"Good God, where did you find that?" Lucia Nuntius stared in mixed horror and disgust at the pitiful, twisted figure on the stretcher that had, at one point, been a man. She took a sip of her coffee to steady herself.
"Down by the river. He was all huddled up 'gainst a rock, shivering and staring off into space. Didn't even try to get dry." The gray haired old asylum guard shook his head woefully. "Some vacationers were taking a walk when they saw him. Musta taken one sick bastard to do this to the poor guy."
Lucia couldn't agree more. Almost every square inch of the man's body was netted in scars, still red and healing. His limbs were twisted as though broken numerous times and allowed to head haphazardly. His hands were curled uselessly, missing all but three fingers. With a faint moan, the twisted face opened its eyes.
Lucia gasped and took a step back, nearly dropping her coffee. The look in those eyes was haunted and empty, the look of someone who was already dead, if not in body, then in soul. With a shaking hand, Lucia pulled a syringe from her white coat and plunged it into the man's shoulder. As the powerful sedative took effect, the empty eyes flickered and closed.
"Take him to the intensive care ward," she ordered. The guards hurried to comply, picking up the stretcher and rushing down the hallway. Lucia took another sip of coffee to rid herself of the foul taste in her mouth. With a slight shudder she hurried to her office. Coffee break was almost over, and the ill waited for no one.
Two days later
Lucia checked her clipboard and waited for the guards to unlock holding cell 367.
"Be careful, Dr. Nuntius," warned one of the guards. "The poor guy's kinda violent. His first day in here, we had to sedate him 'cuz he was tryin' to claw his eyes out."
"I'm honestly not surprised, given the condition he was in when he was found," she commented. "Still, I should be fine. Wait outside in case I need anything." The guards nodded and held open the door.
Lucia peered into the cell. It was very dark. Her groping hand found the light switch, and the bright artificial lights revealed a shivering figure huddled in the corner. He stared at her suspiciously, evidently unwilling to speak.
"Hello," she said softly. "My name's Lucia. What's yours?"
"Stop staring at me. Make him stop," he muttered.
"What?" Lucia took a step closer.
"I said, make him stop staring at me." His voice was clearer now, and rang like a bell in the close confines of the cell. "Please make him stop."
Another step forward. "Make who stop? What's your name? Who's staring at you?"
He looked at her with an intense burning in his eyes. "No...I don't know! I don't know!" He was screaming now. Suddenly he leapt to his feet, still screaming. "I don't know! Leave me alone, I don't know!"
With a strangled cry, Lucia fled as he threw himself at her. She slammed the door in his face, knowing that the barred glass window and thick steel would keep her safe.
A muffled scream of rage could be heard from the other side as the guards locked the door. Lucia sighed with relief and tried to calm her irrational feeling of fear. This wasn't the first time she'd dealt with a violent patient. She nodded her thanks to the guards and turned to go.
A sudden shattering of glass and the wailing sound of tearing metal assailed her ears.
He'd broken the window of three-inch thick glass with a protective grille of steel bars.
Lucia ran down the hall, clutching her clipboard and hoping desperately that the guards could handle the madman.
"Matthew! Matt! Don't you dare ignore me, young man! Don't give me that attitude. The school just called saying you were absent!"
Matthew sullenly looked at his mother from beneath black dyed bangs.
"So?"
The surly response only served to enrage his mother more.
"So? Look, you may not appreciate what you're learning in school, but I sure as hell am not going to raise another ignorant, uneducated, wife-beating bastard like your father. I want you to stop hanging around with those punk friends of yours and I want you to stay in school!"
Matthew didn't hear a word she said. It was nothing new, and he could recite this particular lecture by heart.
"Yeah, mom, whatever." He grabbed his jacked and ran out the door of their tiny house before his mother could reply.
"Matthew Thurlowe Reese! You get back here or I'll-" she stopped. Matthew was already out of hearing. Mrs. Reese scowled and looked up at the ceiling. "You know what? I think I'd give just about anything to be able to teach that boy a lesson." With the scowl still on her face, she went to make herself dinner, knowing that Matt wouldn?t be home before midnight.
Matthew sullenly stalked the sidewalk on his way to the local gym. People stared at him along the way, but he didn't care. He didn't blame them for staring, either. I guess if I saw a shadow glaring at me from the sidewalk, I'd stare too. The thought gave him grim pleasure.
A shadow was what he most closely resembled, with long black hair that fell across his pale face. Of course, his clothes were black too. In fact, the only non-black part of his appearance was his skin and the silver streak in his long hair. There was a little brown at the roots of his hair, signaling the need for more dye.
Matt's friends were waiting for him in the abandoned lot behind the gym. They greeted him with silent nods and guarded smiles, recognizing him as one of their own.
