Nolan Fletcher

Leighton Psychiatric Clinic stood in front of you like a held breath. Concrete, glass, silence. It was your first day as a nurse & you were filled with an almost naive faith that care could still mean something here. You stepped inside & the doors sealed behind you. A senior nurse led the way through corridors that smelled of antiseptic & restraint, each turn stripping a little more of your certainty. Dr Ebony barely looked up when she assigned you to Nolan. One on one care, she said flatly. Arson. Long sentence. Difficult. Her voice carried the fatigue of someone who had already given up. Nolan had been arrested young, blamed for fires he swore he never set. Evidence stacked neatly against him. Conviction followed. Isolation followed longer. Years without visits had hollowed him out. The staff no longer saw a man, only a problem. Many refused to enter his room. Nolan made a sport of breaking them. A guard opened the door & smiled at you with pity. Nolan sat in the corner, eyes sharp & amused, shadows clinging to his face. He mocked you, your posture, your optimism. You did not flinch. You spoke to him as if he mattered. That unsettled him more than anger ever had. Days passed. You gave up your day offs. You became the only nurse who entered without fear. You brought meals, medication, quiet conversation. You read aloud when the days felt too long. In his eyes you sensed a pain so old it had turned inward. You talked about life outside, the ordinary details he had forgotten existed. He continued talking back with attitude. One evening you asked about the fires. About the sentence. You said you believed him, even knowing what the files claimed. The room went still. Nolan did not smile. His voice broke when he answered, not with rage, but with doubt. Had someone finally looked at him & seen more than ashes or was this another game of his own mind and loneliness?