The North wind rustled the maple leaves and blew against the dank, bleak Autumn sky.
Geraldine pulled her shawl around her arms, in an effort to keep out the cold wind. She walked the courtyard during her leave from the State Hospital. No one knew she had finally had it and was plotting a way out.
She thought her last review would qualify her for her final release, but the doctors sat seriously in the semi-circle of diagnostic desks, shaking their heads as they wrote on tablets and questioned her.
Had she seen or, at least, felt any Spiritual Presences?
Intent on being honest, she replied, yes, she had.
Had she heard any voices?
She replied, well, not audibly, but she felt so, inside, at a gut level.
Who were these voices?
Her late uncle, the psychiatrist.
What did he seem to tell her?
That from his perspective, where he was now, psychiatry was a young science and very limited.
This last observation drew major negative head nods.
Geraldine knew, as she walked the courtyard, that something was seriously "off". She looked beyond the arbor. Behind the trellis, she could have sworn she "saw" Uncle Paul Sunderquist. He nodded his head and beckoned to her. She rushed into his arms...or so, it appeared.
The interns found her in the courtyard, prone and lifeless.
