A/N- While I love TD, it always bothered me how they portrayed Mal. They made him more of a supervillain than an actual character. After doing some research on Dissociative Identity Disorder (or MPD), I wrote this. I hope you enjoy.
One-Shot
I suppose it's no surprise that I ended up here. After all, years of vandalism, arson, and theft tends to catch up to a person, not to mention that I grew up surrounded by police officers. It was only a matter of time until somebody caught me and threw me in here. Did it sting that the "somebody" in question was my dad? Yes. But I'm not here to discuss my screwed up family life or bitter feelings of resentment. No, I have to focus on surviving this place with my head attached to my body.
In all honesty, juvie isn't that bad, as long as you don't piss off the wrong people. We spend a lot of time in our cells, in group therapy, or doing some other communal activity. We have free time, and when it's nice outside and we're well-behaved we can hang out in the yard, although that doesn't happen too often. Most of the time, I tend to keep to myself. There are a couple of really tough guys in here, and the last thing I need to start a fight that I would possibly (probably) lose. Not that I'm weak or anything, but I didn't need any unwanted attention, or a broken rib, for that matter.
Not everybody is terrible. There are some cool guys that I hang out with during meals and free time. We're currently eating lunch together. The food is nothing to write home about, but I don't exactly have another option. I poked at the 'spaghetti' with a plastic fork. They wouldn't let us use metal utensils because of their use as potential weapons. I don't want to think about what incident caused that rule to be put into place. I'd seen a few fights in here, but no fork attacks up to this point. After spending a few days here, though, I wouldn't doubt that some of the inmates would be willing to stab each other, but I would have to wait and see. After all, it had only been a week.
"Who's that?" Nico, one of my buddies sitting across from me, interrupted my thoughts and looked past my shoulder to the other side of the cafeteria. Angel, the guy sitting next to me, started to turn around.
"Who are you talking about? I don't see anything." Angel was a big, intimidating guy, but he would never hurt anybody. Unfortunately, he sometimes didn't pick up on subtle implications.
"Don't be so obvious! At that corner table, sitting alone." By this point, I had to look for myself. There were a lot of ...unique guys in here. What was special about this one?
"Oh, wow, good luck to that kid," Angel snorted. I twisted around, trying to see who he was referencing.
"What are you guys talking about?" A fourth guy, Carson, joined the conversation.
"Look at that kid over there," Nico commanded. "Duncan, are you seeing this?"
"The kid in the corner sitting by himself?" Asked Carson.
"Yes," said Angel. "That one."
Finally, I could see who he meant. A scrawny kid with brown hair and big brown eyes sitting alone at a table. The other inmates would no doubt eat him alive. He looked wholly too innocent to be in a place like this. Then again, it's never the ones you'd expect.
"What's a kid like that have to do to get put in here?" Nico questioned.
"Who knows, maybe he killed someone," Carson responded.
"Don't be ridiculous, they wouldn't put him in here for murder. He'd be in jail," Nico retorted.
"I feel bad, maybe we should ask him to sit here?" Angel, ever the bleeding heart, offered.
"No way, let's wait and see who this guy is before we get ourselves involved," Nico replied. He was street-smart and knew how to handle these types of situations.
"I'm gonna have to agree with Nico on this one," I remarked. "Let's see what type of guy he is before we get all buddy-buddy."
We continued watching for a few moments before returning to our conversation. We didn't want him to freak out if he noticed us staring. Business continued as usual for the next few minutes until Nico glanced over my shoulder again.
"Wait, what's going on?" He tried to see. Once again, we all turned to face the newcomer. He wasn't alone anymore. Two bigger guys that I quickly learned to keep away from stood over him, saying something that I couldn't hear.
"What's going on? What are they saying?" Angel asked.
"I can't hear anything," Carson replied, which was was met with a chorus of 'me neither's.' "I hope they aren't bothering him too much."
