“How are we feeling today, Gwendolyn?” Miss Stacey asked with a programmed smile as she approached the listless girl, her stilettos clicking audibly along the poolside. “Getting ready for your dismissal next week?” Gwendolyn offered no response, but only continued to stare outward across the Institution’s recreational grounds. For days the girl had moved only when assisted- and her capacity for speech had yet to return. “I’m sorry if the medication is too strong,” Miss Stacey began, placing her hands on the sitting girl’s shoudlers. “We wouldn’t want you to feel what you’ve just beern through! Or think about it, for that matter,” she added with an emphasizing squeeze.
Though Gwendolyn had been their most difficult transitional patient, even she was not immune to the dosages of pentobarbital they had administered. Such extreme sedation was the only way to ensure the safe and timely healing process of their more aggressive subjects. Following a cursory glance for nearby employees, Miss Stacey placed her hand under Gwendolyn’s chin and turned her face toward her own. “You don’t even know what’s happened to you, do you?” Miss Stacey whispered into her dilated eyes. “Well you will. I only wish I could see the look on your face when you realize that you’ll never be a man again. Your wife is a lucky woman,” she admitted. “…Unlike you.”
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