Asylum by Amy Cross

Author:Amy Cross [Cross, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dark Season Books
Published: 2013-11-22T22:00:00+00:00

Nurse Winter

Middlebridge, 1999.

I stand on the sidewalk, staring at the house. It's been a long time since I last came here; it's a little over three years since I walked out that front door and set off to start a new life. Now that I'm about to move on to another state, to a new job at Lakehurst Psychiatric Hospital, I feel it's only fitting that I should come back to this house and say goodbye properly. Although I'm nervous about today, I've consoled myself with the thought that this is the last time: I will never, ever see my family again after this final encounter. This is my way of saying goodbye to them forever.

I walk along the garden path. When I reach the door, I knock politely. I'm sure I still have a key somewhere in my purse, and I also know that the door is almost never locked. But just walking in would be a sign that I belong here, which is not the case at all. I'm an observer, a visitor, almost a stranger; I'm here to say hello, but this isn't my home. It's only right, therefore, that I should knock and wait to be allowed inside. That's what visitors do. As I hear footsteps shuffling towards the door, I take a deep breath. This won't be difficult. It'll be short and sweet.

"What do you want?" asks my mother as she opens the door. She's a little more hunched over than before, and the lines on her face are more prominent. She's getting old.

"It's me," I say.

"Who's me?" she asks sourly.

"Kirsten," I reply. "It's me. Your daughter, Kirsten."

She narrows her eyes, as if to get a better look at me.

"Kirsten," I say again. "It's your daughter, Kirsten."

After a moment's pause, she sniffs. "Better come in," she says before turning and heading through to the back of the house.

"Hi, Mom," I mutter under my breath. I step inside, immediately overcome by a wall of stench. The house smells awful, like a cross between cat pee and old food. Did it always smell this bad? Did I used to live in such a horrible atmosphere, or have things deteriorated faster than I expected? I shut the door and follow my mother through to the living room, where she's just switching off the TV as I arrive.

"You want some coffee?" she asks.

"I -" I look over at the kitchen and see that it's a complete mess. There are dirty pots and pans piled up everywhere, with flies buzzing around. Old food is rotting on the counter, and it appears that an army of beetles are slowly dismantling a piece of cake. "I'm fine," I say, reasoning that to accept anything from that kitchen would be tantamount to asking for a dose of food poisoning. I knew things would be bad here; I didn't know they'd be this bad.

"Suit yourself," my mother says, sitting on the sofa.

I stand in silence, waiting for her to ask me about my life.

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