Chapter Text
It's Sunday, and on Sunday the Colvins go to church.
And then, apparently, to mental hospitals.
Elizabeth eyes the huge austere building, the forbidding iron gates, with some trepidation. She's still not quite sure how offering to help Father Russo 'minister to the fold' has led her here, but she figures God appreciates the effort anyways.
She checks the slip of paper again and informs the guard she's here to visit a Ms. Dorothy Farrager; when the gates creak open an icy shudder trickles down her spine. It certainly doesn't seem like a healing place, but perhaps the inside is better?
It's not.
We treat our animals better than this! Elizabeth snarls to herself as a young nurse leads her to Block A. The inside is bare and white and cold; the doors to the patients' rooms have only tiny windows to connect them to the outside world, and there is a palpable aura of despair that clings to every grimy surface and permeates the very air. A low cry wails from one of the cells; the nurse fixes Elizabeth with a sickly-sweet ever-so-sorry smile, knocks harshly on the door and it subsides with a whimper.
They manage to arrive at room 32A before she has much more time to stew in righteous disgust.
"She doesn't respond much to anything, just sits there, really. You could smack her and she might not even look at you. When you're done, just call for one of us and we'll check you out," the nurse announces, and Elizabeth gives her a short nod.
Dorothy Farrager was a faithful member of Father Russo's flock until she started losing her memory and was deposited at Metropolitan by her niece. She doesn't seem to know where she is - every so often her vacant gaze slides past Elizabeth to inspect her surroundings with a vague kind of bewilderment, before her eyes wander their way back to her face and blink in glazed surprise. A blessing, if ever she's seen one. Her room is devoid of everything but the meanest necessities, and Elizabeth gets the uncomfortable impression of a tomb whose occupant hasn't realized they're not yet dead.
She clears her throat determinedly, picks up one of the limp, bony hands resting on the tattered blanket, and introduces herself, feeling somewhat silly. Dorothy's eyes brighten somewhat, or at least they don't drift as much, and Elizabeth takes heart, starts to chatter about Mama and Daddy's farm back in Goose Creek.
She talks and talks, about the fields and the animals and her family (and wouldn't Mama pitch a holy fit, to see this place and the people it's supposed to help), until the same young nurse from earlier pokes her head around the door.
"Goodness, aren't you finished yet?"
"No, thank you," she says stiffly.
The nurse blinks. "Oh. Has she said anything, then?"
"No," Elizabeth responds through gritted teeth, fixing her with a thin smile as chilly as the room itself and patting Dorothy's hand soothingly, "but we're having a lovely chat nonetheless."
The woman appears even more mystified and eyes her carefully. "Well - visiting hours are nearly over, so wrap it up."
Elizabeth does, with a reluctance that surprises even her, and promises to visit again. Dorothy's eyes, dimmed again, slide back to the wall as she leaves, and tears (of anger or sadness or perhaps both) prickle uncomfortably in the corners of her eyes.
The nurse begins to escort her back to the front desk, and suddenly a young woman in a worn, torn hospital gown lurches around the corner.
"Help! Help me, Miss! They're going to hurt me," she begs, and thin arms latch around Elizabeth with surprising strength.
"Oh, honey," Elizabeth coos gently, instinct born from soothing generations of wounded and terrified animals. "What's wrong?"
"They're going to lock me up! I've been a good girl, why would they lock me up? So cold...so hungry..."
The nurse moves as if to pry off the terrified girl, who flinches away, and Elizabeth's tenuous hold on her tempers snaps.
"Don't you touch her," she hisses, wrapping her own arms around the patient. The nurse jerks, startled, and the girl presses closer, muttering about being good and can she please come home? Elizabeth pats her dishelveled hair softly.
"What's going on here?" demands a voice, and all three of them turn to see a tall, pale man striding powerfully down the hall. "Stella?"
He makes for an imposing figure, immaculately dressed with glittering dark eyes and cheekbones sharp enough to cut a man. Elizabeth flushes.
"The visiting hours -" begins the nurse, but Stella brightens and peers out from the circle of Elizabeth's arms.
"Have you come to take me home, brother?"
He sighs, reaches out. "Sorry, Stella. You know I can't until things improve."
"I want to go home!" she cries, and she flings herself from Elizabeth and into his arms, sobbing. He pats her back, murmuring gently.
It's clear that the man loves his sister, and Elizabeth's heart cracks.
"Please," she blurts. "Please, if you have the means to do so, let her come home!"
Those coffee-dark eyes consider her over the weeping girl's shoulder. She feels small under his scrutiny and squares her shoulders, lifts her chin. Private family matters are not her business, but aren't they all one family in the Lord? If she submissively abandons another to continue rotting in this godforsaken place, it will eat at her soul as long as she lives.
"...Thank you," he says finally. "I'll consider your suggestion."
"Please do," Elizabeth mutters, and allows the nurse plucking at her sleeve to turn her around and finish ushering her out.
She walks through the gates in a bit of a daze. Hopefully something she's done has mattered, left some residue of kindness in those halls, and she silently promises again to visit. Maybe next time she could even sing a little - she's always believed music has a certain power - maybe she could get some of her fellow cast members at the Opera Company or the congregation's choir to come with…
Her back pickles, and she turns self-consciously without breaking stride.
The tall man, Stella's brother, is closing the main doors behind him, casually glancing around the courtyard. Their eyes meet, and he inclines his head in a formal nod before sliding gracefully into a sleek, expensive black car.
She waves back, hurries on to bus stop, and barely steps aboard before the grumbling driver slams the doors closed. And if her thoughts feature Hospital Man along with potential programs for charity concerts and Dorothy and Stella, well, that's no one's business but her own.