Chapter 15

As a first-time visitor to a mental facility, I had to admit the place was nothing like they portrayed it in the movies and even by word of mouth in real life. The exterior’s ominously serene look didn’t help matters either. So, when we stepped in through the front, me looking as beat up as I could possibly be, Sergio looking rumpled but lively, and Mr. Fremund as stoic as ever, my jaw dropped, and my eyes widened in disbelief.

The place could pass off for a hotel anytime with its white and cream walls adorned thoroughly with framed abstract paintings as well as the latest wall ornaments and the black spotless, expensive marble flooring that reflected the overhead lights. The reception comprised of a dark brown leather sofa shaped into a crescent with a glass knick-knack table in the center and the front desk where a forty-something-year-old man was perched atop the seat and staring unblinkingly at the huge flat screen hanging on the wall to one side of the sofa.

I sure