The hospital was located three miles outside of a small town that was in the middle of a state in the middle of the nation. It was the dumping ground for the retarded, the senile, the schizos and the paranoids, the brain damaged, adolescent dopers, the suicidal-depressed, the manics, maniacs and the perpetually confused. And one building, the Pinel Building, the one with barbed wire around it, housed the criminally insane. It even had its own small hospital ward and Dad had an auxiliary dental office there. Patients were never taken from the Pinel Building unless they were judged to have become mentally competent to stand trial for their crimes, or, if they had been committed because they had been found innocent by reason of insanity for their crimes, released when they became sane, which didn’t happen very often. If ever.
They said it would happen to Michael Fromme, who at the age of fourteen had killed his mother, father, little sister and brother and then sat in the house with their dead bodies until a neighbor happened upon the scene and called the sheriff. Since he was a juvenile he couldn’t be tried as an adult, so he was committed to the Pinel Building for the Criminal Insane until he was 18, at which time, if he was judged to be mentally sane, he would be released. He could even claim the farm of the family he had murdered.
Dad had worked on his teeth and found him to be perfectly normal. “Now that he’s killed his family,” Dad had said.
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