Doctor Tristane Janelle had seen some sad cases, in the many months since she had arrived here, just after her graduation, with honors, from the prestigious Université Montpellier and her internship at Pitié-Salpêtrière Hospital in Paris. But nothing like the girl who had been brought in, three weeks ago, to the psychiatric ward here at Eloise, the name given to the complex that was the Wayne County Mental Hospital.
The girl, to all appearances, was in her late teens – maybe seventeen or eighteen years old. She was blonde and frail-looking and so feminine, with her thin waist, rounded hips and firm-looking breasts. She had wide blue eyes and a pert nose above her full, rose-colored lips. She was more than just pretty.
A couple of Detroit policemen had found her wandering the streets, at two in the morning, barefoot and wearing nothing more than a full slip, crying her eyes out as she stumbled around aimlessly in the dark.
Taking her into their squad car, they tried to question her but got nowhere as she seemed unable to hear them or respond to their questions. Doing nothing but continued crying.
For her own safety, she was brought to the Bedford police station where she was again unsuccessfully questioned, given hot chocolate (which she managed to hold and sip down) and then taken to a holding cell where she was given a blanket and spent the night sitting upright on a hard, wooden bench.
There were no missing persons reports on her and inquiries turned up nothing so, that next day, she was brought - as all county indigents were - to Eloise.
Dr. Janelle had been given the girl's case because of her extensive training and her past experience with drawing responses from catatonic patients.
Tristane Janelle was a slight but shapely young woman with long legs and thick, unruly brownish-blonde hair that she kept parted and cropped short, to just above her shoulders, so that she didn't have to deal with it. Being attractive, to her, was an unnecessary chore that she had no time for. She did nothing to enhance her appearance ... no make-up or jewelry and nothing done to hide or augment that fact that she had such petite, girlish breasts. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she had always been considered demure and very pretty, with her doe-like brown eyes and her full, cushiony lips. Her unmistakable, natural beauty had misled the men of the world into believing her to be far less capable then her strong male counterparts and that was one of the reasons that she had abandoned her native France, and it's bottom pinching chauvinists, to come to America.
Being female had kept her from landing the more prestigious psychiatric positions in places like Boston or Philadelphia or New York City and even the likes of Belleview Hospital had rejected her. She had landed (and then lost) a position at the Royal Victoria Hospital in francophone Montreal before she was accepted here at Eloise. She took the staff position even though Detroit was not a place that she had dreamed of residing in during her girlhood in Neuilly-sur-Seine, a posh suburb of Paris. It was a job. It was another start. It was a place where she could maybe finally prove her-self to be as competent as any male in her chosen profession.
Dr. Janelle had visited the girl many times, since she had been brought in, either in the room in which she had been placed or in therapy sessions here in her office. She had tried so hard to get through to the girl and was always disheartened when she did not respond to her soothing words or the soft touches to her arms or her cheek.
"'Ow you are feeling today, sweet'eart?" Dr. Janelle would ask, in her thick, French accent while the girl just stared forward in her chair. "You 'av been ear almost a whole monse, vous jolie fille. Won't you speak wit me today? Tell me please what 'appen to you?"
The girl still uttered not a word but, as Dr. Janelle watched, a large tear appeared in the corner of her eye and then dripped down over her cheek and off of her chin to the front of her flower-print hospital gown.
That tear was a response, Dr. Janelle's training told her. Despite what all of her colleagues here had been telling her, this girl was hearing and thinking and remembering some-thing inside of her head that brought on that tear and Dr. Janelle was determined to find out what it was.
"Please, tell me," Dr. Janelle, wearing her usual white, starched lab-coat over her plain, white blouse and dark-navy pencil skirt, said as she dropped to her knees, not worrying about the effects of the dusty floor on her sheer nylons. Leaning to the girl, she spoke gently, close to the side of her face saying, "I know you 'ear me, ma belle amie. Say som-sing to me."
