One Dead Under the Cuckoo's Nest by Lori Avocato Page A

connectthe machine’s electrodes to my head. Then, I started to shake my head so vigorously, the leads pulled off. Amid Gretchen cursing in some European language, Spike’s warnings, and Sister Liz’s prayers, I fought with all my might to get out of this treatment.
    Boom !
    I screamed, thinking my head had exploded off my neck in time to see Dr. Dick hurry through the door. “Sorry I’m late.”
    â€œLate!” I screamed. “How about stopping this insanity!”
    Within seconds, Gretchen had me reconnected, the machine made a soft whirring sound, and I shut my eyes, ready to convulse.
    Nothing.
    I felt something poke my arm and peeked out of one eye to turn and see Jagger glaring at me, with a look of “you’ll have to do better than that” and noticed the electric chord in his hand.
    â€œWhat the hell is wrong with this?” Gretchen said.
    â€œMust be some kind of electrical delay,” Jagger said.
    Before anyone else could speak, I lifted my chest in a dramatic convulsion and even went so far as to arch my back. Suddenly I was Meryl Streep performing as if my life depended on it.
    And apparently it did.

Five
    Exhausted, I lay on the twin bed in my room after Sister Liz tucked me in following my “treatment.” She’d hovered about like a helicopter, every once in a while poking at the blanket. I wanted to see Jagger to “thank” him, but he’d disappeared before anyone caught on.
    Thank him. That was perfect.
    For crying out loud, he’d gotten me kidnapped and admitted to a psychiatric facility against my will, and I wanted to thank him for pulling the plug before my brain fried. What was wrong with that scenario?
    This time I shook my head. I had to get out of there . . . soon.
    I did try to convince myself that in this job I might have to do things that I wouldn’t normally do, but being locked up was not one of them.
    My eyes started to close. Obviously stress and the threat of losing brain cells had taken a toll on me. I decided to give in to a short nap. After all, plenty of foreign countries had siestas every day. One couldn’t hurt me. Then I’d be in better shape to plan my exit from the Cortona Institute of Life.
    â€œStop! No!”
    My eyes flew wide open. The voice shouting in the hallway was female. Sounded a bit like Margaret Seabright. Then I heard Miss Myra shouting too. I had to see what was going on and if I could help. So, I un-tucked myself and jumped up. Thank goodness the higher-ups hadn’t deemed it necessary to have me on “constant” watch. I wasn’t sure if they even did that kind of thing anymore, but back in my psychiatric training days, a staff member had to watch “at risk” patients constantly. That meant in bed, in the john, in the dayroom. The patients even had to sleep with their hands outside their covers, since most were either suicidal or homicidal.
    Well, at least those in charge gave me some credit for sanity.
    I grabbed my hospital robe and ran to the door. When I swung it open, I saw a scuffle in the dayroom. Miss Myra was pulling at someone. Jackie Dee sat twirling her hair. I imagined she envisioned a real feast soon. A huge person pushed Margaret up to the wall. At first I thought it was Sister Dolores in her whites, but when I got a load of the arms, I knew the wrists were way too big for a female.
    That had always been dear Goldie’s one flaw. And I do mean one.
    I ran to the side wall—and froze.
    It was him. The man who had given me the intramuscular mickey at the airport. Vito Doran! I ran forward and grabbed at his arm. “Leave her alone!”
    With one turn of his head, he gave me a look that sent me flying. Well, his left arm was what actually sent me to the floor, but the look would have done it.
    â€œOuch!”
    Ruby grabbed my hand and yanked me up. “If you know what’s good for you, stay out of it.”
    I would hope at