Holly Grant woke up in a dark, stuffy room. She found that she was lying on her side, so attempted to sit up but discovered her arms were strapped tightly across her chest. Holly squirmed in confusion and panic, but she was securely bound in a straight jacket on the floor of what seemed to be a padded room. On the far side of the room she saw a crack of light beneath what may have been a door. She could only assume it was locked, but decided to investigate anyway.

Once her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she frantically pushed her bound torso across the floor with her legs, but when she finally arrived at the door her breathing was too labored to call for help. Sweat beaded her forehead as she rested and attempted to cry out again. Her dry throat made the first attempt abortive; she swallowed and tried again, yelling out for aid. Holly heard the sound of footsteps as people passed outside her door, yet no one seemed to acknowledge her wails of fear or cries for help.

After what seemed like several hours, an unfamiliar voice finally answered her desperate pleas and told her to move away from the door. Fraught for an answer to her current predicament, she complied. The door opened and a man dressed in a white lab coat slowly entered the room. He appeared to be a doctor in his mid sixties; his black pointy beard was well trimmed and along with the doctor were two orderlies--a slight unease was present on their faces.

Holly calmed her racing heart and tried to speak as clearly as possible. “Where am I and why am I in this jacket?” All three of the men opened their eyes wide in genuine shock, but as they realized she was serious their faces went slightly pale. Several moments passed before the doctor attempted to construct the proper answer that would not further disturb her fragile emotional state.

His monotone voice added no comfort to the sharply sincere words he spoke. “You have been confined here because you are very ill, and you have proven yourself to be a danger to all who come near you. That is the reason for this room and for the jacket, Mrs. Grant.” Those words came out as if he were reading a mere newspaper article and not pronouncing the atrocities that he claimed to be true. Holly’s eyes welled with tears as she knew what illness he was trying to sugar coat--Insanity.

Her eyes blinked in disbelief, but she then grasped onto something positive the doctor said to her. “You called me Mrs. Grant. Am I married?” The astonished tone in her voice garnered the surprised attention of the staff once more.

Again the doctor waited a few moments before speaking, as if formulating precisely the correct words to say. He looked down at her and tried a more gentle tone this time. “Your apparent memory loss is a direct result of the medication you are taking. It is the second step of my treatment in accordance with your own living will, which states that if your mental capacities became compromised, immediate treatment should be administered.”

Although she didn’t recall any such affidavit, she somehow felt in her heart that what he said was in fact the truth. Holly’s frantic mind was trying to grasp what seemed like a small thin strand of reality. Again she attempted a calm and composed appearance as the good doctor finished telling her how crazy she was.

“We will finish the last part of the treatment tomorrow; I believe the results will be satisfactory.

Your family will join you soon thereafter. Of course, there is always the off chance that this entire conversation has been hallucinatory in nature but even in that case, I will still see you tomorrow.” That last remark seemed to be a direct insult to her fragile mind, yet surely a doctor would not intentionally harass her. Would he?