One of the guys put his face inches from the new kid, taunting him. I was tempted to look away, there was no way that scrawny guy would escape this unscathed. He stood up and backed away. Where were the guards? Could they not see what was going on? One of the guys put his hands on the kids shoulders, and I knew it was all over. What I didn't expect, however, was the deafening CRACK! that soon followed. The guy fell backwards, nose gushing blood, a look of shock plastered across his face. His buddy turned towards the newcomer and swung his fist, but the kid grabbed his hand and squeezed until we heard the bones crack. It was unlike anything I had ever seen before. He had to beg for mercy in order to be released. By now, everybody in the cafeteria had their eyes on this scene. The guy with the bloody nose was too dazed to retaliate, and injured-hand-guy started to slowly back away. Newcomer turned to look at the rest of the inmates, taking notice of his audience.
"My name is Mal. If any of you urchins even think about telling the guards what you just witnessed, I'll see to it that you never sleep again." He sat back down. We all stared open-mouthed. Who was this guy? How was he so strong? Nevermind that, I knew for a fact that I would stay as far away from him as possible. I wouldn't tell anybody what I saw, I'm not a snitch, after all, but this guy was the real deal, and nothing good would come from engaging him.
For the most part, Mal was a lone wolf. He always ate alone, and spoke as little as possible. For most inmates, this would let them fly under the radar. If anything, he looked… distant. Not scared, but confused, like he didn't know what he was doing or why he was there. He often stared into space, or grumbled quietly to himself. Unfortunately, nothing stopped the other inmates from messing with him. He was too scrawny, and after the first incident, every "tough guy" wanted to prove that they could beat up the kid who broke someone's nose and hand. Every time, Mal managed to win the fight. He would sit there quietly, and then someone would come up to him, and it would be all over. He could fight someone twice his size with ease.
I have to praise this guys athletic athletic abilities. Mal must have been a gymnast or something before ending up here. Seriously, the kid could be in the Olympics. Back flips, hand springs, balancing skills, he could do it all. I guess it made sense that he won all of these fights, the other guy couldn't even touch him when he was flying through the air. He would always yell something, too. I could never understand what he was saying. It was like he had an accent of some sort, which didn't make sense because whenever he wasn't doing his gymnastics routine, he spoke like the rest of us, although somewhat menacingly. That wasn't the only voice, though. Sometimes, when I walked past him muttering to himself, he sounded somehow older. Like a disgruntled old man, in a way. Honestly, I didn't know what was going on with him, and I wasn't the only one who noticed that something was up. Once the other inmates caught on to his… eccentricities, they started to bother him about it. They would tease him, whisper about him, and generally provoke him any way they could. He would become furious, fight back, win, and the cycle continued.
I must admit, I felt kind of bad. Not that I'm a softie or some sissy shit like that, but it was hard not to cringe whenever somebody provoked him. I'll share a tip about juvie, so if you ever fuck up and they throw you in here, you'll already know what to do. If you want to avoid trouble, don't make yourself a target. Unfortunately for Mal, with his athletic prowess and several different voices, he had a target strapped to his back. It was a catch 22, really. If he fought back, they would keep coming. If he let himself lose, they might leave him alone, but he would possibly lose a limb. I didn't like the guy or anything, but I'm not sure I wanted to see his blood on the floor.
But if you thought the fighting was bad, that was nothing compared to the rumors that circulated within a matter of days. I can only hope he didn't hear them, because they were pretty brutal.
"Haven't you guys heard? They say he's schizophrenic and hears voices," Nico explained one day at breakfast.
"Really? I heard he thinks he's possessed by the Devil," Angel replied.
"That's ridiculous. Nobody's possessed," Carson interjected.
"I'm not saying he's actually possessed, he just thinks he is," Angel retorted.
"Whatever, I heard it was drugs. He dropped acid and went crazy," Carson commented.
"You don't go crazy from doing acid one time," Nico explained matter-of-factly. "Right, Duncan?"
"Not that I know of. Not that I'm an expert or anything, but I'm pretty sure that's a myth." I hoped I knew what I was talking about. Sure, I may have dabbled in some things, but my knowledge of acid and its consequences was limited at best.
"No, it's legit. My cousin knows a guy who did acid and lost his mind. Swear to God, he told me himself," Carson widened his eyes.
"Who cares about that, I wanna know why he's here in the first place. I heard he stabbed someone at school," Angel declared.
"Actually, I also heard that story," Carson agreed.
