Elle Van Doren's

POINT ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ OF ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ VIEW

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐅 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐊𝐘  ; 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐈𝐃-𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐀. It was cold, the heating had not yet begun to function effectively, and the patients spent considerably more time in the relaxing room, where the only source of heat was a massive fireplace in the center of the room. At times like these, I felt sorry for the patients who were forced to endure the cold, but Chad Camerons was working hard to start the heating season early. If the city permits it. The mayor of the city always seemed he did not care about this institution, despite the fact that he was "proud" on all the news that it was owned by the city and that such a place locked up potentially dangerous people forever. What he did not realize was that he could demonstrate those statements by his actions.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Mr. John sat at the window, gazing out at the depressing sky; the window itself looked out on the pine forest and the filthy lagoon, which had increased due to the heavy rains. I took a blanket from the blanket basket and draped it around him to keep him warm as he went about his business. He panicked when the blanket touched his body - he was not there and did not know where he was. "It is me, Miss Van Doren," I say before he panics much more. "It is cold by the window, you forgot your blanket," I tell him, despite the fact that he appears uninterested in what I have to say. These last few days have been quite stressful for him; he received an unexpected visit from his granddaughter, and as a result of the stress, he was put on heavy medicine.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ In such circumstances, I realized why visits were tightly forbidden, if not impossible. He was in no condition to read a narrative or a book. He appeared to be present only physically, while mentally he faded into oblivion - the sickness had possessed him. I waited next to John for a few more moments till I noticed two colleagues arrive with metal cups and a large pot of tea.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "No reactions?" Cassie inquired, noticing my concern on my expression. "If he does not get out of that world of his, they will start treating him like a lost case - and only then will there be no way out for him," I tell her bitterly. I consider it my worst trait to become emotionally connected to particular people, like I am to Mr. John.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ We handed out cups of tea to everyone of the patients and employees, and even those who do not exhibit their feelings were smiling. I was approaching forcefully towards a tall man who was sitting at a table in the corner of the room, silently looking at the table where the cards were. I drew a white plastic chair across from him and moved a cup of tea closer to him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ His tired, hazel, and wide eyes stared into mine, almost too sorrowful. As the antique paneling lighted his face, I noted how the hue of his eyes changed at different angles. "Hello, Spencer," After a few moments of stillness, I greeted him. His lips formed a straight line while he lifted his hand to greet me back. Even though he did not say anything, he did respond. So far, attempts to converse with him have been unsuccessful; he always spoke with his facial expressions, as if he was terrified to speak with his voice.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I continued to search his face as I softly blew on the tea to cool it down. He had an almost healed scar on his forehead, and his dark circles under his eyes had peculiar dark circles as well. Spencer was the only patient who was asked to use the restroom at night, so I knew he did not sleep because the guards complained about him using the bathroom facilities then. My attention was drawn to the cards on the table; I am not sure who was here before him, however he left his cards here. I began to collect them into a pile with my hand, and I saw a shift in his expression.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "We can play cards if you want," I suggested one again. He simply nodded. That is a good start.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "What game should we play?" I ask him as I clumsily shuffle the cards, half of which fall out of my hand since I am trying to be faster in shuffling; I do not want him to lose interest in playing cards.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Black jack," he whispers softly and nearly inaudibly, clearing his throat. "I want to shuffle the cards," he said as he stretched his hand to the center of the table, and I placed the cards in his hand. During the exchange, our hands meet, and I can feel his heat emanating from his body.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ We played black jack; I stopped counting after the tenth round, and I always lost to him. In normal circumstances, I would have become enraged with my teammate and quit the game; however, this was not a regular circumstance.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You have a very bad bluff," I am astonished to hear him talk, as we only exchanged a few words in this half hour, half of which were generally "mhm."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "What?" I inquired, perplexed. "You are trying to fool me with an annoyed expression that gradually turns into sadness, so I would think you are unlucky with cards - actually you always draw either too low or too high, which would mean you lose for sure", my jaw is on the floor, I imagine lifting him up with my hands and putting him back in place, but he still talks.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "The chance of hitting a bad card is the same as hitting two full cards in a row; because I mixed them up, there is no way you will always get a good hand. Because I always get it - that is why I defeat you." As he placed the last three cards on the table, a faint smile came on his face.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Blackjack! I won, miss nurse."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I am Elle," I say, correcting him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Oh, I know, I remember," he replied, still smiling. He continues to shuffle the cards we have used so far and stares disinterestedly across the room; I do the same since I feel someone is looking on my back.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Elliot is obviously staring at us.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Your name is Elle Van Doren and you have been here for a while, you like to talk to your friends about your private life and spend a lot of time with that Grandpa John who is on the verge of becoming a plant," he added quietly to keep this between us.
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎
‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Your colleague, the one with short hair, often talks about you, that is how I remembered your name - you never told me your name yourself", the truth is, I always presented myself as the nurse on duty or the one in charge of him and taking care of him.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "What happened to make you talk so much?", i quickly asked. "Are you doing this to make me fear you?" I can not help but wonder. The changes in his behavior are obvious, and this is cause for concern.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I see you are not afraid of me," he concludes for the time being. We proceed with a few more hands of cards before everyone goes to their rooms so that lunch may be cooked. Of course, I followed him as we strolled silently towards his door. He enters his room but remains near the door as he watches me get ready and shut the door.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You remind me of an Elle I once knew."

