The Starke Sanitarium

[obieblu]

Starke Sanitarium loomed at the end of a a double row of tall moss-draped trees. The thick twisted trunks shadowed the long driveway in an obvious, but always disregarded, foreboding of what experiences lay beyond the austere façade of the old plantation house. The drive ended in a large cul-de-sac that one could imagine being full of horsedrawn carriages and fine ladies in hoop skirts being helped out by white-suited slaves. These days, the sanitarium was no less supported by the suffering of others as it was hundreds of years ago. The mechanisms were just different and the illusions of its respectability had been changed. The original structure suffered a fire, but it was rebuilt in the early 1920s and expanded while keeping the original foundation.

Behind the plantation house, Stark Sanitarium sprawled out with more modern buildings. At least modern as per the 1950's. Paved walkways connected the former house to a patient wing.

The farmlands of the former plantation have been allowed to be somewhat reclaimed by nature. It provided necessary privacy as well as tax breaks for being a bird sanctuary. The night casts an entirely different mood on the grounds. The moss-covered trees seem to turn into dark bodies twisted in pain, reaching up to the heavens for mercy. The growing forest is full of sounds, not all wildlife, and fog rolls in from the swamp that's slowly encroaching. No other buildings or roads can be seen through the dense foliage, and it provokes a sense of intense isolation. On some nights, it does look like there are other inhabited buildings nearby. One can sometimes see the glow from homes and fires where the slave quarters once stood. But if one were to venture out, all they'd find is darkness and a few fence posts that haven't yet fallen from weathering.

Luke Marshall didn't appreciate any of the views on approach. He was slumped over in the back of a private town car that had picked up him at the airport. Dark aviator glasses hid from the world whether he was actually asleep or not. He'd just spent 48 hours and an ICU getting rehydrated and frequent blood tests after having his stomach pumped. Luke felt pretty miserable all over, which is why he'd agreed so easily to his family's insistence that he go to rehab. Of course, they framed it as a luxury spa style rehab, or Luke would have resisted.

The paperwork had been sent ahead. Everything the sanitarium would need to lock up Luke long-term and a promise of substantial endowments to come its way when Luke was declared mentally incompetent to manage his own money. On top of that, as he'd ODed at a gay club, his family wanted him subjected to conversion therapy, as to not embarrass them again in case there was ever a reason to release him. Of course, the first step towards fixing a "problem" is to admit you have the problem. Which, being straight, Luke was unlikely to ever do.

The car cleared the rows of trees lining the drive and circled around the large cul de sac before the former plantation house. Luke groaned and got out of the car when the driver opened the door. He stretched lazily and looked around while the driver unloaded the two suitcases he'd brought. They were just for show and to lure him into a false sense of ease. Luke pulled out his phone and posted one last time to his social media, "Going off-grid for a bit", though he fully intended to be online and talk to a select few.

The driver started dragging Lukes wheeled bags across the gravel to the front stairs, and Luke followed along after a deep sigh. "Let's do this, then.." he said to himself, unconvincingly. He didn't need rehab. He'd just gotten a bit too crazy at a friend's birthday club crawl. But a spa week would probably help him clear his head.

The receptionist looked up when the two men entered the lobby of the sanitarium. "Luke Marshall," he breathed out while still looking at his phone. He hoped this place had full suites.

 

[Demungo]

"Ah, Mr. Marshall." A voice was heard almost purring the name, it was deep and smooth and held just a touch of amusement, it was soon matched by the appearance of a dark haired well dressed man. He was tall and broad shouldered and his dark eyes landed on the young man glued to his phone.

"Thank you Reba, I'll take it from here." as the woman left the man filled her spot so that he was standing in front of the new addition to the sanitarium.

"Mr. Marshall, we've been expecting you. Welcome to Starke Sanitarium, I'm Dr. Dayemon the chief of staff here. Now then, as I'm sure you're aware that after your...debacle; the Superior Court appointed you a conservator, in this case your parents and they have given Starke Sanitarium complete authorization to use whatever form of psychiatric treatment we deem necessary to aid you in your recovery. We'll be focusing on rehabilitation tactics to address your drug problem and conversion therapy for the homosexuality. Our job here is to ensure you get the proper care in the hopes that one day you'll be able to return home a man changed for the better." Dayemon smiled and it was both charming and condescending at the same time. Marshall's parents had paid good money to have their son committed and it was with the understanding that it would be some time before their son ever got out. Dayemon had agreed because what was one more soul to his sanitarium? Especially when he had motives of his own, the Marshall boy would serve well in his plans and something told him he'd make an excellent addition to some of the extended treatments the sanitarium offered.

