Dear Jenny,
My dear sister, I can’t write fast enough, afraid one of the nurses will discover this pen and yank the lifeline from my hand. The pen belongs to Claudia, the only decent person working here, and I wouldn’t want her to lose her job for being so careless with her belongings. It’s not like I could harm myself or others with a pen, or MacGyver my escape using one. Or maybe I could . . .
Right now, it doesn’t matter. I am writing again. In addition to the pen, I also stole two sheets of paper from Claudia’s yellow steno pad, and have folded them in such a way to resemble a journal, securing the binding with a piece of string I pulled from the rug in the group therapy room. It will have to do.
If Claudia ever finds out what I did, I will just tell her why. I did it for her. The only way for me to think well—thanks to the medications they give me—is to write. And I have to think this out clearly and carefully, have to plan how and when and where all of this will happen. Because Dr. Berger must be stopped. In addition to Claudia, I am certain he is sleeping with two other nurses at this facility. I can tell, just by the way they try so hard not to look at him, the way he strokes their fingers when they hand him a file. He’s going to hurt them, all of them, especially Claudia. I can tell by the way she follows him with her eyes, even long after he’s left the room, that she’s in over her head. I sense she’s never been in love before. He is her first. And the first, well, we know all too well it can be devastating beyond repair. That is why I can no longer sit idly by. I cannot let her relinquish her life to him. I cannot let her become yet another foolish statistic.
I’ve decided to help her.