Routine

“My name is Dr. Alisson Palmer. I am a forensic psychiatrist at the Blackwood Institute, and I am the psychiatrist legally responsible for patient 73982, Mary Lee Evans.”

I was getting tired of it. But, you know… routine.

Every morning I got here at nine, waited while the staff prepared her and security searched me for anything that could harm either of us, and at exactly nine thirty I was finally allowed into her room.

And when I say her room, I mean it, with nothing else inside of it to claim possession of the padded cubicle. Well, maybe the decades-old mold on the walls, but I guess leather is hard to clean…

To be honest with you, I love routine. It gives me peace, order, safety. And I can better deal with things if I know when they will happen. Even if things go wrong, routine offers a silver lining: you can do better tomorrow, and the following days. You live, you learn, right?

Still, I liked my routine. I could not last a week in Mary Lee’s place.

The stench, a blend of dampness, hospital sterilizers, and stale blood, was hard to escape. Ironically, I guess the last one is the only one I could endure for the rest of my life. It’s sad, but I have come to terms with it. I love my job.

The other thing that I could not stand would be losing my freedom, or whatever better word you have to describe me being able to read a book, watch a movie, have boring sex with the only two men I interact with, or doomscroll for hours until my phone runs out of battery. I know, this freedom involves many other things, yet all that perfectly describes my days when I’m not eating or sleeping so I can survive until the next day.

Well, I suppose people here are not being treated nicely, considering—

“Hello…” Mary Lee said without moving a single muscle, and with a soft yet gritty voice.

I corrected myself, something she didn’t notice, her eyes still glued to the floor and slightly narrowed. “Hello, Mary Lee. It’s nine forty-seven in the morning, and the day is August twelve. Is it okay if we talk for a bit? We can take it slow, no pressure.”

After four days of complete silence, Mary Lee Evans was finally talking to me. Still no intention to even look at my face through the glass, though.

“Nothing I say will change things. And you know it.”

“I’m here to help you, Mary Lee. I know it sounds cliché, and you know I’m also trying to understand the whole situation, but I’ll happily take any progress.”

“Then you could start by not using my name in every sentence,” she snapped.

“I—I’m sorry, it’s just protocol,” I replied, realizing I had already misstepped.

“It’s alright,” she let out, sketching a smile. “I’m just messing with you. Mary Lee is fine, as well as all the others. What do you want to know?”

She was all mysterious for days, the kind of character you would see in thriller movies to force the evil aura, and now she was actually talking to me? Not just talking, but making snarky comments?

“Mary Lee will do, but I will drop the formality if that’s what you want,” I said, shifting my tone.

“You’re charged with multiple counts of first-degree murder. I’m just here to find out why and to evaluate you. If you work with me, I might be able to help you. Would you like that?” I continued.

“For all I know, I’ll be in this box until the day I die, be it in a few decades or next Thursday. No one can help me, miss Palmer. No one could, and that’s why I’m here.”

She was right. We wanted to know the details and why she did what she did, and I wanted to study her mind to add another paper to my resume… but there was not much she could gain from it.

“Routine, Mary Lee,” I said while searching for her eyes.

“The sooner we get done with this, the sooner you can make sure every single one of your days will be routine. No guessing about my questions, no guessing about how you’ll react. Just… routine. Peace, order, safety.”