"Since all the necessary paperwork has already been completed, we can go ahead and begin your intake procedure. Please leave all cell phones, valuables, keys and wallet here in this bin." Dayemon produced a clear plastic shelf bin for the man to place his things in.

"Afterward we'll move to the final few stages of intake before we get you to your room."

 

[Sekah]

The bus arrived from the prison with the mental incompetent on hand. It squeaked in just as the town car began to pull out, prison guards at the top, guns in hand. This was a sanitorium that did bank with the government - criminals who were deemed insane, and who had funds to pay for it, were sent here, when there were no beds at the public institution. It was always a damn charade when it happened, usually - some young punk with affluenza who crashed his car into a bus full of children - but this time, it was an exceptionally charade-y charade.

A crimelord was in the bus. His name was Taiga Hisoka, and he'd been diagnosed with PTSD, major depression, and narcissistic personality disorder to be declared incompetent to stand trial and get in here, a cushy alternative to Bellevue. The truth was he only had PTSD of that long list. He was a nihilist, but didn't suffer from depression. He was a narcissist, but it didn't meet the medical criteria for a personality disorder.

Mob money, connections, and blackmail make plenty possible. They couldn't win him such an open-and-shut trial - but they could ensure he spent the next twenty years here, in Starke Sanitorium, and not in federal prison.

"We here already?" Taiga scoffed, and chatted idly with the guards as he was led out of the truck, shackles on his wrists and ankles, looking less pretty than usual in an orange jumpsuit. Behind the bus, a car pulled in, and a woman and man climbed out. The man was weeping pitifully, deeply, clinging to his curly hair, and the woman crossed around the hood of the car in a hurry to embrace him.

Taiga heard her whisper It'll be okay, habibi, and then the door closed behind him.

"Alright, let's get this over with," he said, and shuffled as he was led to the front desk. A young boy with haggard eyes stood near the counter, his stuff being taken by intake. The guards began handing over Taiga's things too, which didn't amount to much - Gucci hairspray, high-end shampoo and conditioner, a tortoiseshell comb, a few Japanese novels and manga, several academic journals, and a notebook. It was the notebook Taiga watched as it was sifted through by the intake nurse, then placed in a box to be carefully examined later for drugs, weapons, and other contraband.

Taiga'd never been to a psychiatric hospital before. He was fascinated by it.

"Excuse me, sir, but your pants are improper," a dark, insinuating voice reached down. A jolly man with grey hair and muscles that wouldn't have looked out of place on a Grecian statue stepped in, a smile on his handsome, bearded face. He held out his hand for the boy's phone. "Dayemon," Donovan Cohen acknowledged his coworker coolly. "Empty your pockets, please. I'm going to have to remove the tie to your trousers. A hazard, you see." He spoke the words like they bored him, but something in his eyes didn't look bored. No - more fascinated. "We need to take you to a private area for the strip search. Are you preforming it, Dayemon, or am I?"

Just then, as the guards reluctantly unlocked the shackles on Taiga's wrists, the door to intake opened yet again. In walked the handsome, crying man, led by an exquisitely-dressed woman about eight years older than him, dragging him by his hand.

"I'm here for the intake of Karim Mahmoud Magdi," she said, rubbing the sobbing boy's wrist. She shushed him over her shoulder, gently. She drummed her nails on the counter, obviously unaccustomed to waiting.

 

[obieblu]

Luke looked up, more at Reba leaving than at anyone else talking. "Oh, hi," his blue eyes fluttered back to his phone, obviously not paying much attention to what Dr. Dayemon said. "Sure, sounds good. Can someone get my luggage?" The plastic bin got his attention, and he stopped scrolling his phone, looking up more pointedly at the doctor. "This is one of those places?," he sighed loudly, "Awesome." But he didn't make a big deal of it and clicked his phone off before putting it into the bin, then dug out his wallet and did the same.

