Chapter 5
The neon sign of Oakridge Sanitarium cast a sickly green glow against the rain-slicked pavement outside the high-security visitors’ entrance. Inside the sterile waiting room, the air smelled heavily of industrial disinfectant and old floor wax. Julian sat on a cracked vinyl chair, his beige suit jacket unbuttoned, looking entirely out of place in the grim facility. Clara sat beside him, holding a paper cup of lukewarm water that she hadn't touched. Her red hair was now tied back in a simple clip, and she wore a heavy wool coat over her silk robe.
They had arrived twenty minutes before midnight, using the legal mandate Clara’s trust status afforded them to demand an immediate welfare check on Maya Sterling.
A heavy metal door at the end of the corridor buzzed open, and Dr. Evelyn Vance stepped out. She was a woman in her late fifties with sharp glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck and a clipboard pressed tightly against her chest like a shield. She looked at Julian, then at Clara, her expression carefully neutral, honed by years of managing high-profile patients whose families preferred them out of sight.
“Mr. Sterling,” Dr. Vance said, her voice dry and clipped. “This is highly irregular. Visiting hours concluded hours ago, and your sister is currently under sedation following an episode.”
“Unlock her door, Doctor,” Julian said, standing up to meet her eye level. His voice carried no anger now, only a cold, terrifying certainty. “We are not here for a social visit. We are here with a court-ordered writ of habeas corpus and an independent medical review team waiting in the car outside.”
Dr. Vance’s eyes flicked to the clipboard on her chest, her fingers tightening around the paper. “Your mother assured us that the guardianship papers were fully executed and that—”
“My mother does not own this facility, nor does she own my sister,” Julian interrupted, stepping closer. “Every day Maya has spent in this hellhole under a false psychiatric hold is another felony added to the pile of charges currently being compiled by the state prosecutor. If you open that door voluntarily, you might salvage your medical license. If you force us to call the sheriff’s deputies currently waiting at your front gate, you’ll be sharing a cell with her.”
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Clara watched Dr. Vance’s resolve crumble. The institutional armor that protected people like Eleanor Sterling always relied on complicity, and when the price of that complicity became too high, the walls tended to cave in very quickly.
“Down the hall, room four-twelve,” Dr. Vance whispered, stepping aside and reaching into her pocket for the master key ring. “She hasn’t been taking the heavy doses for the last three days. She knew someone would come.”
