Free Unidentified by Mikel J. Wisler Page A

her, frowning. “Oh,” he said softly. “They think she’s crazy.” He shook his head, looking out his window.
    They drove on in silence.
     
    ***
     
    Forty-five minutes later, Mitchell’s car pulled into the long driveway leading up a hill to the large three story brick building. Its windows were all dark, and as they approached, they could see that bars covered them. The driveway wound up the hill and led to a parking lot. Only a few cars sat scattered in the lot. Large stone steps led up to the archway entrance of the building. It appeared more gothic with every yard that they approached.
    At last, Mitchell parked the car and they walked to the steps leading up to the main doors. Over the archway were engraved the words, “St. Jerome Mental Ward.” They both looked up at the words as they walked in. Evans, out of polite instincts, reached the door first and held it open for Mitchell. She entered and he followed her.
    The waiting area seemed paused in time. Old chairs sat arranged around a large rug. They all were likely brand new sometime in the early 1970s. The chairs were boxy wood frames with orange upholstering. A desk sat by the wall, on it was an old CRT computer monitor. A man sat there in nursing uniform, looking over a clipboard full of papers. Mitchell headed for him without hesitation and Evans followed.
    Reaching the desk, Mitchell wasted no time. She pulled out her badge and said, "Good morning, I’m Special Agent Nicole Mitchell. I understand Stephanie Clark was brought in here.”
    The nurse looked up from his papers. For a second he just stared at the badge. Evans had to figure this was the first time a bona fide FBI agent had walked up to this man and introduced herself in such an official manner. The man snapped out of it and nodded.
    “Doctor Jeffries is just wrapping up with the family,” he said.
    He pointed down a hallway to their right. The hallway was long, stretching off the length of the building. About halfway down the hall a doctor stood with Tim and Dorothy Clark. They spoke, the doctor shaking his head now and again, gesturing with his hands, palms up. Evans recognized the body language as that of someone either guarded or not optimistic.
    Without another word, Mitchell started walking down the hallway towards the Clarks and the doctor. Evans followed, but he made no effort to catch up to her. He didn’t feel comfortable interrupting the mother and father as the doctor talked to them. Mitchell, on the other hand, seemed to feel there were more pressing matters at hand. But as she approached, the conversation between the doctor and the Clarks seemed to wrap up. The Clarks looked up at the approaching FBI agent.
    “Mr. and Mrs. Clark, how is Stephanie?” Mitchell asked as she reached them.
    “I’m sorry, who are you?” the doctor asked, his already wrinkled forehead becoming more wrinkled with the raising of his eyebrows.
    Mitchell repeated her official greeting, badge out. The doc nodded, but before he could say anything else, Dorothy Clark jumped in.
    “She’s sedated right now” Dorothy said. “She was in hysterics.”
    Tim looked at his wife through narrow eyes. Was he unhappy with Dorothy’s easy willingness to divulge information to Mitchell? Evans watched him as his eyes moved from Dorothy to Mitchell. They seemed to be in a perpetual squint. His lips firmly together, jaw set. But he made no move of protest, no indication he would rather his wife not speak.
    “What exactly happened?” said Mitchell.
    “She said,” Dorothy hesitated, thinking. “She saw someone in her room. I’m sure it was just a nightmare. But Tim thought it would be best if we brought her in for some professional help.”
    Dorothy glanced over at the doctor. Tim’s eyes dropped to the floor. Evans tried to track all of this. Meanwhile, Mitchell pressed on.
    “It’s probably for the best,” she said. “She will be safer here.”
    At this, Tim looked up at Mitchell, his eyes wider now.