"Bullshit, how do you know that?" I was intrigued.
"No, it's true. I have my sources," Nico concurred.
I didn't believe it for a second. With so many rumors swirling around about the guy, I had no idea what to think. If he really did attack someone, it was probably justified. I mean, look at what went on here. People attacked him every day. Who was to say that the same thing wasn't happening back home? Still, I just went along with the conversation. I didn't want to take any sides. What did it matter to me why Mal was here? Surely I didn't care. Still, I kept my eyes and ears open.
I suppose now would be a good time to say that I still haven't spoken to Mal directly. I've never had the chance. I couldn't approach him in front of everybody, and honestly, I was still kind of scared of the guy. I didn't want him to think I was messing with him and use his gymnastics skills to knock me on my ass. I was flying under the radar, remember? Losing a fight in front of the cafeteria would throw a wrench in that plan. I had no opportunity to speak to him outside of meal times. At least, that's what I thought. However, like some sort of inevitable collision, I would soon come face-to-face with the boy known as Mal.
Every night, we had to be in our cells by a certain time for role-call, and then it was lights out until morning. We had to keep our cells clean, and the guards did an inspection once a week. Most of the guys didn't bother to clean up until the last possible second. I kept mine pretty clean. I mean, what was the point of leaving it a mess if you had to clean it up anyways?
I didn't see why I should hang around my cell watching other people clean their cells, so I decided to kill an hour in the rec room. I figured it would be empty, and I could use the time alone. There were a few scattered chairs and couches, and a TV that was long broken. Somebody probably punched it, or, hell, threw a kid through the damn thing. But at least it was quiet, which was more I could say for anywhere else.
I sat on one of the couches and stared at the black TV screen. I was never a huge fan of TV. I preferred using my time for other, less wholesome things, and my parents heavily monitored anything I watched. However, it provided a sense of normalcy that was hard to come by these days.
"Duncan."
I was on my feet in a second. Who said that? I didn't see anybody when I walked in. I scanned the room and noticed somebody sitting in an armchair in the corner. It was that Mal guy. The front of his shirt was covered in blood, probably from a fight earlier that day. Jesus, they never left the kid alone. Still, I don't know how I walked past him. How could I have missed him? Why would I leave my guard down like that? It was stupid for me to assume everybody left their cell a mess.
"That's your name, isn't it?" It was him again. What do I do? Leave? Pretend I didn't hear him? I didn't want to be an asshole, but I didn't want to start anything.
"Um, yes, that's me." I sounded incredibly nervous. I couldn't take my eyes off of the blood on his shirt. It was dark red and scattered in random splotches. I looked back up to see that he was waiting for an answer. Pull it together!
"I suppose you came here to fight me?"
"What? No, nothing like that."
"I don't believe you. You probably followed me in here, knowing I'd be alone. Perfect opportunity for a surprise attack." Mal stood up and stepped towards me, causing me to move backwards in return. I had to diffuse the situation, and fast.
"I'm not here to fight! You have to calm down. I'm here because I already cleaned my cell and I don't want to sit there in a crowd of people. I promise, I don't want to hurt anybody." Mal seemed to consider this, looking me up and down before deciding that I probably wouldn't attack him, and even if I did, he could probably beat the shit out of me.
"Whatever. Just don't try anything."
"Believe me, I won't."
I sat back down, and he sauntered back to his seat, watching me the entire time. I didn't care, if that's what it took for him to not kick me in the throat. We sat in silence for a few moments.
"I'm sorry, it's just that when people come looking for me, it usually to mess with me." Oh God, was he going to get emotional on me? No way was I gonna be a shoulder to cry on.
"Yeah, I noticed the other guys do that a lot." I was hoping this would end all conversation, but instead he stood up and began to pace, like a tiger trapped in a cage.
"It's fine, I can fend for myself. That's what I've always done." Please, please, please spare me the depressing backstory. Everybody here has a depressing backstory. I don't want to hear another goddamn depressing backstory.
"For what it's worth, you seem to fare pretty well here. Some of these guys are pretty tough, but you always hold your ground." That should do it. I complimented him, he didn't fight me, and that was the end of it. I would go back to my cell and wait for role-call. I started to inch away.
