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c h a p t e r f o u r t y - f i v e
One of the beauties of Robin and Sam's friendship? They could bond over shared disgust. Like right now, where they were mutually losing it over Nancy's wardrobe.
They'd finally made it to Pennhurst, getting out of Nancy's car with irritation in their eyes.
Robin was much worse off, as Sam was at least familiar with clothes of that style, even though the fully buttoned top was starting to irritate her neck and her feet felt awkward being this low to the ground.
"I can't breathe in this thing, and I'm itchy," Robin complains, stumbling in the kitten heels. "I'm itching all over."
"It's not all about comfort."
"Yeah, but this fabric is awful," Sam looks down at her blazer. "I've gotta tell my mom to recommend some stores to Karen."
"Okay, we're academics."
"Do academics wear this much pastel? I feel like I'm in church," Sam eyes the blues, pinks, and yellows the other two were wearing. "On Easter."
"Yeah, we look like idiots," Robin agrees. "Also, this bra you gave me is really pinching my boobs."
"Maybe because you two aren't the same size?" Sam widens her eyes. "Why couldn't you keep your own bra?"
"Ask Nancy!"
"Okay, could you two let me do the talking?"
"Why? So you can offend the scholarly man?" Sam furrows her eyebrows.
"I know how to speak to people like him."
"With an air of entitlement and annoyance?" Sam teases. "I'm just saying, just because this guy is smart doesn't mean you have to go all snob."
"Just please let me do the talking. If that's even possible," she rolls her eyes.
"It's not only possible, it's inevitable, because shortly, I'll be dead from strangulation," Robin pulls at her collar.
They walk into the director's office, Sam immediately putting her polite, 'I-come-from-money' face on as Nancy hands him their resumes to read.
"Nice to meet you sir. I'm Ruth."
"Julie."
"Rose."
"Nice to meet you all. These are your resumes, I presume," he smiles, putting on his glasses.
"Yes," Sam nods, prompting him to read them.
"3.9 GPAs, all of you. Impressive."
"And this is a recommendation from Professor Brantley."
"Yeah, I know Larry. Quite well actually," he responds, and it takes everything in Sam not to giggle as she makes eye contact with Robin and Nancy.
"You know what they say," he continues. "Those who can't do, teach."
The girls awkwardly laugh along, Robin's extending for way too much time.
"Uh, yes, yes, that's actually why we're here," I mean, we can only learn so much in a classroom," Nancy thinks up.
"And I'm sympathetic to your struggle, truly," he looks them over. "But there is a protocol to visiting a patient like Victor. You have to put in a request, and then you have to undergo a screening process, at which point the board will make a decision."
"Right," Sam chuckles, earning a glare from Nancy, who was already dreading whatever snarky remark she had coming. "We know the protocol. We followed the protocol. It just didn't quite work out."
"Well, dear, I'm afraid that's life," he retorts, still not even glancing Sam's way, hitting a nerve in Sam and Robin. "But until then, we would be happy to give you a tour of our facilities. Perhaps you could even speak to some patients in out low-security wing."
"And we would... love that, it's just..." Nancy starts. "Our thesis is due next month-"
"And you're out of time. Whose fault is that?"
"Ours, absolutely, and I do apologize-"
"Don't apologize, Ruth. Screw that," Robin cuts in. "The fact of the matter is, as you were ignoring my friend Julie say, we did put in a request months ago and were denied. And then we reapplied and were denied again."
"I was not ignoring-" he holds his hands out.
"You were, but don't worry, I didn't take it personally. It just put a few things into perspective," Sam shrugs, standing up. "I mean, we kept wondering why are we getting denied over and over again? And then it hit me."
"Julie..."
"Ruth, you know I'm telling the truth here. Right, Rose? Because something tells me that the board would be totally fine with a Julie Roberts applying. Even better if it were Bobby, John, and Tom," she makes a face.
"We do not discriminate here at Pennhurst-"
"Absolutely right, Julie," Robin stands as well. "I mean, coming here was a last ditch effort to save our thesis. I can't breathe in this thing."
"Maybe you should go get some air, Rose. Julie can go with you."
"Maybe I should. Maybe I should, Ruth."
"Mm-hmm."
"Because I'm starting to think this whole thing is a colossal mistake. I'm breaking out in a rash. My boobs hurt. And I'll tell you the truth, Anthony. May I call you Anthony? These aren't my clothes. Julie's either. We borrowed them because I wanted you to take us seriously. Because nobody takes girls seriously in this field. They just don't," she points between herself and Sam, who makes an exaggerated face of misery.
"They don't," Sam nods in agreement.
"We don't look the part or whatever. But can I tell you a story? 1978, I was at summer camp. And my counselor Drew told me and everyone in Cabin C the true story of the Victor Creel Massacre. And little Petey McHew... You know Petey, right, ladies?"
"Of... Of course."
"Yeah, Petey and I go way back," Sam says along.
