Prologue

 

Dr. Benjamin Patterson was the Head Doctor at Sanctum Psychiatric Hospital, formerly known as the Little Saint James hotel on the island of the same name. He had been working there for over twenty years and had seen his fair share of patients and nurses come and go. But today was different. Today, he was taking a group of new nurses on a tour of the hospital. The atmosphere was tense as they walked down the long, white hallway towards the patients’ rooms.

“I know this is not what you signed up for when you became a nurse,” He said, addressing the group. “But the patients here are in need of our help and support. We must do everything in our power to make sure they receive the best care possible. Do not let fear control you but always be cautious.”

The nurses nodded in understanding, and Dr. Patterson could see determination in their eyes. He knew that these nurses had the potential to be great caregivers, and he hoped that they would be able to handle the challenges of Sanctum Psychiatric Hospital. As they passed each room, the nurses couldn’t help, but whisper and murmur amongst themselves. Dr. Patterson could see the fear in their eyes, and he couldn’t blame them. They were about to meet some of the most disturbed and dangerous patients in the hospital. They were actually some of the most disturbed and dangerous patients in the world.

Finally, they stopped at room 213. The door was slightly ajar, and Dr. Patterson could see the patient sitting on the edge of her bed. She was staring straight at him with an intense gaze, her eyes cold and unfeeling. Dr. Patterson could feel the nurses behind him tense up as they took in the sight of the young woman. Typing in the numbers 2-1-3 in the search bar of his tablet, the patient’s information came up.

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Name: Sanaa Thorne

Gender: Female

Birth Date: January 10

Height: 5 ft 3 in 

Weight: 110lbs

Eye Color: Brown

Ethnicity: Black/African-American

Measurements: 34B-22-34

Mental Ailment: Borderline Personality Disorder caused by being the victim of various relationships involving verbal, emotional, psychological, physical abuse and domestic violence.

Treatment: Resident Soundboard Therapy accompanied with the drug Alprazolam (causing weight gain, making the patient self-conscious about her looks) used to treat / improve impulsivity and anxiety, and panic disorders.

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“This next patient is interesting. I’ve been treating the case for years. A young female, diagnosed with acute Borderline Personality Disorder. The usual indicators: depression, anxiety, violent acting out, delusions of persecution. The delusional aspect is fairly unique. She has femcel tendencies after being hurt in her relationships, claiming that her ex and all men who cheat are demons.”

“That’s original.” One of the nurses snickered.

“And here we are.” Dr. Patterson took a deep breath and opened the door, gesturing for the nurses to follow him inside.

The patient’s eyes followed each of the nurses as they cautiously entered her room. She could sense the fear radiating off of them, and it pleased her. She had been waiting for this moment, to see the new nurses cower in fear in front of her.

“Good morning, Sanaa.” Dr. Patterson greeted her with a calm tone, trying to maintain a sense of control over the situation. “I’d like you to meet our new nurses. You’ll be seeing most of them around this area from now on.”

“Good morning, Dr. Patterson. How’s Dr. Earhart’s arm?” Sanaa replied with a sadistic sense of satisfaction. “Tell her that I’m sorry about the concussion.”

Dr. Patterson swallowed hard, knowing the young nurses behind him deserved the truth. “She, um… broke Dr. Earhart’s arm and slammed her head into a desk during a therapy session a few weeks ago.“

Sanaa continued to stare at the new nurses, sizing them up. One of the nurses, a young girl with ‘Amy’ written on her nametag, couldn’t handle the intensity of Sanaa’s gaze and took a step back. Dr. Patterson noticed her reaction and stepped in front of her, blocking Sanaa’s view. 

Dr. Patterson led the nurses out of Sanaa’s room. As they walked back down the hallway, the nurses couldn’t help but feel relieved to be out of Sanaa’s presence. They knew that she was going to be a challenging patient to handle.

Sanaa glared in the direction that the group’s footsteps were getting fainter and fainter. Her ears heard Dr. Patterson begin to explain the history of the hospital and the secluded island that they were on. It was once owned by a wealthy man named Jeffrey. He turned it into a private psychiatric hospital and named it Sanctum.

