Читать книгу Jennifer. Residence of Grief - Viktor Khorunzhy - Страница 6

Ponderous bulk of a grey building showed in front of the eye unexpectedly, as soon as the car passed another turn of a narrow asphalt road. It was still Rose Street, though it seemed they had already been far enough below the city.

Taking an unexpectedly zigzagging course through a pine forest, the highway ended with tall iron gates. Through its bars, a large courtyard and the building itself were discernible. To call the place a home was almost a blasphemy: barred windows and massive doors looked more like that of a prison.

However, a social service woman that accompanied Jennifer was of a rather opposite opinion.

“Here we are, dear. That’s your new home until you recover.”

The girl silently pushed the car door open and got out of it. Her attendant took Jenny by her arm – as if for fear she might get lost on the way – and took her down the path peppered with fine gravel to the building with barred windows.

Another five minutes later, Jennifer obediently sat down on an offered chair next to a tall wooden office door the social worker disappeared behind. Their conversation with a doctor was probably not in store for outsider ears, so Jenny had to wait patiently here, under the silent care of a nurse with plump, fat hips; her white coat was literally splitting on them. She came out of nowhere. The girl caught her frankly measuring stare, which made her feel even more bleakly.

The door suddenly flung open; the social service woman’s face bent over Jennifer with a forced and tired smile.

“You’re staying here, dear. You’ll be taken care of, everything will be just fine. You’ll recover soon. And I’ll be visiting you.”

Jenny should have probably acted out some gratitude in response, but she only lowered her eyes in silence. Now she was completely devoid of all those stupid proprieties made up by people. That’s why she had to stay at a psychiatric hospital. And the social worker with her glued fake smile would be on the other side of barred windows from her in a minute. Because acting out kindness was normal. And experiencing grief and being afraid of staying alone in an empty house were symptoms of depression and paranoia that had to be treated…

Dr. Roof himself appeared on the threshold of his office with the door cracked open. It was a middle-aged man with deep receding hair on his forehead. Despite some age marks, he could still be called attractive: a deep-chested, fit man with clayey features and wheat-colored hair.

Instead of an expectable white coat, the doctor was wearing a perfect, elegantly cut black suit and grey silk shirt. Even his too much uncovered forehead didn’t diminish the man’s attractiveness. On the contrary, it suggested his mind of the highest rank – that was how a scientist or a poet could look like… However, the man standing in front of his new patient was neither – that was evident by his eyes: thorny and clinging, they sort of wanted to pierce the girl through. At short range, Jennifer thought his stare to be even more unpleasant than that of the nurse. The girl felt slight chill running down her spine.

“Come in, Miss.” He made an inviting gesture with his hand, and Jennifer had nothing to do but enter his office, though there was nothing in the world she wanted less than being alone with that prickle-eyed man.

Inside, the room looked more spacious than it could be assumed at first. A high ceiling, expensive furniture of dark wood, leather chair with a broad back – the interior would be more typical of a high-ranked official’s parlor than of a reception office of a psychiatric hospital doctor, kept by the government.

“Take a seat,” he made another inviting gesture at the second chair – a more humble one – standing at the table. Having been hoisted in his seat, the doctor went on with eyeing Jenny thoughtfully.

Having no desire to response to his stare, the girl was viewing the room: some certificates and commendations in expensive frames were hanging on the wall. They were probably to convince everyone that came here the hospital was really good, for there were so many neatly structured papers to prove it.

There also was a large window, neat and light: it even showed a tip of the road and trees that were hustling farther beyond the territory of the clinic.

Having forced herself to tear her eyes off the window, Jenny was suddenly surprised to notice another creature present here: a large white parrot in a cage hanging on a hook in the corner. It was sitting so stiffly that she had mistaken it for a dummy at first. But then “the dummy” moved, peered at Jennifer, then scratched its feathery side with its paw and froze in drowsiness again. For a second, the girl thought she had seen the bird before, however she failed to remember the circumstances of such an encounter.

While Jenny was examining the reception office, the doctor hastelessly opened a folder with papers given by the social worker. Her biography, a couple of newspaper items about the accident, police doctor’s report… Jennifer’s entire short life was housed on several sheets of official paper.

Having shot a quick glance at the folder, Jenny started to examine toecaps of her shoes, having no desire to take part in that “doctor-patient” game thrust upon her against her will.

“Jennifer Parker, age sixteen. Witnessed her parents died in quite mysterious circumstances,” the doctor said, savoring every single word as if it really pleased him. “A car crash. Mental disorder resulting from experienced stress. Well… Our experts will help you become healthy again…” Suddenly he got behind Jennifer’s back with lightning speed and his voice was now flowing from above like a viscous resin: “Do you still see monsters, girl?”

Jenny shuddered; but as soon as she lifted her eyes, the doctor moved back to his seat and was now making some notes in her documents with his pen.

Did she simply imagine this instant motion and his last words? However, his scent – a gruffish fragrance of expensive male cologne – still seemed to soar beside her.

“Nurse, take Miss Parker to… the ward eighteen,” he added matter-of-factly, without paying any more attention to Jennifer.

A heavy swarthy hand with shortly cut nails rested on her shoulder. Obeying, the girl stood up and followed the nurse into a long corridor filled with hospital scents – of medicines, disinfectants, fear, pain and hopelessness.