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ I had a lot of questions for him, such as who that female was. Is that one of his victims' names? Is that name meaningful to him? What did he just say to me? My brain is bursting to the seams with questions, and I know I will only get an answer from him if it suits him. This game can be played by two people. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎I spent the time after work with Cassie, Elliot, and Mike in my room. I am not sure who thought it was a good idea to have a tiny double date here, but it made me feel strange. Elliot had been inviting me out for coffee after work for days, but I usually preferred a warm dorm room to a walk in this weather.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ What I did know was that Elliot is a very determined individual who knows what he wants and works hard to obtain it. A younger version of myself might have been head over heels in love with such a person, but today I view it as a psychiatric issue. We were lot closer last year, when he was less egotistical and bearable. I am not sure what happened to him in the last few months, but he seemed different, a little bit dark.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Although, after being surrounded by Rosecliff patients and their stories for days, we all had a dark side.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Can you believe the FBI is sending a special guard for that schmuck?" Mike inquired. Mike Henderson worked in the video surveillance area, mostly filling in for the two main guards. He was three years older than us but always fit in; his mother worked as a chief nurse on the east wing until she retired.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I am not sure why we are keeping him here in the first place," Elliot remarked angrily. "The state provides such idiots with food, clothing, and the bare necessities of life. How is that justice for the victims?" he inquired. I do not want to continue this topic with him because it will always come up.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ The incessant chatting about things from work, outside of work, during the time when we should be letting our brains rest - not worrying about anyone or anything to do with Rosecliff - got on my nerves the most. Even as a child, I hated the sense of betrayal that my parents instilled in me on several times. There was a family agreement that no business conversation was allowed when you got home. They never listened, and I was always the one who suffered the most; their marriage came second. Destroyed family, exhausted individuals all because of one item to which they committed more than eight hours a day without being forced to do so.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Guys, I really do not want to hear work talk, save that for tomorrow during break," I grumble, and all three of them stare at me thoughtfully. "What?" I wonder.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "We are talking about things that affect all of us," Mike explained, but his response irritated me even more. "Well, I do not hear Cassie and I talking about it - just the two of you - so you either change the subject or know where the door is," I said, pointing to the dark brown door that was covered in various papers.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Elliot chuckles at my demeanor, which makes me feel insecure. I am self-assured enough to advocate for something that gives me peace. "Are you serious? You are kicking us out?" He sounded irritated, but he tried to mask it with an ugly and phony laugh.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Duuuh," I mumble. "I came here to rest from that place, but you two bring it even into our dorm room, that is selfish", Cassie clutches my hand under the sheets we shared, knowing that at times like this, I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. I am delighted she was the one who was on her friend's side rather than her boyfriend's when such circumstances arose.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "What the hell got into you?!" I ignored Mike's question. I am growing to dislike him, and I am beginning to suspect that I never truly liked him from the bottom of my heart, only on the surface - only because of Cassie.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Elliot brushed his hands across his face and smiled cynically once again. "I know what is trying to get into her," He said, my eyes wide. What exactly is he on about?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Do not act innocent; you spent an hour and a half at the table with that FBI psychopath; what is so fascinating about him?" Except he killed four people...", now I am the one laughing in his face, though I am more astonished than amused.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Mike leans over to Cassie and tells her that they should leave us alone to chat. Cassie seems conflicted about the decision, perhaps because she thinks I am capable of settling everything on my own, but she also does not want to leave anywhere. Mike is persistent, but soon relents and follows him into the corridor; I watch the door close, hoping they are nearby and listening.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "I had no idea you were jealous of my time with the patient," I shoot back. "If you want, I will play cards with you, get you a uniform like the patients wear, maybe all that turns you on," my body position alters unconsciously, as if I know this is going to turn into a massive argument if I don't stop it.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "It appears that my not-meant-to-be wife is throwing herself at the feet of a murderer, have you seen how the sick man has been staring at you since the first day he arrived?! ", he continues, as if it is my responsibility that someone is staring at me.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "He must have been thinking about how he is reaching for your panties that he is soaking with every word he says, and the work uniform is short... and simple just right for the quickie sex fantasies in his room... what do you do when you take him back to the room after the meal?!" This was not the Elliot I knew right now, this was some dark version of him on 10 grams of cocaine or some hard drug. When I look closely at his eyes, I notice that his pupils are wide open. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Damn it.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "You are high on drugs?! Please leave this room; I will call the cops and make a scene for you. I am giving you the option to leave and stay away from me," I stutter as I speak, my protection mechanism being tears. The same tears he is not worth right now, as he sits calmly staring at me, not moving.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ "Get out of my fucking room, now!" I yell as loudly as I can, holding the book in my hand to shoot at him if he does not want to come out. Elliot gets up from his chair and starts towards the door, occasionally turning to look at me.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Cassie walks into the room, practically in tears at seeing me so broken. I was not alone anymore, thanks to her. I have my save guard ready. I was so thankful for her.