CH.4

ELISE

I wake up in pieces.

Sound comes first. Then feeling rough sheets scratching against my skin.

Finally, my eyes crack open to blinding white ceiling tiles glowing under buzzing fluorescent lights.

"She's waking up," someone says nearby. "Vitals look good."

I try to lift my hand to my pounding head, but something stops me. Looking down, I see padded restraints binding my wrists to the bed.

My heart starts racing.

"Where—" My voice breaks, dry as sandpaper. "Where am I?"

A woman steps up to the bed. She wears light green scrubs and holds a clipboard to her chest. Her blonde hair is pulled back so tight it looks painful, and her smile never reaches her cold eyes.

"Good morning, Mrs. Westfield. I'm Nurse Wagner. You're at Pinewood Wellness Center," she says, glancing at her notes. "You arrived about fourteen hours ago."

I pull against the restraints, feeling them dig into my skin. "Why am I tied down?" I hate how weak I sound.

"Standard procedure for new patients who got aggressive during admission." Nurse Wagner fiddles with the IV dripping clear liquid into my arm. "Dr. Mercer will be in soon to talk about your treatment."

"I don't need treatment," I say, fighting to keep my voice steady. "I need to get out of here. This is a mistake—no, it's worse—it's a setup!"

The nurse's fake smile tightens. "This kind of paranoia is exactly why you're here. Your family is very worried about you."

I laugh, the sound bitter even to my own ears.

"My family? You mean my father who had me drugged and dragged here? Or my husband who's stealing my company while screwing my stepsister?"

Nurse Wagner scribbles something on her clipboard. "Still showing paranoid thinking. I'll let Dr. Mercer know," she mutters, like I can't hear her.

I yank harder at the restraints, panic rising in my chest.

"I'm not crazy! Call my lawyer! Call the police! You can't keep me locked up here!"

"Your husband has medical power of attorney now." The nurse speaks slowly, like she's talking to a child. "The paperwork went through yesterday. Everything's legal."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I can't breathe.

"No. That's impossible. There would have to be a hearing, a doctor's evaluation—"

"There was an emergency petition," Nurse Wagner cuts me off. "Your public breakdown and erratic behavior were enough evidence. The judge approved it right away."

The blood drains from my face. "Judge Bullock? Gerald Bullock? Alexander's maternal uncle?"

"I wouldn't know about that," the nurse says, walking toward the door. "Dr. Mercer will see you soon. Try to stay calm. Fighting only proves you need to be here."

The door closes with a soft click, followed by the sound of a lock turning.

I stare at the ceiling, my mind racing despite the fog still clouding my thoughts.

Alexander moved faster than I expected, using his family connections to bend the rules. With his uncle as judge and my father backing him, they stripped away my rights in less than a day.

The minutes drag by. The beeping monitor becomes my only way to track time.

I test the restraints methodically, looking for any weakness, but they hold tight. The drugs still in my system make it hard to think clearly.

The door opens again.

A tall man with salt-and-pepper hair walks in, followed by Nurse Wagner and a muscular orderly with "Marcus" on his name tag.

The doctor wears an expensive suit under his white coat, unusual for a psychiatric facility.

His cold blue eyes scan me like I'm a specimen.

"Mrs. Westfield, I'm Dr. Mercer." His voice has that fake warmth doctors use on difficult patients. "Welcome to Pinewood. I know this is hard, but we're here to help you get better."

"Better from what?" I demand. "I'm not sick. I'm being silenced."

Dr. Mercer exchanges a look with Nurse Wagner.

"Paranoid delusions centered on conspiracy theories," he says, like he's dictating notes. "Matches the symptoms her husband described."

"They're not delusions!" I struggle against the restraints. "Alexander and Natasha are stealing my company. I found proof of their affair and their financial schemes. They're using you to discredit me!"

Dr. Mercer sighs, pulling a silver pen from his pocket.

"Mrs. Westfield, your husband explained everything. The stress of running Blackwood Technologies, combined with your fertility treatments, created too much pressure. It's common for the mind to create stories to explain emotional pain."

"Fertility treatments?" I stare at him in shock. "There were no fertility treatments. That's completely made up!"

"Your medical records say otherwise." He flips through my chart. "Three rounds of IVF in the past year. The hormones alone could explain your emotional state."