"What's your pleasure today, Matt?" A wasted looking twenty year old appeared at Matt's shoulder.
"The usual. You got the other stuff I asked for, Joe?"
There was a closed look in Joe's eyes as he swapped the drugs for cash. "Yeah, I got it. You ain't plannin' on doin' something stupid, are you?"
Matt vigorously shook his head and lit up a joint. "Course not. What happened to your no questions asked policy?" He blew a cloud of fragrant smoke in the dealer's face.
Joe frowned. "I'm not asking any questions. I just don't want you doin' anything stupid, like killing your mom or something like that."
Matt snorted in disgust. "She's not worth my time. I've got the money right here. If you don't give it to me, I can go elsewhere."
"Hey, no need to get edgy, right?" Joe reluctantly pulled a black swathed bundle out of his black trench-coat. He hesitated before taking Matt's money and handing over the package.
Noting the look on his friend's face, Matt arched his eyebrow questioningly. "What, can't bear the thought of one of your toys in my hands? Don't worry, I'll take good care of it."
"It's not that, man. You've been actin? kinda strange lately, is all. Everybody's started to notice. I'm just tryin' to look out for you." Joe was defensive.
"Right. A drug dealer who actually cares about the welfare of his customers. What next, will you be cutting me off and holding my hand on the way to school now? Or maybe I'll start shooting monkeys out of my ass and you'll be able to sell me to the circus for more money than you ever got by feeding my addictions." If there was more bitterness than usual beneath Matt's cynical humor, Joe obviously didn't hear it.
The dealer grinned. "Yeah, maybe. Stay alive, man. I'll see ya 'round." He slapped Matt on the shoulder in a comradely fashion and sauntered off.
Matt curled his lip in scorn and ground the joint into the asphalt with the heel of his boot. Pensively, he lit another one and strode out of the lot with no particular destination in mind.
As always, he ignored the stares and the people who crossed to the other side of the street when he walked by. This was his life, his home in the slums that were so far away from where he really lived.
When his feet finally stopped, he looked around. Somehow he?d walked to the warehouse district of the city. Matt's head was buzzing pleasantly from the fumes he'd inhaled. He recognized the place.
This was where his father worked.
Not that the old man ever visited Matt or his mother, not after he'd broken her arm. Matt could barely remember that; it had been eight years ago, when he was six.
Mr. Reese had attacked his wife and hurled her down the stairs of their tiny, hole in the wall condo and beat her unconscious after drinking seven beers. The next day, after returning from the hospital, Mrs. Reese packed her things and left, taking Matt and all the money in her husband's wallet with her.
Matt could remember clearly only the wet crunching sound of his mother's arm breaking. Feeling a sudden surge of anger, Matt grabbed one of the bricks that littered the ground and hurled it with all his strength at the windows of the factory. They shattered with a satisfying smash. Grinning wildly, Matt grabbed more bricks and kept on throwing them. No one saw the shadow like figure venting his frustrations on the defenseless factory.
Patient exhibits signs of paranoia and psychosis. Identity still unknown. Lucia sighed and peered through the newly repaired window of cell 367. Ge still just sat there in the corner, staring blankly at the spuare of light thrown by the window on the wall. He hadn't moved in three days except to drink a small amount of water that he was given at mealtimes. He hadn't eaten. His straight jacket held him fast, though it was apparent that he'd tried to escape its confines.
If there was a slight tremble to Lucia's fingers as she unlocked the door, the guards didn't notice it.
"Hello again, Lucia."
Startled, she let out a squeak and dropped her clipboard. It hit the concrete floor with a clatter.
"I'd pick that up for you, but as you can see, my hands are all tied up."
Lucia bent to retrieve the clipboard without taking her eyes off the straight jacketed man in the corner.
"Well, I'm glad to see you're a bit more lucid today. Perhaps you could answer a few questions." She was all proffessional attitude now.
"I'll do my best. I'm afraid I don't remember much."
Lucia glanced down at her clipboard. "Name?"
"I don't know."
"Family?"
"No."
"Do you remember what happened to you?"
"Pain. Fire. Pain."
"Oookay. Any idea who did this to you?"
"The one who stares at me."
She tapped her pen against her teeth. "And that would be...?"
His dark eyes stared at her very intently. Their intensity was almost frightening. "Believe me, you don't want to know." Then the intensity was gone, and his eyes were dull and empty again.
Lucia made a few notes on her clipboard and smiled woodenly. "Do you have any requests or special needs?" It was standard policy to ask coherent patients that. Very rarely did they come up with a request that could actually be granted.
"I want my arms free. And I want you to promise me I won't be forced to go to sleep."
