Resurrection — Linda Swift

Charlotte Timberlake decides to write a book comparing past and present treatment for mental illness. She persuades a doctor to have her admitted to a state hospital as a patient. When unforeseen events make it impossible for her to leave, she finds herself unable to convince anyone -- those in charge, her children, or ex-husband -- she doesn't belong here. Charlotte soon realizes it is up to her to find a means of escaping the nightmare of her self-condemned prison. Chapter One (Excerpt) "May I help you?" the silver-haired receptionist asked as she smiled in Charlotte's direction without ever looking at her. "Dr. Driskell is expecting me. I'm Charlotte Timberlake." "Oh, yes." The eyes looked at her now. "He's with a patient but he should be free in a little while. Won't you sit down?" She nodded toward a nearby chair. "May I get you some coffee?" "No, thank you." Charlotte sank into the chrome and suede chair, fished into her tooled leather bag for a cigarette. She brought out the pack, turned it upside down, and tapped gently, but nothing came out. She ripped it open wider and saw that it was empty. Damn. She would have sworn there was at least one left. "Here." The receptionist was opening a drawer. "I'm a Carlton smoker, too. Have one of mine." "Thanks." Charlotte reached across the desk for the cigarette. Inhaling slowly, she looked around the room. A thin woman, who appeared to be in her late twenties, sat on the edge of the black leather couch. She was staring at the floor, clasping and unclasping her hands. A slightly balding man sitting on the far side of the room, a magazine on his lap, stared out the window. Charlotte noted the bold fake zebra rug, the Gauguin prints, smelled the rosewood candle, heard the muted sounds of a Haydn symphony from an invisible stereo, and smiled to herself. A typical day in the office of Mayfield's most successful psychiatrist. She reached for the Time magazine on the glass-topped table in front of her and turned the pages slowly, not really aware of the events that screamed for attention in the latest national and world crises. Her eyes lingered on the date in the corner of one page. May 21. What had happened to spring? For that matter, what had happened to winter? "Mrs. Timberlake, Dr. Driskell will see you now," the receptionist's voice intruded on her thoughts. "That way." A silver-nailed hand waved her in the direction of a broad ebony door. Charlotte brushed past the thin jeans-clad boy coming out, barely noticing how young he was. She hesitated at the open door. "Ken?" "Charlotte. Hello." Kenneth Driskell stood up and came toward her, arms outstretched. Extricating herself from a strong bear hug, Charlotte asked breathlessly, "How are you, Ken?" "Fine. Just fine. And how's the prettiest woman in Mayfield?" He held her shoulders at arm's length and smiled at her. "How could I be anything but great after a compliment like that?" Charlotte laughed. Ken Driskell had always been a charmer, even in grade school. "Here, come sit down." Ken took her hand and led her to the white burlap couch. He sat down beside her, looked at her intently. "Why are you here, Charlotte?" From his expression, she knew that he thought she had come for treatment. For a moment, she was tempted to lead him on just to watch his reaction, but she resisted the impulse. "I came to ask a favor." "Anything," he answered without hesitation. "Anything," she repeated lightly. "That's a pretty broad generalization. Are you sure you mean that?" "Anything within reason," he amended. "And I've known you since grade school so I feel I know you well enough to assume you are always a reasonable woman." "Don't be too sure." Charlotte grimaced. "I came here to ask you to have me committed to Central State Hospital."