Horror washes over me. They've faked my medical history, creating a story to explain away my "delusions." The realization of how thoroughly they've planned this makes me sick to my stomach.

"Those records are fake," I insist, my voice shaking. "Check with my real doctor. Dr. Sarah Patel at Rosienne Medical Group."

"We've talked to all your doctors," Dr. Mercer says smoothly. "They all confirm the same history."

My mind spins. How deep does this go? How many people has Alexander paid off?

"Now," Dr. Mercer continues, "We need to talk about your medication. Your husband mentioned you've been refusing your prescriptions at home."

"Because there were no prescriptions!" Frustration builds in my chest. "Everything Alexander told you is a lie!"

Dr. Mercer makes another note before turning to Nurse Wagner.

"Let's start with the standard protocol. Risperidone 2mg twice daily, lorazepam for anxiety as needed." He glances at me. "We'll adjust based on how she responds."

"I refuse to take any medication," I say firmly. "I know my rights. You can't force drugs on me without my consent."

Dr. Mercer's expression doesn't change, but something cold flickers in his eyes. "Actually, Mrs. Westfield, under your involuntary commitment, we can give treatment deemed medically necessary. Your husband has already consented on your behalf."

Nurse Wagner approaches with a small paper cup containing two pills. "Please take these voluntarily," she suggests, her tone making it clear this isn't really a request.

I press my lips together and turn my head away. "No."

Dr. Mercer sighs. "I was hoping we could avoid this on your first day."

He nods to Marcus, who steps forward. The orderly's hands are huge, his face blank as he positions himself beside the bed.

"Please don't make this difficult, Mrs. Westfield," Nurse Wagner says, putting the cup down and pulling out a syringe. "Injections hurt more than pills."

I pull against the restraints, panic rising. "This is wrong! You can't force drugs into me!"

"It's not wrong. It's treatment," Dr. Mercer steps back, giving the others room. "The law allows it. Your commitment order requires it."

Marcus puts his strong hands on my shoulders, holding me still while Nurse Wagner swabs my upper arm with something cold.

"Stop! Don't do this!" I fight against the restraints, but between the padded cuffs and Marcus's grip, I can't move. "You don't understand! Someone is using you to shut me up!"

"Her fear is severe," Dr. Mercer notes, writing something down. "Increase the dose by five milligrams."

The needle stings when it breaks my skin. A weird coldness spreads through my arm as the liquid enters my body.

"All done," Nurse Wagner murmurs. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

The effect hits almost immediately. The room's edges blur. My racing thoughts slow down, getting tangled like heavy vines.

"Wha... what did you give me?" My words slur together.

"A mix of haloperidol and lorazepam," Dr. Mercer answers, his voice sounding far away. "It will calm you down and help with your confused thinking."

"Not... confused..." I struggle against the thick fog filling my head. "Truth... need to tell..."

"You can tell us everything later," Dr. Mercer's blurry face hovers above me. "When you're feeling better."

I want to scream, to fight back, to do something, but my body feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.

My eyelids keep dropping no matter how hard I try to keep them open.

"We can take off the restraints now," Dr. Mercer says. "She won't hurt herself or anyone else for a while."

Nurse Wagner unbuckles the straps. I try to move my arms, but they barely respond, slow and heavy.

"First therapy group is tomorrow morning if she's awake enough," Dr. Mercer continues. "One-on-one session in the afternoon. Blood work and physical before dinner."

"Got it, doctor." Nurse Wagner adjusts the bed so I'm half-sitting.

"Anything else?" she asks.

"She's fixated on corporate conspiracy stuff. Don't let her see news or business reports that might feed into it." He pauses at the door. "Also, check all visitors before letting them in."

"Visitors?" I mumble through numb lips. "Who?"

"Your husband is coming tomorrow." Nurse Wagner smooths the blanket over my legs. "He's very worried about you."

A warning bell rings faintly in my foggy mind. Alexander. He would see me like this, drugged and confused. He would use this against me, proving I was unstable.

"No..." The word barely makes it out, more breath than sound.

"Rest now, Mrs. Westfield." Dr. Mercer's voice fades as he walks away. "You have a long road ahead."

With that, the door shuts and the lock clicks.

I stare at the ceiling, silent tears sliding into my hair. The drug pulls me toward sleep, but I fight it, clinging to one clear thought.

They haven't beaten me yet. This is just another fight. I will escape. I will tell the truth. I will make them pay!