Sanaa could only envision the disturbed looks on the nurses’ faces when he confirmed that the island’s sickening past was indeed true. The patients at Sanctum were not just here for their mental health issues, some were also convicted criminals who were deemed unfit to stand trial. Sanaa then heard Dr. Patterson vehemently warn them against getting too close to the patients and always being vigilant. When the voices were completely out of earshot, Sanaa got out of bed. A few steps later, she was standing in front of the mirror and admired herself. 

Sanaa Thorne was a woman of exquisite beauty. Her ebony skin was the shade of rich hot chocolate, flawless and smooth like silk. She had a body that was a work of art, with voluptuous curves in all the right places. Her hourglass figure was accentuated by her ample bosom, narrow waist, and round hips. Her long legs were toned and feminine, leading up to a pair of petite feet that if she wasn’t locked up would have been in her favorite pair of heels. 

Her face was a masterpiece, with high cheekbones, full lips, and large almond-shaped eyes framed by long, luscious lashes. Her most striking feature, however, was her distinctive Mohawk of black curls that cascaded down her back like a waterfall.

Sanaa’s personality however was a complex tapestry of contrasts. On the surface, she was charming, intelligent, and witty. She had a way with words that could make anyone feel special and wanted. 

Her smile was infectious, and her laugh was melodious. But beneath this veneer of charm lay a darker side. She had a short temper and a tendency to lash out when provoked. It was the very reason Dr. Earhart was laid up in the medical ward. 

The bitch shouldn’t have kept pushing me.

Sanaa grew angry all over again about the entire situation. It was supposed to be Resident Soundboard Therapy. That meant Sanaa talked and the therapists scribbled their bullshit on their notepads. Sanaa actually enjoyed her weekly session. No matter how distressed she got. No matter how many emotional breakdowns she had. No matter how loud she yelled. The fact that she was allowed to freely was a blessing. Until Dr. Earhart had to ruin it. During one of her breakdowns, Sanaa mentioned her ex. All it took was that one time for shit to go left. At their next session her ex was the subject of conversation. Since it was the first time, Sanaa said that she wasn’t comfortable talking about all that and the subject was dropped. The issues started as every session afterward Dr. Earhart would bring up her ex at least once. The bitch kept pushing and pushing and pushing. Sanaa was proud of herself that she didn’t snap because of that alone. Then the good doctor had to speak her ex-fiancé’s name. That was Sanaa’s breaking point. She blacked out for a few seconds. When she regained her mentals, Dr. Earhart was on the floor with her right arm broken in three places and bleeding profusely from her head. The last Sanaa remembered before the guards and nurses put her out was the large, bloody dent in the desk. 

Fuckin’ desks! Sanaa said to herself as a large smile spread across her face. 

Her mood switch wasn't due to her assaulting Dr. Earhart. She was amused at the irony of it. When she first arrived at Sanctum, the sight of a desk (reminding her of her ex’s office) was an instant trigger. Now the sound of her neighbor’s desk in 214 opening and closing was always a cherished sound nowadays. Since the building used to be a hotel, the wall opposite her held a door that had been fully melded in. It wasn’t lost on Sanaa that Dr. Patterson hadn’t stopped at her neighbor’s. He never did when giving a tour. She immediately went back to the day they arrived after her last neighbor, Noah committed suicide. Dr. Patterson brought them together for introductions and that was literally the last interaction she had with them. She only saw them at breakfast, lunch, dinner, or in the library. 

Walking over to the wall, she glared through the clear quartz peephole and her heart skipped a beat. 

Her neighbor stood by their desk, reading the Circle 7 Koran. The reason that Sanaa always noticed them whenever they were around is because her neighbor was built like a West African king. Sanaa knew that he was more cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs then she was but for some reason, she couldn’t help but be attracted. There was something very sexy and alluring about him.

