Ruby (Landry 1)

"Okay, we'll see," he said. "That's why you're here. To be evaluated. If you have no problem, I'll send you home directly. Does that sound fair?"

"No. None of this is fair. I'm being held prisoner."

"We are all prisoners of our ailments, Ruby dear. Especially, our mental infirmities. The purpose of this place and my purpose is to free you from the mental aberration that has chained you to this misbehavior and cause

d you even to hate yourself." He smiled. "We have a good cure rate here. Just give it a chance," he concluded.

"Please, my mother's lying. Daphne's lying! Please," I cried. He closed the door behind him. I knew there was no point in trying, but I did so anyway and discovered that it was locked. Frustrated and defeated, still in a state of utter shock, I sat down and waited. I felt sure Daddy knew nothing about this and wondered what sort of lies Daphne would concoct to explain my disappearance. I imagined, she would tell him I couldn't stand her discipline and decided to run away. Poor Daddy, he would believe it.

Nina Jackson shouldn't have gotten Gisselle's ribbon to throw into the box with the snake, I thought; she should have gotten one of Daphne's instead.

Finally, after what seemed like ages and ages to me, the door was unlocked and Mrs. McDonald appeared.

"Dr. Cheryl can see you now," she said. "If you will just follow me quietly, we can go to him without incident."

I got up quickly, thinking that the first chance I got, I would dart right out. But they anticipated that and one of the attendants was waiting outside to accompany us.

"You people are kidnapping me here," I moaned. "It's nothing less than that."

"Now, now, Ruby, you must not permit yourself to grow paranoid about this. People who care about you, love you, want to see what can be done to make you better, that's all," she said in such a sweet voice it was as if I were walking along with someone's nice old grandmother. "No one's going to do anything to hurt you."

"I'm already hurt beyond repair," I said, but that brought only a smile to her face.

"You young people today are so much more dramatic than we were," she commented. Then she inserted a key in the corridor door and unlocked it. "Right this way."

She led me back to the corridor Dr. Cheryl had described as the treatment area. I gazed down another hallway and considered running, but I remembered all the other doors that had to be buzzed to be opened and I was sure there were no windows without bars. The attendant moved up closer behind me anyway. Finally, we stopped at a door and Mrs. McDonald opened it to lead me into a room that contained only a sofa, two chairs, a table, and what looked like some kind of movie projector on a smaller table. There was a screen on the wall directly across from it. The room had no windows, but there was another door and a wall-size mirror on the right side.

"Just sit here," Mrs. McDonald instructed. I sat in one of the chairs. She went to the other door and knocked gently. Then she opened it and poked her head in to mumble, "She's here, Doctor."

"Very good," I heard Dr. Cheryl say. Mrs. McDonald turned back to me and smiled.

"Remember," she said. "If you're cooperative, everything moves faster." She nodded at the attendant and they started out. "Jack will be right outside should you need him," she said as a veiled threat. I looked at the attendant who returned my gaze with steely dark eyes. Thoroughly intimidated, I sat quietly and waited after they left. A few moments later, Dr. Cheryl appeared.

"Well," he said, beaming a wider smile, "how are we doing now? A little better, I hope?"

"No. Where's Daphne?"

"Your mother is visiting your uncle," he said. He went directly to the projector and put a file down beside it.

"She's not my mother," I declared firmly. If I ever wanted to deny her, I wanted to deny her now.

"I understand how you feel."

"No, you do not understand. She's not my real mother. My real mother is dead."

"However," he said, nodding, "she's trying to be a real mother to you isn't she?"

"No. She's trying to be what she is . . . a witch," I retorted.

"This anger and aggression you now feel is understandable," he said. "I just want you to recognize it for what it is. You feel this way because you feel threatened. Whenever we try to get a patient to admit to errors or recognize weaknesses and illnesses, it's natural for him or her to first resent it. I believe it or not, many of the people here feel comfort-able with their mental and behavioral problems because they've been a part of them so long."

"I don't belong here. I don't have any mental or behavioral problems," I insisted.

"Perhaps not. Let me try something with you to see how you view the world around you, okay? Maybe that's all we'll do today and give you a chance to acclimate yourself to your surroundings more. No rush."

"Yes, there is a rush. I've got to go home."

"All right. We'll begin. I'm going to flash some shapes on the screen in front of you. I want you to tell me what comes to mind instantly when you see each one, okay? Don't think about them, just react as quickly as you can. That's easy, right?"