Hospitals are supposed to help. Michael found that wasn’t always true.
Book 1 of the Smithson's series.
Michael couldn’t understand the nightmares that made him violent on waking, mostly because he didn’t have the courage to think his problem through. Eventually, pressured into entering a mental hospital by his employers he thought that here he would find answers and a way to a better life. He was never more wrong.
Philip stepped back from the urinal as the groaning started. He turned round fast.
Only one of the stall doors was closed and he took a cautious step towards it.
The noise came again but more animal than human. It ran cold lines down his spine and he wanted to run but the pain in that cry held him there. Then it changed.
He asked, “Hello?”
The noise stopped.
Philip moved closer to the door. He heard snuffling, as if some large creature had its nose to the other side of this pitted wood.
He said, “Stop fucking about.”
The snuffling stopped and a human voice began to cry, one he recognized. Philip looked into the stall to his left, saw he could easily climb over the partition if he stood on the porcelain bowl then the paper holder but he had always wanted to kick a door in and there was never going to be a better opportunity than this. He stepped back, raised his right leg and slammed the sole of his shoe into the panel beside the slip-lock.