He was a tall pretty boy that no doubt had a dark side, just the way she liked ‘em. His skin (that was flushed and pale due to his high emotional state) was still a mesmerizing shade of caramel that reminded her of sweet butterscotch. Low cut, sleepy green eyes, dimples, kissable lips, mustache and chin hair made up his facial features alongside the impressive nine inches that he supposedly had between his legs. Sanaa only knew that because she heard a couple of the nurses (many of them were perverts) talking after he had gotten out of the shower in the gym once. According to the nurses, he was thicker than a snickers bar and her mouth watered every time she thought about it.

Suddenly, she watched his head snap straight. His head turned to the wall that she was looking through. He glared in her direction for a long minute, almost like he could feel her stare. The smile he gave the wall made her start to wonder if he could see her through it. 

He turned back to his book, placing it on his desk. Sanaa then heard his door open. For a second, she was about to open her door and speak. She only stopped when she realized that she didn’t even know his name. No one did except Dr. Patterson and his inner circle because he was a mute.

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Chapter One

Amel Hospital File

Name: “Amel”

Gender: Male

Birth Date: May 19th

Height: 5 ft 10 in 

Weight: 175 lbs 

Ethnicity: Black/African-American

Measurements: 40-32-14

Mental Ailment: Schizoaffective Disorder, a combination of schizophrenia symptoms, such as hallucinations or delusional thoughts, mood swings, and violent outbursts.

Treatment: Daily doses of Cariprazine with each meal and therapy sessions.

Dr. Krysta Johnson sat behind her desk at Amel. She’d just been observing him since he took a seat across from her. After examining a patient’s brain, Sanctum had virtual reality technology to place them in whatever they considered peace. For Amel, the environment had to be the closest thing to Paradise possible for those who hadn’t died. It was an African savanna on a beautiful day. He just stared up at the clear blue sky. 

“I’m ready whenever you are, Amel. Take your time. There’s no rush.” Dr. Johnson said in a gentle tone. 

Tablet in hand, Amel typed and held it up for her to read: The sun’s shining a bit brighter today.

“Are you seeing them again? Hearing them?” Dr. Johnson quizzed.

Amel shook his head no and typed: None of the other ones either.

“That’s good, Amel. Have you thought of your family? You and your mother were deeply close from what your file says.”

Amel typed: Yeah, and how’d that turn out.

“Sometimes we think rushing through the hardest part will finish things faster, but that doesn’t work with healing. Healing can be slow and we have to heal on the Universe’s time not our own.  Instead going straight to what happened, Amel, how about we talk about all the support the outside world is giving you. How does that make you feel?”

Amel typed: It feels good.

“Everyone here knows that you’re not a monster, Amel. You’re a victim. What you went through — for so long can leave one longing for a security blanket both mentally and emotionally. You loved your family. You just didn’t want to be hurt anymore, right?”

A tear rolled down Amel’s cheek as nodded. Pulling the remote from her desk drawer, Dr. Johnson turned on the monitor hanging on the wall. To Amel, it looked like a shimmering mirror that showed him the outside world.

“I’m Sabrina Nelson with ABC News in the Morning. We start with our top story and bring you continuing coverage of the worldwide protests for the sentencing of O'Shea Malone to Sanctum Psychiatric Hospital. From earliest stages of life the young man was—” 

Amel typed: Turn it off.

“You see how much they love you? They love you. They respect you. And they support you. …And if I may speak for them … they’d want you alive in here then gone altogether.” Dr. Johnson said passionately, turning the news off. “So how about we start the healing process here and now, O'Shea?”

Amel typed: Amel!

“Does that name give you a sense of it since you’ve been here?”

Amel heard Dr. Johnson’s question. Amel just nodded. More silent tears came. The world didn’t see him as a monster, but after what he did, you might as well call him one.

Dr. Johnson immediately noticed his tears. “Amel, are you okay?”

Amel shook his head: “No, I’m not. It’s just … everything came flooding back.”

“I understand. It must be very difficult for you to relive those memories.”

“Yeah, it’s like I’m living it all over again.”

Dr. Johnson leaned forward. “Amel, I want to talk to you about your name, Amel, it means hope. Let’s talk about that. Do you feel any sense of hope since you were admitted to Sanctum?”

