Time slowly crept from breakfast to the daily group time at the clinic. After years of coming in and out of clinics, Amanda felt her time of being a patient was over. This attempt wasn’t like last year when she tried to feed her fix. No withdrawals this time; all she had was her desire to be free.

She walked from the women’s restroom to the beige hallway, closely resembling a bomb shelter rather than a rehab clinic. Amanda looked down at both ends of the hall. To her left, an orderly walked with a patient and to her right, a pair of double doors in an empty hallway. Her closest exit. She browsed until she found her distraction: the fire alarm.

Amanda stepped across and pulled down the switch. The orderly turned to investigate, but she was already out the door. Before her addiction, was a history in athletics. As a cross-country star in high school, Amanda used her head start and competitive spirit as fuel to beat the orderlies.

Outside, she hid between bushes just footsteps from the main facility. Amanda looked back and saw a few orderlies searching for her. A man radioed for help from the second story. Her white scrubs were a dead giveaway to her position in foliage. They found me. She knew a clean escape was impossible, but the opportunity to run was well within her grasp.

The runaway turned around to a tall brick wall only a few running steps away, measured it, and felt she could kick herself up and press off the wall.

“There she is,” an orderly called. They stepped forward, and then she began her running start. Her shoe soles were almost non-existent, so she felt every pebble and twig beneath her feet. With each step, she gained confidence in an escape.

She pressed a foot against the wall and pushed up. With her arms raised, she was one step closer to heaven. Now her arms were above the wall, but everything else fell short. Not quite as athletic as she hoped, so she gripped the opposite side of the barrier like claws climbing up a tree. Both feet frog legged against the wall, she wanted nothing more than to hop over. Her chin was atop and could smell freedom.

A pair of orderlies grabbed her from behind and slammed her to the ground. They tasered her until she was barely conscious. The two carried her limp body back to the clinic.

The clinic employed several nurses in case a suicide attempt or inmates roughhousing. Amanda’s escape attempt brought a nurse enjoying her smoke break back to the infirmary. There she patched up the girl, who had a slight cut on her chin when she was pulled down. It didn’t require stitches, just a little super glue.

“You know you shouldn’t run,” the fifty-something year old nurse said. She carried a thick, raspy Czech accent. Probably a lifetime smoker. “When you run the boys get aggressive,” she applied the glue and pinched the wound closed.

“Running is the only thing I’m good at,” Amanda said.

“Then, try jogging.” The nurse sat back and stared at her, “A beautiful girl like you shouldn’t get beat up.”

After lunch was patient visiting hours. From Amanda’s prior behavior, she didn’t expect to see any visitors or sunlight but was allowed guests and no time in the box. Nice. The only indoor section for visitors was the lunchroom/lounge. Amanda found her boyfriend and the professor. She hugged Shawn and wouldn’t let go. Her boyfriend peeled her off, and they discussed her morning stunt.

“What’s up?” Shawn asked. “What’s going on in that wild head of yours?” He peered at her trembling fingers.

She eased closer, “Get me out of here,” she whispered.

“Stick it out,” Morgan didn’t hesitate. “Trust me, you won’t regret it.” She knew he was responsible for her being there but feared to cross her charismatic boss. If he wanted, he could put her in the psych ward for a year. She believed he had possibly been enlisted, but couldn’t verify.

“I’ll go cold turkey,” her voice rose, showing Morgan that she’d say anything to leave. Shawn directed the question to Morgan.

“This place is your best option,” his soothing voice bellowed as she soon broke down in tears. Shawn hugged her and assured that she’d make it through. The two sat down and shortly after Amanda regained her composure.

“Pull through for me,” Shawn said. The pair separated as the three said their goodbyes, and the visitors signed out and left.

From across the street, a female brunette watched Shawn and Morgan talk, where Shawn gave expressive hand mannerisms, and Morgan remained calm. Following the short spat, the two walked across from the clinic. As they closed in on the brunette, she turned around and pretended to tie her shoe. The guys continued a calm discussion about Amanda.

“Does anyone else know she’s here?” Shawn asked.

“Only Julie,” Morgan said. “Shawn, you guys have access to see her during visiting hours.” The young man shook his head. “I’m not a miracle worker, so you will abide by their rules,” Shawn nodded his head. Shortly after, the two drove off, and the brunette walked into the clinic.

Inside she met a receptionist who wore an obvious wig. The young brunette almost gave the woman a heart attack at the sight of the girl. “You look just like-”

“I know,” the girl said. “May I see a patient?”

Following a cavity search, the girl signed her name as Barbra Bush and finally granted a sit down with the wall hopper. The thankful patient was eager to see her visitor.

“Please,” the brunette said. “Don’t tell anyone I’m here.”

