Psych Ward Stories Novels & Stories

MYSTIC HOLLOW (Homicide) . BY NAOMI INNOCENT . CHAPTER 4 . Laura and Peter were still looking for the Psychological Records Room as they walked round the wards. "She said it's close to ward 15" Laura said as they saw the ward 15 close to a room with an acronym written on top it "PRD" "I think that PRD stands for Psychological Records Department" Peter said as she and Laura headed inside. They showed the green card to the guards working in that lane as they assigned a tour guide to them.

"What sort of business brings the police to a hospital ward?" Captain Zims replied, "In recent days, our station has received numerous reports about Jorn Pharmacy selling problematic drugs, resulting in severe injuries and life-threatening situations. After days of investigation, we apprehended the heir of the Cawsway family, who obtained the prescription, along with the woman who sold it to him." "As per her confession, the troublesome drugs were manufactured by a woman named Brown, and she happens to be in this ward." Being cautious not to offend the influential Garcia family, Captain Zims spoke carefully, seeking to understand the dynamics between Victor, Lukas, and the other individuals

Margarette was petrified, but the nurse went on to continue the story. "Some of our patients in this ward here have hopeless disabled arms, some have no tongues, and the worst are those patients whose eyeballs are being taken away mercilessly. Although their cases were hopeless and most probably cannot do the job for the mafia, we still take care of them here because they're part of the family." Her heart throbbed as it clenched as she listened to Marie tenaciously. She knew that people die within this business, but just imagining these people's suffering made her heart ache.

“I'm sorry Kacey. I need to sedate you until I find something that will work to pull you out of this funk you're in. Until we find what works against the drug you've been given, that's making you like this.” Drugs what fucking drugs? I've ever ever taken drugs willingly. What the hell is this dumb stupid doctor talking about? “Let's us help you, Kacey.” “Where’s Milly?” “She's here, she's safe. She's resting.” “What the hell is going on? Why am I in a psych ward?” “I can assure you, you are in no psych ward Kacey. This is a rehab centre.” he said, sticking a needle in my arm. “Get some rest, Kacey, once you're feeling a little like yourself you'll be slowed to see your brother and Mr. Gree

Then he inhales deeply, the sound rough in his chest. His right hand leaves the counter and slides under the hem of the T-shirt I'm wearing. His palm flattens gently over my stomach, his fingers spreading. "I was back in the psych ward," he says, his voice low. "Same white walls. Same restraints. Same doctor telling me I was a psychopath. That I'd always be one. That the only thing keeping me from hurting people was the drugs they pumped into me." He pauses. His thumb moves in the smallest circle over my skin.

I cut him off. "Then it's fine. Is there anything you wanna do? Do you have any homework?" "I do, but I didn't bring any of my stuff." In the end, we just decided to watch some movies. After our talk last night, I kinda felt awkward. We're closer now, right? I mean, he told me some stuff about himself, so wouldn't it be fair if I told him something about myself too? Still, I don't think it's really the right time. I need to find the perfect timing to tell him about my illness. It would be better if I were honest about only talking to him because he has colors.

He then paced the way towards the main door while Leaflet was carrying my baggage. It took a few seconds before the door was opened and that's when a sophisticated guy bowed and greeted us. Probably the butler. But to hell be with that, I was too worn out to even comprehend shits and just ended up passing out again. "Welcome, Haranias." Third Person's POV "Son of a bitch! Why do you keep hitting me!" the policeman who was about to sip his coffee hissed. His coworker held both of his arms and widened his eyes at him. "They said one of the patients in the mental ward is acting up again."

" I didn't resist as Sarah made the call. She called the clinic and they sent an ambulance to take me away. However, as soon as we got to the clinic and I realized that it was a psych ward, I had a mental breakdown as I stood up and started screaming that I was not in any way crazy and that I didn't belong wherever that they planned to take me to. The other patients were frightened and the staff had to restrain me. I was placed in a padded cell, where I spent the next few days and kept getting medications to help me sleep. However, I started to get nightmares instead, and I would often wake up screaming. My condition was deteriorating rapidly, and I was placed on suicide watch.

Like those iron filings we all seem to attract, he started writing stories about the things that happen in this town when no one’s looking; the things that lurk in the dark corners everyone else would rather ignore. Do these stories really happen? There’s no way of knowing. Initially this uncertainty tormented him. He didn’t sleep well for a long while. However, publishing some of them in Things Slip Through has given him a measure of peace. Helped him embrace his . . . calling, if you will, just like we have. I grapple with cases that can’t be solved. Father Ward hears the strangest confessions, though he can’t share the specifics about most of them. Fitzy—even though he works in Utica—trea

A nurse told us where to find Ward’s room. When we got there, I saw Marcus and that girl standing outside with another man I did not know. Inside the room, Ward lay unconscious on the bed. He looked terrible. A bandage covered his forehead. His arms were wrapped in white gauze with blood showing through in some spots. Machines beeped around him. His face was pale. He lay completely still. The strong man who had carried me to safety now looked so weak and broken. As if the girl just saw me, she rushed over. Her face showed pure anger. She slapped me hard across the cheek.