The Medea Complex by Rachel Florence Roberts Read Free Book Online

trusted amongst
other inmates at present.” I find the key and insert it into the lock. “We do
not give her freedom in the hospital based on these grounds, but we do try to
escort her around the ward on a daily basis when permissible.” I turn my hand
and the door unlocks with a quiet click.
    “You mean to tell me that my daughter is locked up like a
common criminal?” Lord Damsbridge says, coldly.
    “Not at all,” I say, pulling the key out of the lock and
putting the bunch into my pocket. Does he forget that his darling daughter
committed a crime? “I believe in the gaol, she would have been forced to work
the crank wheel, amongst other, most unpleasant things that they make prisoners
do. Here, she is simply segregated for the good of her health. We don’t treat
any of our patients like criminals, My Lord. But you need to understand that
she is dangerous.”
    “Dangerous?” He says, and splutters on a half-choke,
half-laugh. “Why, my daughter is the most docile, polite creature ever to grace
this earth!”
    I start to open the door, and stop.
    “Does your daughter ever talk out of turn, My Lord?”
    “No, not at all.”
    “Does she ever swear or act vulgar in her mannerisms?”
    He looks aghast.
    “No. She learned politeness before any other subject.”
    “Well, she does now,” I say, and inch open the door without
waiting for a response.
    “Where is the handle?” Mr Stanbury asks, just as we are
about to cross the threshold.
    “There is no handle, they pose a safety risk. Patients running
into them and trying to do all manner of things with them; I daren't tell you
what. It is truly insane what lunatics can do with a door handle.  Here, look.”
Lifting a flap of metal, I show him the hidden keyhole. “In the unlikely event
that a patient managed to get hold of a key, they wouldn’t be able to access
the lock unless they figured out how to lift this almost-hidden flap of metal.”
    “Impressive security.”
    “As I said, Mr Stanbury, we try our best,” I say, pleased.
    On entering, we find Lady Stanbury sitting on the bed, her
back to us, gazing out of the window. When she hears the door open, she turns
to us and smiles. He hands are cupped around something.
    "Good morning, Anne." I say.
    "Go to hell."
    I look to Lord Damsbridge pointedly, and he shrugs.
    Quickly, I take the men aside, and speak quietly. "You
will notice I address her rather informally. This is because she does not
associate herself with the name Lady Stanbury; a symptom I'm afraid is
associated with her disease. As that name means nothing to her at present, and
to call her Lady Anne would inhibit the healing process, I call her
'Anne'".
    “Why would that inhibit the healing process?”
    “Because her mind would only remember the time when she was
Lady Anne, which was before she married. It would not encourage her to remember
her husband, nor her child.”
    "What are you whispering about, you fiends?" Lady
Stanbury asks, opening her hands.
    In them is a pile of yellow paint flecks.
    Something to do with seeing his wife acting and talking so
strangely affect's Mr Stanbury, as all of a sudden he falls to his knees and
starts to cry. "Anne, Anne, Anne," he repeats, wringing his hands.
“My love, my heart!”
    His suit will get filthy on the floor, yet I refrain from
advising him to stand. He's not a patient.
    "Oh dear," she says, frowning at her forgotten
husband, throwing the paint onto the ground where they settle like yellow
petals torn from a flower by an errant child. She settles herself further away
from us on her bed, until her back presses against the wall.
    "Anne, this is your father and your husband, do you
recognize them?" I ask her, approaching her slowly. Though she doesn’t
appear to hold any sort of dangerous object, her earlier performance encourages
me to remain wary.
    As equally suspicious of me as I am of her, she eyes me as I
move towards her, rubbing her hands against each other, alternately studying
them