"You're trying to leave."
"Oh, yeah, I need to get back to my cell."
"Bullshit, you're just scared of me."
"It's not that, I-"
"You think I'm a freak. I'm sure you'll go back there and tell all of your friends that you spoke with the freak, and they'll come back and attack me." He started to walk towards me again.
"Again with the attacking! I'm not trying to attack you. I don't know why you're obsessed with the idea of me attacking you. I get that it happens a lot, but I won't do anything!" I would say anything to get out of that room, or even rewind time.
"You're just like the rest of them. You pretend to be nice to me, and then you turn on me the first chance you get." Closer and closer, my back was almost against the wall.
"Well, Duncan, I won't let that happen. I won't let you hurt me like that. In fact, I-" just as he almost reached me, he smashed his foot against the leg of one of the couches. He inhaled sharply.
"Oh, dagnabbit! That was a rough one!" His voice was completely different, and he was hunched over.
"Hey, are you alright?"
"Am I alright, young man? Well! I'm glad to see that some of you whippersnappers still have respect for your elders!"
"...what?"
"Now, help me down, these old bones aren't what they used to be!"
"Dude, are you alright? Did you hit your head or something? You know we're the same age, right?"
"Nevermind, you punks these days wouldn't understand." By now, Mal was looking up at me, forgetting his supposedly damaged foot, and taking notice of my green mohawk.
"My goodness! What did you do to your hair?"
"My hair? It's been like this the whole time!"
"I'll never understand the youth and their strange fads. It's all too flashy for an old man such as myself. Let me tell you something about my own childhood. When I was a boy, I had to walk three miles every day to go to school! And did I complain? No! When we were surviving on pennies a day during the Depression, did I complain? No! When they sent me to fight in Europe, do you think I put up a fuss? You bet your soul I did not! Kids these days need to learn respect! Respect, I tell you! You need to stop listening to this rock and roll garbage and stick with the classics. When I watched Elvis Presley on the Milton Berle Show back in the 50's, do you know what I said to myself, boy?"
"...I'm sorry, I have no idea what's happening right now."
"Of course you don't! That's because you listen to hooligans such as those Beatle people coming over from England!"
"Look, you lost me. Is this some kind of set-up? Are there a bunch of people hiding in here waiting for my reaction? Mal, what's going on?"
"Mal? I'm not Mal, my boy. My name is Chester."
What was this guy talking about? Was he suffering some kind of breakdown?
"Dude, I have no idea what you're saying. Maybe I should get one of the guards. They could probably help you."
"Again with this teenage slang! Do you know what my father would do to me if I called him 'dude'? He'd- wait, what is this mess?" He looked down at the blood on his shirt. "Well! It would appear that there was some sort of tussle! I should probably change out of this." He started to take his shirt off.
"Hey, wait, don't take that off here. That's not gonna help your bullying situation. Go back to your cell."
"I swear, kids these days are way too soft. It's just a shirt!"
"Whatever, man, it's your funeral."
"Do your parents allow you to speak to adults in this manner? I swear-" He took off his shirt and sharply inhaled again.
"Woah woah woah, what's the big idea!?" This time, he spoke with a completely different voice, standing straight up again.
"Are you trying to get me to take my shirt off? Because I don't swing that way. You can look, but you can't touch!"
It was at this point that I completely gave up on trying to understand what was going on.
"What?" I asked weakly. I looked around the room. Was nobody else seeing this?
"Hey yo, this thing is covered in blood. Did you break my nose or somethin'? Well? Are we gonna have a situation here?"
"Look, Mal, Chester, whatever your name is, I'm going back to my cell. I don't know if I'm missing something, or if this is a joke that I don't understand, but this is too much."
"My name's Vito."
"Fine, then, Vito. I'm sorry if I insulted you or something, but I didn't mean to. That's not even your blood."
"Alright, alright, I got you, I guess I can put this back on. But you better sleep with one eye open!" He slipped the bloody shirt over his shoulders. Another sharp inhale, and he returned to his regular voice.
"Sorry, what was I saying? What happened?"
I looked at Mal with disbelief.
"I'm not sure. I thought you were gonna hit me or something, then it all fell apart."
