

My fingers twitched for the prescription bottle in my doctor’s briefcase. I stopped myself. I hadn't touched it for two days, since I’d received Rook’s call. Instead, I pulled out my cell phone and my lips flattened with a grimace to see I still wasn’t getting any reception.

I glanced at the receptionist, and the fact that I found him staring at me did nothing for my nerves. “Excuse me, could you tell me what the Wi-Fi is?”

The man’s disinterested shrug had my stomach twisting with unease.

Anxiety gripped my heart in its cruel fist.

One, two, three. One, two, three.

Closing my eyes and counting always helped.

“Dr. Beckett, welcome.” A voice startled my eyes open, and I found a man in his mid-fifties standing before me.

“I’m Dr. Malcolm Rook. We’re so pleased you could join us.”

Dr. Rook had a full head of gray hair, with a pleasing streak of silver sweeping from his widow’s peak hairline to behind his ear. I’d consider him a handsome man if it weren’t for the fact that much of his nose was missing, leaving two triangular openings to his nasal cavities. It looked as if someone had taken a bite out of it.

Gathering myself, I got to my feet and offered him my hand. “It’s good to meet you, Dr. Rook. Thank you for having me.”

He shook my hand. “How was the trip?”

My jaw opened, and my answer froze in my throat. It occurred to me that I couldn’t recall the trip. The last thing I remembered was my dream of the man in the straitjacket, then my call with Dr. Rook. Everything after that was a blur.

My brows scrunched as I tried to recall. “It was long, I think. I apologize, I’m getting a bit of a headache, and it’s making my head a bit fuzzy.”

He nodded. “It’s most likely the altitude. You’ll adjust.”

It should have been a relief to hear him confirm my suspicions, but something in his smile had me shifting uncomfortably.

“Uhm. I’ve brought my resume.” I pulled out a thick folder of papers. “As well as my medical license, my CV, proof of my malpractice insurance⁠—”

“I’ll look at these later.”

“Don’t you want to verify my⁠—”

“Please, Doctor. You already have the job. Tomorrow you’ll receive a tour, and we’ll get you settled into your new office. For now, you must be tired from your journey. Shall I show you to your room?”

I swallowed down the pit in my throat and nodded. "Yes, please."

As we moved through the facility, I noted that the renovations I’d noticed before weren’t as up to date as I’d expect in a medical facility. The mint paint was peeling in places, and the elevators were out of service.

The money funding Saint Bartholomew’s was hopefully going to the patients and their treatment, since it sure as hell wasn’t going into keeping the hospital itself updated.

Dr. Rook led me to a door, unlocked it, and together we went up a flight of stairs. "Staff quarters are locked, understandably. There is a key in your welcome packet in your room."