Amel went to type but paused and thought for a moment: “I guess … maybe a little. But it’s hard to hold onto that hope when all I can remember is the abuse.”

“It’s important to hold onto that hope, Amel. It’s what will help you heal from the pain and trauma you’ve experienced.”

Amel took in a deep breath: “I’ll try.”

Dr. Johnson smiled. “That’s all me, Dr. Patterson, and everyone here is asking for Amel. It takes courage to come here and open up to me even on that tablet. I’m proud of you.”

Amel returned her smile with a weak one of his own: “Thank you, Dr. Johnson.”

“This is just step one,” Dr. Johnson eyed Amel’s tablet. “By the end you may be able to communicate with others without using that, but I encourage you to keep using your voice, in whatever form it may be.” 

Fresh tears started to fall down Amel’s cheeks: “Again … I’ll try.”

“Thank you for opening up to me, Amel. Would you like to end things here for the day?”

“Yes.”

Amel clutched his tablet to his chest, standing up. Normally, Dr. Johnson would have called the guards and nurses to escort a patient back to their room. With Amel, there was no need. He’d only been here for six months, but his first month, he’d proven not to be a danger to anyone else. The only time anyone was called to see about him was when his emotional breakdowns led to bouts of self-harm. 

Amel smiled to himself as he walked back to his room from his therapy session. He couldn’t help, but think about how gentle and understanding his therapist, Dr. Krysta Johnson, was with him. She was the only one who seemed to truly understand him and his struggles.

As Amel entered his room, the heavy weight of his reality hit him once again. He knew that this was just the beginning of his healing journey, and it would be a long and painful one. He had been at Sanctum Psychiatric Hospital for six months now, and every day was a constant battle against his inner demons.

As he sat on his bed, Amel watched his neighbor being escorted to her therapy session. It wasn’t lost on him all the violent things she had done. She had a reputation for being aggressive and unpredictable. Despite her actions, Amel couldn’t deny that the sight of her always made his heart race and his body react.

The only thing Amel knew for sure about his neighbor was that her name was Sanaa. They had been placed together for interaction’s sake. It kind of felt like a sick joke since they were both locked in this hospital for the rest of their lives, cut off from the outside world. 

Amel thought back to the day he arrived at Sanctum, meeting Sanaa for the first time. He remembered how he hadn’t spoken a word to her, feeling like he was giving up on life at that very moment. He believed that if he started making friends in the hospital, he would be sealing his fate and accepting the fact that he’d remain there forever.

As Amel gazed out of his window, he was reminded of the utopia that awaited outside the walls of Sanctum. But he also knew that he and the other patients were not there because of their mental conditions or the crimes they had committed. They were there because of their imperfections in a society that strived for perfection.

Amel couldn’t help but think about Sanaa and how she had somehow found a way to be where he was, constantly staring at him. It was as if she was trying to reach out to him, to understand him.

This made it hard for him not to wonder about her. Who was she really? What led her to this place? And why did she always seem to be curious about him, constantly staring at him through the peephole that connected their rooms?

Sitting at his desk, Amel thought back to what Dr. Johnson had said to him. He wondered what it would feel like to open up to someone again. He had spent so many years keeping his feelings locked inside, afraid to let anyone in. The thought both scared and intrigued him, as he realized that maybe, just maybe, there was hope for him to heal and move forward.

Like always, whenever hope filled him, a wave of doubt washed over him. Could he really trust someone outside of the workers in a place like this? Would anyone understand or accept him for who he truly was? Amel clutched his tablet. He couldn’t even speak in the presence of other people without it. Was opening himself up even worth it?

A half an hour passed as he took time to process his thoughts and feelings. His mind was so taxed that he found himself exhausted although lunch time was nearing. He was a little hungry, but Amel decided to take a nap instead of going to the gourmet food hall. As he drifted off to sleep , his mind was still filled with questions and doubts. However, deep down, he knew that he couldn’t continue to live with his walls up. Maybe it was time to take a leap of faith and see where it would take him.