“I won’t,” Amanda said. Her eyes, hopeless and empty, prompted the brunette to take the bait.

“What’s wrong?”

“I want to go home.”

“I’d sign you out, but Morgan signed you in, so he’s got the power to get you out,” the brunette said.

“How do I fix all that I’ve wronged?” Amanda asked.

“You ride it through. That’s the only way Morgan or any of these quacks would let you out. How much time do you have left here?” the visitor asked.

“Eight weeks.”

“Eight more weeks of rehab, and you’ll be free in more ways than one,” the guest said. “I know you can do this.”

The second floor featured several rooms for group sessions, one of which for Amanda’s group. Every chair formed a circle, where everyone who felt comfortable sharing something about their past spoke freely. The near-escapee grew nervous when people talked about their addictions to morphine, crack, alcohol, etc. It made her skin crawl but she remained compelled to break her cycle; Amanda slightly raised her hand, the speaker pointed to her.

“My name is Amanda,” she said. “And I’m addicted to heroin.”

With the house to himself, Dean moved to the espionage part of his job. Removing a box cutter from his top drawer, he walked in the bathroom and began cutting the Lexel caulk from around the medicine cabinet. Once complete, Dean tugged on it, and after a full three pulls, it broke loose, leaving some residue on the wall. After carefully placing the cabinet in the shower followed by reaching into the hole. Inside, Dean pulled out a tape recorder and quickly put it in his room. With that task complete, he grabbed a caulk gun and began the clean-up process.

Following cleaning up, Dean returned to his room and rigged his audio equipment. Setting up the two-wheel player, he locked his door. Dean sat at his desk and put on a headset, similar to the type pilots wear.

Conversations about the missing Amanda and Julie talking on the phone with her father. Both arguing about the petty issue of when she’d visit her aunt.

Once complete, Dean removed his headset and crossed his arms, “Nothing juicy today.”

Later that evening, Morgan and his wife, Elizabeth, had planned a dinner for the two, but before his wife rang the dinner bell, he made a phone call from his home office, to none other than his classroom guest, Mr. Roland. The line was busy for a few rings but then a response.

“Morgan, your dinner time edict is perplexing,” he was smooth, and Morgan could tell he was drinking a fine bourbon. “Just last week, you were at my place exchanging war stories, and now you’re interrupting my pre-dinner ritual. What’s the reason for this disturbance?”

“I’ve got a problem.” With no time for small talk, Morgan continued, “I just dumped one of mine in rehab.”

“This wouldn’t happen to be the one I urged you not to select?”

“No, it’s not him,” Morgan said. “This is about Amanda.”

“Ah yes, your favorite abuser,” Morgan heard his friend’s chair creak from the receiver as he leaned back, ready to take in more. “Her second stint, right?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re taking this situation lightly,” Morgan stared at a photo of himself dressed in a full-service uniform in the middle with each of his arms over his wife and Roland’s shoulders.

“What do you do? This is three strikes for her and—”

“It’s two, I sent her and Shawn to Lance’s house on purpose just to test their willpower.”

“Games,” Roland’s voice rose, “If you keep playing games with them, it’s only a matter of time before one finds the rule book and plays against you.”

“It’s not games but merely; deception. You of all people should know the difference.”

A subtle laugh came from Roland. “So, what’s next for her?”

“I’m going to fire her,” Morgan said.

“It would send a message to the entire crew,” he admitted.

Morgan looked away from the picture. “It will be catastrophic.”

“She’s a liability.”

“You sound just like Mark.”

“Facts are indisputable,” he heard Roland rustle through some paperwork. “I know how much you care for her, but sometimes it’s best to cut ties.”

“I’ll wait until she’s done with rehab.”

“How will Mark respond?”

“Mark’s a spoiled child.” Morgan starred in his office bookcase.

“Like our founding fathers?”

“You caught that too?”

“He was there at the group’s inception, so it’s only natural for him to claim possession,” Roland said as he knew most bits of news and info of the group since day one. Knowing he’s right, Morgan laughed in response. “I wasn’t the only one who noticed your comparison, was the other the Hispanic girl?” Morgan acknowledged his suspension with a yes. “Just by the look in her eyes, I can tell she made me. She must be with you?”

“The newest member,” Morgan gave out a heavy sigh. “Where did I go wrong?”

“Morgan,” his voice monotone and, like a father, carried tremors, “I know you see them as your children, so it’s best not to dwell on your mistakes, but be sure to guide them through any pits and valleys they come across.”

“Thanks, Roland, I appreciate the advice,” he leaned forward to hang up the phone. “Call ahead for lunch.”

“All right,” Roland said. “Enjoy dinner, Morgan.”

Morgan hung up the phone, and his wife called him for supper. How did it come to this? How do I fix this?