doesn’t belong here.
Napa Valley is known for many things, but good mental institutions? Hell no. I’ve done my research and found more horror stories that come out of this place rather than good ones. That’s the thing with these state-funded programs. If you don’t have the money for good care, you get stuck with what everyone else can afford, and it seems that’s what has happened with Mackenzie. It drives me fucking crazy. That her parents would allow her to stay here with no qualms for her safety.
The facility looks old and outdated on the outside, a history of architecture obviously behind the building. It’s a four-story Gothic build with an old-world infrastructure. The inside is a lot more modernized than the outside with semi up-to-date technology to support the large hospital infrastructure. Though the thought of her inside of here still doesn’t sit right with me.
The Napa State Hospital doesn’t accept voluntary admissions, which means every person inside that building with Mackenzie is either incompetent to stand trial, an offender with a mental health disorder, or they were sent here by reason of insanity.
The more I glance around, taking in my surroundings, the more I feel my temper rise. I have to pause and dutifully remind myself that she’s not my problem anymore. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here for answers. To see that she’s okay for my own peace of mind and figure out why the fuck she did what she did. What was her ultimate goal? To see us all rot behind bars? Or was it something much more sinister?
I bypass the heavy wooden front doors that lead into a foyer of sorts. With bland walls and even worse flooring, the foyer leads to sliding glass doors, which I can only assume keep the patients from escaping out of those double doors so easily. The sliding glass doors open into a sterile lobby with patrolling security and someone working the front desk. I give my name, and I’m instructed to sign and date my visit in a logbook before I can be buzzed in.
Once I’m finally inside the heart of the building, I take in the subpar space and the mental patients around me. A group of them is watching mindless TV while another group sits around a table playing cards. It’s quite literally what you’d expect to see inside a mental institution. This is exactly how it’s portrayed in films with patients walking around, talking to themselves and others sticking together in groups, sneaking paranoid glances over their shoulders.
I take it all in stride, scouring the patients’ faces, looking for Mackenzie, but she’s nowhere to be found.
“Mr. King. You came.”
I turn toward the sound of the voice, keeping my expression impassive. There’s no mistaking the mild hostility in her tone, hidden by a false note of acceptance. The woman I’ve had the displeasure of arguing on the phone with constantly looks just as I’d expect her to. Dr. Aster looks as severe and annoying as I knew she would. With square-rimmed glasses and a head full of gray hair pulled back into a sleek bun, she’s adopted an expression of no-nonsense.
“I just donated two million to your facility. Did you really think I wouldn’t come?”
She smiles, but it comes off as more of a grimace. “Of course. Follow me back to my office.”
We pass down the fluorescent-lit hallways, and the entire way, I keep my eyes peeled for Mackenzie. I don’t know where she is or where they’re keeping her. Dr. Aster has made it clear over the phone she can’t share her patients’ details, per client-patient privilege, so I decided to come here. Other than telling me Mackenzie was indeed alive, I know nothing more about her or her condition. I have no clue what grounds they have for keeping her here. She gave her statement to the police. The only thing I can think is she’s playing the role of an insane person to stay out of trouble after the accident and the break-in at Zach’s.
Once we settle in her office, I flatten my palms against my knees and lean forward. The move is intimidating, especially with my size. She doesn’t cower like most others do, but I see the tic in her jaw all the same. She doesn’t like me asserting my dominance over her in her space. I almost grin at the thrill it gives me.
“Where is she?”
She scoffs, pushing the tip of her glasses up the bridge of her nose.