Lucia raised her eyebrows in surprise. "The straight jacket is for your own protection, I'm afraid. The same with the sedatives. We don't want you to get hurt."
"If I promise not to hurt myself, will you?" His dark eyes were pleading, and hard to resist.
"I'll see what I can do. And I guess you won't need a sedative right now." Lucia smiled. He smiled back.
"Thank you."
For the first time during his stay at the asylum, he didn't sleep. There would be no more nightmares. For the moment, he was satisfied.
Matt stumbled through the door of his tiny little house in the middle class section of town with a curse. It was too dark to see the doorstep. With a sigh, he kicked off his boots in the front hall and walked into the kitchen. His mother sat at the table, a coffee cup her only company. Matt ignored her and poured himself a cup of coffee. It was cold, and he hated coffee anyway.
"You're too old for your age, Matt." His mother's voice was weary.
He didn't say anything as he poured copious amounts of sugar and milk into the coffee. With a grimace of disgust, he took a sip. He really hated coffee.
"I mean, you're just a freshman in highschool. You're barely 14!" She banged her fist on the table. "It's crazy, Matt. The drugs, the lies, the money- why?" Her eyes were pleading above the dark circles that ringed them. "Am I really that bad of a mother?" Her voice sank to a whisper.
The presence of Joe's package gave Matt a feeling of reassurance- he wouldn't be lying this time. "No, mom, you're not. It has nothing to do with you."
"But it does! I just feel that if I had done something different, done something better, you would be happy."
Matt took one of his mom's hands in his own. "Mom, I'll go to school tomorrow. And it is all going to stop. Everything's going to be okay. I promise. No more drugs, no more stealing, and no more lies." He smiled thinly and gave her a hug. "Now go to sleep. It's late."
Astonished by the sudden change in her son, Mrs. Reese could only nod and hug him back. Then she got up and hurried out of the kitchen so Matt wouldn't see her tears.
Matt sat down at the table and leaned back in his chair. His eyes felt suspiciously wet. I'm not going to cry. He thought fiercely. It is going to stop. Every word I said was true. I won't cry. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes anyway. He cried himself to sleep at the kitchen table and didn't stir until morning.
The sunlight that poured through the thin curtains of the kitchen was offensively bright to Matt. He grumbled at his mother's insistent shaking.
"I'm awake. Sort of. Somebody turn the sun off."
"Rise 'n shine, boy. You're going to school, remember?" His mom grinned brightly.
She is way too happy in the morning. "Bleh. I'm taking a shower now. As soon as I get my head off the table. Yeah. That'll help."
Mrs. Reese solved the problem by yanking his chair out from under him. He hit the floor with an eye opening thud.
"Now are you awake?"
Matt rubbed his head. "Oh yeah. That hurt. Thanks so much." He stumbled off to the bathroom. He hadn't said a word about the dark circles under her eyes, and she hadn't mentioned the tearstains on his face. A precarious balance was kept.
Some time later Matt returned to the kitchen. "What time is it?"
"Time for you to fix the clock, or find your watch. It's also 7:30, so you have ten minutes. Eat." Mrs. Reese shoved a bowl of cereal in Matt's face.
Feeling like a ten year old and yet strangely happy, Matt obeyed and scarfed down the cereal before bolting out the door. The highschool was only four blocks away from his home.
As always, no one said anything to him when he walked into homeroom. No one even looked at him. He was nobody, he didn't even exist to most of the students. The few who did know he was there were the ones who pushed him into the lockers and stole his textbooks.
And mom wonders why I don't go to school and hang out with druggies instead, Matt thought bitterly. They at least treat me like a human being.
His entire day passed in silence. Matt sat alone at his lunch table in the corner. Sometimes, a blank eyed reject from one of the "in" tables would sit down and grin vapidly while trying to make small talk. Since Matt could usually hear the friends of the groupy laughing at him, he'd ignore any attempts at conversation. Thankfully, today was not one of those days.
The final bell came as a great relief to Matt. This was the last time he'd ever have to go through with school. The thought cheered him and put a visible spring in his step on the way home.
Mrs. Reese was on the phone when he walked in the door. "I know! It was just amazing. That's why I don't need to see the property anymore...Oh no, we're fine, really..." She waved at Matt.
Matt waved back and ran upstairs. He dug out the black swathed bundle from where he'd stashed it that morning. With trembling fingers, he unwrapped it. A pistol, fully loaded, glinted in his hands.
"Hey, mystery man!" Lucia smiled brightly at the patient in 367.
He smiled tolerantly back at her. "Good morning, Lucia. I trust you're doing well?" If it were'nt for the disfiguring scars and twisted limbs, he would have seemed more at home in a gentleman's club than a cold concrete cell. He'd been perfectly polite to Lucia ever since he'd broken the window, in a futile effort to keep his despair in check. She'd completely forgotten about the incident with the window.
