Alternative Therapy

By Czolgolz
czologlz@yahoo.com

Leslie sat, confused, as Dr. Leon pushed her chair down the dimly lit hall. One moment she had been on her therapist’s couch, telling him about the problems in her life. The next minute, she was...somewhere else.

“Doctor?” she said, struggling to turn around in the wheelchair. “I don’t understand. Where are you taking me?”

She heard him sigh. “Ms. Charles, I’m afraid you’re very deeply disturbed. After listening to you for just an hour, I’ve come to the realization that you are far too mentally ill for me to release you. I’ve signed the committal papers. You’re going to need long term care.”

Leslie would have jumped out of the chair if it weren’t for the straps. “Mentally ill? All I told you about were some issues I have having! You can’t do this! What’s going on?”

The doctor tutted. “You’re even more far gone than I realized. It’s a good thing you came to me, there’s no telling what might have happened. Don’t worry, you’re under my direct care right now, in a private facility. From now on, I’ll be in complete charge.”

Leslie’s head swam. She wasn’t crazy. Was she? Surely not. Though things had been weird recently. Maybe...maybe she needed a rest. But to be institutionalized?

“Doctor, is this straitjacket really necessary?” Though she had obviously never worn one, the restraining device seemed unusual. For one thing, it wasn’t made of canvas, but of a much softer material. And while her arms were bound in front of her chest, there was nothing else to the garment. Her shoulders, back and belly were completely uncovered. In fact, aside from a loose fitting pair of hospital pants, that was all she was wearing.

“Miss Charles, it’s for your own safety. Ah, here we are.” He stopped the chair in front of an intimidating looking door, unlocked it, and wheeled his patient inside.

Leslie was pleasantly surprised to see the room was set up like a small apartment, with a comfortable looking bed, chairs, bookshelves, etc. On the other hand, the walls were all padded and there was no handle on the inside of the door. In the middle of the room was a large hospital bed in upright mode. Next to it sat a small table that Leslie could not clearly see.

Dr. Leon unbelted Leslie from the chair and helped her onto the bed, where she sat upright, confused.

“May I offer you a drink, Miss Charles?”

“I think...I think I need one.”

He ducked out of her line of sight and returned shortly with an ice filled glass. Leslie nodded helplessly at her restrained arms.

“How silly of me.” He moved at adjustable table in front of her, and placed a long straw in the drink. She took a grateful sip.

Leon put on some soft music. He then stood behind her. “Are you comfortable?”

“I suppose. But is this legal? I thought only a judge could have me committed.”

To Leslie’s surprise, he began to massage her bare, pale shoulders. “I do things my own way. Besides, do you really want to be in a state hospital? I think it would be more therapeutic to keep you here. In secret. Under my supervision. I’ll take care of your every need, your every desire, twenty-four hours a day. I’ll never leave your side. All in the interest of your therapy, of course.”

Leslie felt slightly drowsy. Maybe due the drink, or the warm room, or the fact that for the first time in weeks, she could relax. She wasn’t sure why she was getting a back massage from her doctor, but she didn’t mind. Not really.

“Doctor? Am I really insane?”

He bent his lips close to her ear. “Completely. You’re in desperate need of treatment.”

Leslie tried to move, but the straitjacket prevented it. “What sort of treatment?”

“You will find that I’m rather unorthodox in my methods. Much of my therapy is of a highly unusual nature. I’ve been waiting a long time to find a patient as...disturbed as yourself. I look forward to experimenting on you.”

A chill ran through Leslie’s body. “How long will I be in therapy? Weeks? A month?”

Leon pressed a button. Leslie’s bed began to recline. Soon she was almost, but not quite, flat on her back.

“Years,” he whispered. “Decades. It’s possible your condition is incurable.”

For the first time, Leslie noticed the objects on the table next to her. A bucket of ice. A container of chocolate syrup. A padded ping pong paddle. A pile of feathers. A permanent marker with a soft tip.

The lights began to lower. She felt the doctor caress her face. “I think it’s time we begin, Miss Charles. Try to relax. Oh, and the room is completely soundproof.”