But, even though a few more tears appeared, no words came from the girl and soon her hour of useless therapy was over and Darnell, the huge black orderly, came to put her into a wheelchair and take her back up to her room.
Dr. Janelle wrote a prescription, on the yellow page of her chart, for an increased dosage of thorizine to be administered to the patient just as old Dr. Bloom, the head of the psychiatry staff, came into her office.
"Any words out of the Jane Doe yet?" he inquired.
"Pas de mots," Dr. Janelle replied, lapsing into French as she often did when she was flustered. "She jus sit sare and say nussing but sen sa tears come, Doctor."
"Yes," he sighed deeply in agreement. "Something awful happened to that girl, Tristane," the grizzled old head of staff observed. "I think it's time we try electro-therapy on her."
"No," Dr. Janelle turned to face him and stated firmly. "Shock 'er brain to life? She ees much too frail for sat. I 'ave tole you so. She can't take sat kind of treatment."
"Insulin shock then?"
Dr. Janelle closed her eyes, thinking of the dreadful pain and stress caused by such arcane therapies. Patients restrained with leather straps and injected with high doses of insulin causing their bodies to go into such extreme convulsions that wooden pegs had to be forced between their teeth to keep them from biting off their own tongues. "No," she said. "Sare 'as to be sumsing else we can do for 'er."
"I'll give you another couple of days with her," Dr. Bloom said before he turned away from the pretty, young doctor and left the office for the rest of his rounds.
Darnell Loomis loved his job carting around the loony females here at Eloise. There were normally no men allowed in the women's ward, other than the male doctors. But there had to be at least one male orderly strong enough to lift the women and girls into their beds and wheelchairs and Darnell was the lucky one.
Don't think that he hadn't learned how to take advantage of that situation. Lifting and moving the women presented him with plenty of opportunities to touch and feel places that he wasn't supposed to touch or feel but the women never reported anything and who would believe them if they did? After all, they were crazy.
Having to live at the hospital when he was on duty gave Darnell a chance to make his own kind of rounds, late in the evenings. And he would go from bed to bed, of the sleeping females who were the most crazy, and he would fondle a tender, warm breast or put his hand up under the hem of a hospital gown and feel up between the delicate, hair-covered cushions of some white woman's pussy, his stinky finger becoming a trophy for him to take back to his room and sniff while masturbating himself to a spurting climax.
When Darnell first saw the lovely blonde teenager he knew that he had hit the jackpot and he could hardly wait to get his meaty black hands on her supple-looking, curvy white body.
The first night, when he had observed that her eyes had been closed for a while, and that the sedative medicine they had given her was in full effect, he crept to her bedside and pulled down her blankets. Her alluring feminine curves were evident even within her hospital gown and they beckoned to him as he stood menacingly above her.
Cautiously he set his large hands upon her, feeling her curves and supple bumps through her gown and luxuriating in how warm and soft the pretty girl felt.
Her eyes not opening or reacting and his building lust gave him the courage to place his hands on her legs, just above her knees, and then he ran his hands up her silken thighs until he came to the prize waiting for him at the juncture of her limbs.
This girl's pussy was downy-soft and its outer lips pillow-like and dainty under a soft covering of thin, straw-colored, almost-straight hair.
Darnell let his hand play over the alluring mound of her pussy for a time, watching the lovely features of her child-like, sleeping face all the while as his finger found the moist cleft between the outer lips of her vulva and he probed inward, feeling the moist, supple protrusions of her delicate inner lips and rubbery clitoris within.
He toyed in the warm slickness there for a time and was thinking of pushing his long, thick finger right into the wet opening of her heated vagina when he heard the sounds of the cleaning crew in the hallway and quickly pulled his hand from her and covered the girl back up, leaving before he was caught with her.
Going back to his room and laying on his bed, Darnell placed his moistened, middle finger to his nostrils and deeply sniffed.
.... There is more of this story ...