"Sorry, just checking some things quickly. I didn't sleep much on the plane," realizing he'd probably seemed rude. He offered his hand to shake the Dr. Dayemon's. "It's been a rough few days. But I think think the lawyers sorted everything out." Luke seemed distant, but trusting. Walking agreeably into the trap. "Yeah, I'd like to chill in my room for a minute, thanks."

The forthcoming interruption was Luke's first hint that things here were not as he'd thought. A string of prison-jumpsuited convicts was lead in at gunpoint. Luke balked, then looked to Dr. Dayemon with his blond brows raised. "I.. think there was a misunderstanding," though he didn't yet think it was a profound problem.

Then, Don arrived and insisted on giving up more items and a strip search. "Uh, no. Someone messed up the reservation," like this was a spa rather than an institution that housed criminals. Luke looked back to Dayemon, assuming by the way that he was dressed that he was the boss of the big guy in scrubs. "We thought this was a rehab retreat. Not a prison," he obviously hoped the employees here would figure out the error and book him somewhere else.

Travis had also been waiting by the door to the ward with Don and a few other larger orderlies and nurses. He stepped up as the prison guards uncuffed Taiga and held out the same kind of plastic bin as had been offered to Luke. "Anything else you've got goes in here. We'll find it, either way," he glanced at one of the guards, knowing they'd already done a search.

Then, the crying boy got his attention, and he looked that way over Taiga's shoulder. "Please take a seat, ma'am. Someone will be right with you," as dangerous prisoners obviously took precedent. "Who scheduled all this at the same time?" he muttered to Reba behind the desk, but he didn't expect an answer.

 

[Demungo]

Dayemon was struck by just how easily the young man seemed to take everything in stride. His parents had done a wonderful job selling the lie about his stay at the sanitarium that he was mildly impressed by their ability to deceive, that was usually his forte. For a moment it seemed that everything was going to go smoothly but he should have expected it all to go to shit the minute an armed prisoner was brought in through the front doors. What the fuck? Who had changed the schedule? His answer came in the way Reba looked down and busied her hands by shuffling papers. He shot her a look and made a mental note to have Dr. Nurdinger pay her a visit, he was wonderful with electroshock techniques among other, less conventional methods of re-training.

Now he had to try and keep everything under control but before he was able to respond to the young man Donovan arrived and began to take the lead. He was fine with it as it gave him the chance to deal with the disaster at hand. He looked up and saw that Travis was dealing with the crying boy which was one less thing he needed to handle. First things first.

"Given Reba's colossal scheduling mess Mr. Cohen, I'll need to remain here until things are sorted out. However, I need you to complete intake for Mr. Hisoka here instead of Mr. Marshall as our newest guest is more of a risk." the boy would have to wait for the moment, there were so many other pressing matters at hand. Thankfully Donovan was good at his job, thorough so nothing would go amiss. He would view and review the video later so that he didn't miss out.

Shifting his focus now to the new inmate he said,

"Mr. Hisoka, we've been expecting you. You'll go with Mr. Cohen now and finish your onboarding with him."

As he was explaining what was to happen one of the other nurses, Randy, showed up and began cataloging Taiga's belongings before dumping them in a bin and taking them away. Perfect. Things were beginning to pick up and they were staring to recover from Reba's blunder. Dayemon's attention remained on the prisoner.

"You'll be housed in our criminal ward and under strict supervision by Nurse Hatchet though I'm quite sure we'll be seeing a lot of you."

With Taiga now situated Dayemon motioned to the prison guards and dismissed them with a nod,

"Thank you gentlemen but we've got it from here." He gave them just the slightest mental nudge to go about their day and watched them leave so he initially missed seeing Reggie arrive to the counter to offer assistance. Dayemon turned his attention from the door to the orderly now waiting there. He needed someone to take Luke and Reggie's arrival couldn't have been timed better.

"Reggie, this is Mr. Marshall and he'll be staying with us. He needs to go through intake procedure. Will you take care of that please?"

The dark eyed man looked the new addition over a few times, finally nodding his head in response.

"Yeah, no problem boss, it'll be my pleasure."

"Good."

Reggie shot a look over at Don, saw him with the pretty new prisoner and knew instantly what was in store for him. He had someone too and he had a feeling he was going to have a lot of fun with this.

"Alright Marshall, let's get you to a private room. This way." Reggie motioned that the man should follow and started off with him down the hall.