"Oh, I'm fine. I've got good news for you." She grinned impishly.
Does this woman ever have a bad day? he wondered. "Really?" He shifted position. His arms were sore from several days in a straight jacket.
"Yep. Since you've been on such good behavior, and since I put in some good reports, you're getting that stright jacket taken off."
He could barely contain his joy. He scrambled to his feet as two burly guards entered the cell and unwrapped him. As soon as his arms were free he gave a glad cry and hugged Lucia.
"Thank you You have no idea how happy this makes me."
She nodded to the guards and they left. Then she grinned and ruffled his short spikey hair as though he were her little brother. "I'm glad. Now you troy to remember who you are, alright? I'll talk to you later." She left, and shut the door behind her.
He shighed and stretched. Then he carefully pulled a shard of glass from the waistband of his pants. When he broke the window, he'd managed to grab the glass. Razor sharp, he pricked one of his fingers with it and watched the blook well out from the cut.
"No, Lucia, I'm afraid I won't be remembering much of anything soon."
Matt hastily scribbled a note of pology to his mother and left it on his desk. For the first time in a very long time, he felt at peace. His hands trmbled slightly as he picked up the gun. There was very little doubt in his mind as to whether or not he could pull the trigger. Whether or not he would, however, was a different matter.
"No. I have nothing left to live for. She'll be happier without me." Before he could change his mind, he set the gun against his temple.
Even though he did not rmember his name, remembered what he used to do. Fight. he had been a master at the art of killing. It was pure simplicity to find the proper place to stab. The shard of glass was long and sharp. With a rush of joy, he positioned the glass against his skin.
Matt pulled the trigger.
He pushed the glass into his midsection and ripped downwards, effectively disembowling himself. His body slumped forward. There was a smile on his face as he swiftly bled to death.
Mrs. Reese heard the crack of a firing gun and went completely white. She dropped the phone in midsentence and ran up the stairs three at a time. She threw open the door to her son's room, afraid of what she might find. Matt was sitting in the middle of the floor, a smoking pistol in his hand and a blank look on his face.
Matt heard the bang and felt the hot metal of the gun in his hand but there was no pain. There wasn't any bright light to walk towards, or an all encompassing darkness, and he didn't feel himself rising above his body through the ceiling. He wasn't falling throug the floor either. To tell the truth, the only thing he felt was a little bit hungry.
Oh shit. This is just @*&#ing beautiful, Matt heard someone say. It took him a moment to realize the voice had spoken inside of his head. It took him another moment to realize that he hadn't thought the words.
He saw his mom enter the room with a sort of detached feeling of shock. Her mouth was moving, but he didn't hear any words. She took the gun out of his hand and was tugging at his sleeve.
Get up. Come on, that's it, put your feet underneath you. Matt obeyed the voice. Follow her. I'm assuming she's your mother. Just move your feet.
Matt allowed himself to be lead by his mother into the bathroom. The next thing he knew his head was being shoved under the bathtub faucet. The shock of the cold water returned him mostly to his senses. Matt began to flail his arms feebly.
Stop that. She's not trying to drown you. She's just trying to get that awful black dye out of your hair. I think its permanent though. The voice sounded critical.
"And I knew there was something wrong when you came home last night and I knew I should have said something and why didn't you say something! you should have just said something, Matt, this is the last straw though we're moving and I'm not going to put up with this damn city any longer we should have left a long time ago and why did you have to use permanent dye on your hair I just wish you would talk to me once in a while..." She was ranting incoherently while sobbing and scrubbing Matt's hair.
Matt stared at the water that swirled down the drain and listened with half an ear to his mother.
Moving? Did she say moving? he asked fuzzily.
That's what she said, moving. You know, as in packing up and going away, changing your place of residence, finding a new view, going where the wind blows...
I know what moving is, thank you very much, Matt thought waspishly at the voice in his head. What am I now, completely insane? I was not hearing voices before. And why aren't I dead?
Beats me. I used to have my own body, but it was pretty messed up, and now I'm stuck in yours. For the record, I ought to be dead too. I guess we've both been given a second chance, the voice replied.
Oh, Matt thought, unable to come up with a better answer.
Mrs. Reese viciously attempted to scrub the dye from Matt's head one last time before giving up. She grabbed a towel and began rubbing her son's hair with it.
"Mom. Mom!" She stopped drying his hair and looked him in the eye. Matt smiled crookedly. "Mom, I can dry my own hair."
She hugged him fiercely. "I know honey, I know. Just let me do it, okay?"
Matt rubbed at his eyes and sniffed. He nodded, trying to sort out what was going on with his life.