"Yeah. Little Petey McHew started sobbing right there on the spot. Full-on hyperventilating. The other campers couldn't sleep for weeks. I couldn't either, but not 'cause I was scared. Because I was obsessed with the question, "What would drive a human being to commit such unimaginable acts?" Other kids wanted to be astronauts, basketball players, rock stars. But I wanted to be you. I wanted to be you," she points directly at the director, and even Sam was starting to feel inspired.
"So, forgive me if I'll now try anything in my power, including wearing this ridiculous outfit, if I might get to speak to the man that ignited my passion and learn a little more about how his twisted, but let's face it, totally fascinating mind works. So, yes, we don't have the official paperwork, but don't tell me that cry-baby Petey McHew wouldn't have gotten an audience with Victor in moments if he'd asked politely, because you and I both know that he would."
He stares in silence for a moment, prompting Sam to start.
"I mean, you could still deny us. Tell us to go back and try again," she frowns. "But do you know how hard it was to get here? To be accepted into such a prestigious program? How we had to fight tooth and nail, just to get someone to see us as academics? Would Petey need all the paperwork? Would Bobby? Would Tom? I know he wouldn't."
"Ten minutes with Victor. That's all we ask."
Nancy stares at both girls in shock, just the slightest bit impressed when he smiles, standing up. "I can give you ten minutes, I suppose."
He then leads them out the door, where Nancy high fives them both, knowing she owed them, especially Sam, an apology.
____
He gives them a tour, eventually leading them outside, where some patients seemed to be frolicking in the grass.
"These are our gardens. Beautiful, aren't they?" he points. "We allow them two hours of outside time a day."
"Can't they just escape?" Robin questions.
"They could," he acknowledges. "But the vast majority choose to be here. They like it here."
Sam couldn't quite believe that. Sure, it was nice, all things considered, but it's a mental hospital. Nobody could enjoy captivity, not even in a palace.
"This is one of our more popular areas. The listening room. We found that music has a particularly calming effect on the broken mind," he leads them inside. "The right song, particularly one which holds some personal meaning, can prove a salient stimulus."
"Wait, really? Music has that strong of an effect?" Sam questions.
"It reaches parts of the mind simple words cannot," he grins, bringing them down to the basement. "But there are those who are beyond a cure."
"Uh, Dr. Hatch, do you think it might be possible for us to speak to Victor alone?" Nancy requests, just as he begins to unlock the door.
"Alone?" he furrows his eyebrows.
"I... I think that we would just love the challenge of speaking with Victor without the safety net of an expert such as yourself," Robin starts.
"Then we could really rub it in Professor Bradley's face," Sam adds.
"Professor Bradley? I don't believe I know a Professor Bradley."
"Brantley. She... she meant to say Brantley."
"I did," Sam gasps, giving him sad eyes. "It's... the accent. Sometimes my D's and T's sound the same. Kids actually used to give me a hard time for it."
"Oh, I apologize. I didn't intend to offend you," he clears his throat, still shaken from her previous accusation.
"You're fine, sir. I'm just so excited to meet Victor. Preferably, as she said, alone?"
"Yes. Why not? You've caught me in a rebellious mood," he obliges, making them chuckle nervously. "And there's something rather urgent I need to check on anyway, so... Sure."
"Thank you so much, Dr. Hatch."
"Thank you."
"Puppy dog eyes work every time," Sam whispers to Robin.
"Bradley?" Nancy scolds.
"Blame the accent, not me," Sam jokes.
"You don't have an accent."
"Yeah, but now I've convinced him that I do."
The guard finally opens the doors, guiding them to the end of the hall as he does instructions.
"Do not startle him. Do not touch him. Do not pass him anything. Stand five feet away from the bars at all times."
"Get away," one of the patients warns, startling Sam a bit. "Is that clear?"
As he hits his stick against the bars, the clanging noise rattles in Sam's ears, soon morphing into the sound of bell chimes, which makes Sam eyes drift towards the wall, now holding a grandfather clock.
"Yes, sir," Nancy affirms.
"Yes, sir."
They all look expectantly at Sam when she doesn't say anything, growing concerned at her far away look. "Sam!"
"Yes? Yes, sorry," she blinks rapidly. "You're crystal clear."
He eyes her for a moment, before turning to the cell. "Victor. Today's your lucky day! You got visitors. Real pretty ones."
Sam's skin crawls at his comment, suddenly thankful Nancy forced her to button up her shirt. She only gets more creeped out when Victor remains silent.
"Must be in one of his moods. Have fun," the guard steps away.
"Victor? My name is Nancy. Nancy Wheeler. And this is... Robin Buckley and Samantha Flores. Um, we have some questions."
"I don't talk to reporters. Hatch knows that," he rasps.
"We're not reporters. We're here because... we believe you. And because we need your help. Whatever killed your family, we think it's back."
a/n: double update bc I felt bad xo