"What do you mean?"
"How do you not remember? Weren't you just messing with me?"
"How was I messing with you?"
"Do you want me repeat everything? First you hit your foot, then you said your name was Chester, then you took your shirt off and said you were somebody else, then you put your shirt back on… Honestly, I don't know what you were doing. Care to explain?" He was looking at me with wide eyes. For a second, I thought he would run away. Instead, he lunged forward and grabbed my shirt collar, leaning his face close to mine.
"If you tell anybody what you saw, I promise that it will bring you a world of pain. You'll wish you were dead after I'm through with you." I swallowed and sealed my eyes.
"Sure, Mal, I won't say anything."
"You had better fucking not." He stepped back and let go of me, gave one final look, and left the room. I sat down and tried to collect my thoughts. What the hell was going on? What had I just witnessed? Why would he pretend to be all of these people and then get upset about it? One thing was for sure, there was no way I'd ask him. If anything, I'd try extra hard to avoid him. Of course, that wouldn't last for very long.
I think I've been going too easy on you guys. I've glossed over the messy parts of juvie in a heroic attempt to spare you the gory details so I could focus on the interesting parts. With a guy like Mal in the picture, could you blame me? But I think this would be a good opportunity to explain a few things, just so you could understand what exactly went on here. If you've stuck with it this far, I'm sure you could handle it.
It's pretty rough in here, especially when it comes to dealing with the other inmates. It's easy to get locked into the juvie mentality of having to prove you're tough, and the fact that you're surrounded by convicted felons definitely doesn't help. We're cooped up inside all day, and most of us have pretty unstable home lives. The point is, we have nobody looking out for us. The place was completely under-funded, and nobody was coming to intervene and improve conditions. The guards were underpaid and really couldn't give a shit half the time. There were cracks in the walls, old blood stains on the floor, and I swear I could hear mice in the walls at night. What was I going to do about it? My parents knew full-well what it was like here, and they sure as hell weren't going to help me. Almost nobody here had a family who cared enough to intervene and had the money to do it. Those who did come from money or a stable household either stayed at a nicer facility or were only sentenced for a few days, just a blip of time, a speck on their rear-view mirror, and they soon returned to normalcy, never thinking about the kids still left behind. The point is, the place was a shithole, and it showed.
So it was no surprise that one day, the heat kicked out, in the middle of January no less. Canadian winters were known for being brutal, and this one was no different. The other guys didn't seem to be too bothered, and I tried to tough it out, but then I realized it was pointless and I might as well leave lunch, go back to my cell, and grab one of my facility-issued sweatshirts. The other guys jeered at me for not being able to handle the cold, but at this point, I was beyond caring. They could freeze if they so desired, but I wasn't going to let that be me.
As I walked through the maze of empty cells, I thought that I heard some sort of whispering. I reached my own cell and grabbed my sweatshirt, but the whispering was only getting louder. I knew that if I had any sense at all, I would ignore it and go back to lunch. Unfortunately, I seemed to be lacking in intelligence that day, so I said fuck it. I would walk past the source, and once I was what was going on, I would go back to lunch. As I kept moving, I could almost recognize the owner of the voice, but something seemed off about it. I soon noticed why.
"G'day! What are you out here for?"
It was Mal, in a fedora that he found God-knows-where. Come to think of it, I hadn't seen him at lunch. I've steered clear of him since our last conversation.
"Jesus, you scared me."
"Sorry mate, didn't mean to do that."
"Hi, Mal, or whatever your name is. Nice hat."
"Thanks mate, I quite like it myself! Names Manitoba Smith."
"I'm sure it is."
"Crikey, it's cold out here. Nothin' like the Outback. I don't know how you Canucks do this every winter. I reckon you're cold as well, mate? That's why a bloke like you is wandering out here."
At this point, I learned to just go along with it.
"Oh, you're Australian?"
"Yep, I'm a true blue."
Before I could question what that meant, the lights started to flicker over head, which didn't surprise me in the slightest.
"Crikey, that doesn't look good-" The lights went out. It was completely dark, and I didn't really keep track of where I was when I went to find Mal. Suddenly, there was a burst of light. Mal- or I guess Manitoba- produced a flashlight.
