Martha’s rehabilitation clinic

Earlier that day

The nurse just shook her head and pointed to the door. The officer pleaded with her again and again the nurse shook her head and pointed to the door. “I’ve given you all the information I’m going to officer now you’re going to have to accept that and leave,” the nurse explained. The officer had a long hard look at Officer Bryant who just shook his head. The other officer then turned and walked out the door as Officer Bryant approached the nurse. “Now look here,” she started.

“Ma’am, who checked her in?” he asked politely and smiled. The nurse eyed him cautiously and quietly answered his question.

“Her brother, Mr. Arthur Carvington, as usual,” she answered. Officer Bryant tipped his hat thanked her and walked out the front door. The weather was dreary and was getting less inviting as the winter months started on. He stared vainly skyward for some trace of the sun. Clouds darted across the sky as he pulled his coat closer around his shoulders.

“Sir,” a voice called out. “Sir!” he shouted more urgently. Officer Bryant sprinted toward the sounds of urgency coming to an old shack sitting across the lawn of the main building. He opened the hinging door and moved past the officers staring downward toward the floor.

“My god,” he whispered to himself.

Bette grabbed her cup of tea and sat on the louge before taking in a long soothing sip. She leaned back against the cushion and looked around her home. She looked at the painting on the far wall, she gazed the statue in the curio cabinet she had brought home one day from a trip to Seattle, she stared adoringly at the modern clock an atrist had sent her as a present after their first gallery opening and she thought cautiously over the paint on the walls. She took another long sip. The modern clock ticked happily away as Bette sipped. She watched the pendulum swing precariously.

Tick, tick, tick, tick.

Bette placed her cup down on the coffee table infront of her. She looked at the magazines next to it and picked one up. She flipped halfheartedly through the pages of Modern Day stopping over the pictures of the Fall Collection momentarily before tossing it back down on the table top. Kind of messily, she thought. Bette arranged it neatly on the stack. The stack then beame a fan on top of the table and the coffee cup moved to fit the new decour. Bette smiled at her creation as she placed her elbows on her knees and stared at the modern clock again.