4:09 by Pen of the Damned’s Jon Olson
The elevator lurches to a stop on the fifth floor and the orderly leads me out as the doors swish open. It’s always quiet up here. The carpeted floors, potted plants and framed paintings on the walls almost make you forget that you’re in a mental institution.
Dr. Quill’s office is the last door on the left at the far end of the hall. Harold guides me down; his hand gently gripping my elbow. In the five-plus years I’ve been here, the orderly has always been decent to me.
We stop in front of Dr. Quill’s door.
There are nice, stained-wood doors up here, while we’re stuck with steel ones painted a sterilizing grey.
Harold checks his watch and at precisely 4:00pm, he knocks.
“Come in, please.” Dr. Quill’s voice is faint and gentle.
Harold turns the knob and pushes the door open.
Dr. Quill’s windowless office appears smaller than it…
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