"Where did you get that?"
"Don't worry about it, mate. I've got us. I know the way."
"Really?"
"Yep! If my thinking is correct…" he got on all fours and sniffed the ground before licking it.
"Oh, no, please don't do that."
"We have to go… this way! Come on, then! I'll lead us." With that, Manitoba started walking, and I trailed behind, unsure of what to say.
"So… you're Duncan."
"You know who I am?"
"Everyone's told me 'bout you."
"Oh, I didn't know I was that popular."
"Sure you are! Chester loves ranting to anybody who will listen, and Vito is convinced you tried to hit on him, but he thinks everybody's trying to hit on him, and Mal likes you because you haven't tried to kill him, which is nice of you."
"That's… good." Should I ask what was going on? How all of these people seemed to have the same body? Was it all an elaborate setup? Some sort of Multiple Personality Disorder like they show in the movies? This guy (guys?) didn't seem like the people on-screen. What was that all about?
"Hey, mate, I know what you're thinking."
"Oh! Er, really?"
"Yep. Don't worry, I totally understand."
"Well, great then! I didn't want to sound rude-"
"You're scared of Mal. That's it, isn't it?"
"Oh. I mean, not exactly-"
"I knew I figured it out! This bloke can be bloody perceptive, can't he?"
"I suppose, but-"
"Look, I get it. Mal can be a scary fella, but that's just his job."
"His job?"
"Yep! He has to protect the rest of us, especially- um- nevermind actually. Nobody in particular." There was definitely a story behind that statement, but this was the first time I was getting real answers, and there was no way I was going to ruin it by pressing the matter further.
"That sounds like a difficult job."
"Crikey, that's the truth. But- can you keep a secret?"
"Sure."
"He's really not a bad bloke, he's just seen a lot. Too much, honestly. You should try and talk to him. I think he could use a pal. Don't tell him I said that!"
"Are you sure? I get the feeling that he doesn't like me."
"No! Listen, mate, I've got a feeling that you seem like a tough bloke, but underneath, you're a bloody fuzzy teddy bear!"
He stopped walking.
"Why did you stop?"
"I don't know where we are."
"What do you mean? Haven't you been leading the way?"
"Well, mate, it appears that I've gotten lost at some point. It happens to the best of us! Don't worry, I'll have somebody get us out of here."
"Who? Who can find us?" A sharp inhale from Manitoba and I knew that I was about to find out.
"Svetlana is here to save the day! Don't worry, teddy bear boy, I will rescue us. Follow me!" With that, he, or I guess she, took off down the hallway. This was clearly the source of Mal's gymnastics skills.
"Jesus, how many of you are there? Hey- wait up!" I ran after her through the dark hallways, contemplating what Manitoba told me. Should I really try and connect Mal? Would that be a good idea? Would he even want to? I supposed I would have to wait until I got the chance to see for myself.
There's another rule about juvie that I haven't shared yet: don't make friends with anyone. When you first get sentenced and ask the internet for advice, they will all tell you that you should have acquaintances, but making genuine friends here is a mistake. The idea is that you don't want to have ties to juvie, you just want to do your time and get out, and having friends is something that ties you back here. Also, you're surrounded by convicted criminals, which aren't exactly the type of people you want to associate with. So when Manitoba told me that I should speak to Mal, you could understand my hesitation.
With that being said, I could always use another acquaintance. I didn't know where or when I should find Mal, but I figured that I had nothing to lose by starting a conversation.
My chance came during dinner one evening. For the past few days, I kept my eyes open for Mal, waiting for the day he missed a meal. Then, I knew I could find him alone. I guess I kinda sounded like a stalker, but in a way, he told me to find him (at least I think, I still wasn't sure how exactly Multiple Personality Disorder worked, assuming that was what he had), so no harm no foul on my end. Anyways, I noticed that he was absent during dinner, so I seized the opportunity to track him down.
"Where are you going?" Nico asked me.
"Bathroom, I'll be back." I cleared my tray and set out to find Mal, wherever he might be.