Dayemon watched the two men leave and then turned his attention to Travis and the new intake.

"Mr. Magdi, welcome to Starke Sanitarium. You're to go with Mr. Wright here and he'll get you taken care of."

 

[Sekah]

"No, there's no mistake, Mr. Marshall," Donny said diffidently. "The intake procedures are the same for everyone, you have no reason to fear." He smiled at him, jolly and grinning like some kind of Santa Claus - just with rolls of muscle, instead of fat.

Taiga's lips pulled up into a smirk as the chaos unfolded around him. Then a smile, like a cat fat on milk. If they were this perturbed and off-balance by just an extra intake, well - boy, his eventual escape and sojourner to Mexico wasn't just a possibility, but a near certainty. He could taste those cheap margaritas in Playa del Carmen already.

As such he merely inclined his head in response to Dayemon's pontificating, still grinning. "Lead the way," he told the orderly - nurse? Whatever this man was. Who waited until the guards had stepped back before putting his hand on the join of Taiga's shoulder and guiding him deeper into the building, away from the crying boy, and the confused rich kid who thought his mum'd dropped him off for a resort vacation.

Dr. Cohen took Taiga into a small side room, a shake of his head and a single hand motion dissuading an orderly from following him. The door shut behind him, and he picked up a checklist off a pile of them on a small table, and added it to a clipboard.

He set the foldout chair between the door and Taiga, and in this tiny, windowless room, with the security camera on him, he leaned back, and said, "Strip. Everything off."

"Just like that?" Taiga scoffed.

Donny kept smiling.

"What's your name?"

"Dr. Donovan Cohen, at your service," Donny said, with a strange little salute.

"Dr. Cohen. Why do I get the sense you would make me if I refused?"

Donny just watched him, smiling all the while.

Taiga grumbled and sighed, and slowly - making a show of it, since hell, the man was handsome - stripped off the prison jumpsuit. First the shirt - then the pants. Then the white wife-beater. He hesitated, biting his lips, thumbs on his black silk boxers, which no one had taken from him yet.

"If you would, Mr. Hisoka," Donny told him, watching him, not looking at his clipboard at all. The way his eyes rested on Taiga, held him - tangible as fingers. How annoying.

This doctor sure was gay as fuck for someone who was supposed to be giving him conversion therapy. With a surprisingly nervous giggle, and equally surprised to be nervous by it, Taiga slid down his underwear, showing that graceful, but small cock, and an ass that belonged in a museum, carved from marble.

"Now bend over, and spread."

"What? You think I got contraband through all those goddamn strip searches in prison, and now here?"

"Mr. Hisoka," he intoned, "I'll be very cross if I have to bend you."

Taiga stopped, considering it. Annoyance finally got the better of him, and he caved, turning around, leaning forward, and showing the ass that used to cost $200,000 a night once upon a time to Donny for free. Funny how times changed.

Donny quietly began scribbling on his clipboard, the scratch of his pen all that could be heard, over the dirty breaths Taiga was taking, the gushing heat from his breath hissing between his clenched teeth.

For several minutes, they stayed like that, until Taiga snapped, "Can I get up, or are we doing a cavity search, too?"

"Hm? Oh yes, my boy. I'm just noting down your scars and tattoos - that's an interesting one on your wrist."

Taiga unbent, clenching his hand over the Lil Sissy Bitch on his forearm. "Shut up," he hissed.

"You can redress," Donny said, and Taiga hated that he had to wait for his permission. He carefully put his clothes on, refusing to scramble, and decided he was going to kill Donny when he got the chance. Probably when he escaped.

Donny finally moved the chair to the side, clipboard tucked under one arm, and led Taiga down the hallway towards the criminal ward, which would be his new home. He'd circle back after that and see what became of that pretty blond at the gate, allowing a nurse to finish the more boring parts of Taiga's intake - the questionnaire, assigning him a room, etc.

---

Back in the front hall, Karim was snuffling into a tissue, his sister livid at the ignominy of having to wait for the start of her brother's intake. When Karim was finally assigned to Mr. Wright, she spat out, "It's about time - " but her sweet brother interjected.

"Thank you - don't worry, Leyla, it'll be fine - thank you very much, Mr. Wright, please do lead the way." He smiled up him through his tears, a smile like the sun coming through the clouds on a grey day, illuminating everything.