I didn't know where to start. I checked the rec room, but it was empty. I decided he must be in his cell, but I had no idea where that was. I took my chances wandering for a while, making random turns. I figured it wouldn't take too long because there weren't too many cells to look through. Sure enough, there he was, sitting on his bed. Well, his body was there. I wasn't sure who would answer when I said hello.
"Um, Mal?" He turned to face me.
"What do you want?"
Shit, I didn't think this far ahead. I was so focused on finding the guy that I never thought of what to say. What did Manitoba tell me to do? Why did I listen to him?
"Nothing, just, um, how are you?"
"How am I?"
"Yeah, like, what's up?"
"Is this some kind of setup?"
"No, no setup… why aren't you at dinner?"
"Nobody can mess with me if I'm not there."
"That's a plan."
"Well, it works."
A long pause. I looked at the floor.
"Do you, like, want food or something? I'm sure I could sneak some over."
"You don't have to do that."
"You can't just not eat. You'll starve in here."
"It's what I have to do."
"Jesus, I'll get you something. Don't worry about it, I'll be back."
"Fine, do whatever you want."
I figured this would be a way to get into Mal's good graces, so I walked back to the cafeteria, avoiding the guys so they wouldn't ask where I was going, grabbed some dinner, which happened to be lasagna (if you want to call it that), and found my way back to Mal's cell.
"Here, take it."
He just looked at me, squinting his eyes.
"You take a bite first."
"Dude, really? You think I poisoned this?"
"Can you- can you just do it?"
"Fine, whatever."
I took a forkful, chewed, and swallowed.
"There, see? It's fine."
"Well, ok, I guess I'll take it."
He took the plate and started to eat. I could tell he was starving. The portions here weren't that large, and the food was bad enough, so I could understand it.
"Aren't you going to sit down?"
"Hmm? Oh, sure." I looked around for a place to sit, deciding on the empty bed across from his own. Most of the cells here had two beds, but there weren't enough people to fill them, so very few of us had to deal with a roommate.
"How's the food?"
"Terrible."
"Sounds about right."
"Why did you come see me?"
"I don't know, I just felt like it."
"So nobody told you to?"
"Nope." Did he know what Manitoba told me? Did he remember? Was he… there? For that conversation?
"Don't lie, I knew you were coming. Manitoba told me."
"Ok, I wasn't sure if you knew about that."
"Of course I knew about it."
"I'm sorry, I don't know how it works."
"It's fine, I wouldn't expect you to."
He finished eating in silence. Did I overstep my boundaries? If the other people told him I was coming, then did it even matter? The inmates started to stream in from dinner.
"You can go. You probably don't want to be seen in here."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, it's all good."
"Well, ok then. Nice chat."
"Duncan?"
"Yes?"
"Maybe you can hang out in here sometimes. You know, if you want."
What was this? An attempt at friendship? I would be breaking one of the major rules of juvie, but I was never one for rules. Besides, I didn't want to hurt his feelings and face the wrath of that gymnast, or perhaps the Australian guy. After all, I was the one who approached him.
"Sure, Mal, I'll do that."
"Alright, good. I'll see you later, then."
"See you later."
And so it went. Every so often, I would eat with Mal in his cell. It kind of worked out. He wouldn't have to deal with people in the cafeteria, and I didn't have to watch him deal with people in the cafeteria. Everybody wins.
The first few couple of times, we didn't talk too much. I didn't want to ask about his life on the outside, and that eliminates most topics of conversation. He dropped hints here and there, and I tried to piece it together, but it wasn't much. In his defense, I didn't share anything either, so I guess it was only fair.
After a while, we finally got somewhere.
"Tell me, Duncan, what did you do to get thrown in here in the first place? I know the mohawk alone screams 'delinquent', but what was it specifically?"
Did this count as personal information? I mean, I'm pretty sure it's public record. Besides, he could probably ask around and find out.
"It was a bunch of things, but mainly arson."
"Wow, a thrilling story."
"Fine, here's what happened, if you insist on knowing. There was an old shed near the woods by my house, right? It was abandoned and covered in graffiti, so clearly nobody cared about it. I figured nobody would notice if it was gone. I planned the whole thing out perfectly. I waited until a Friday night, around 3 AM when nobody would be around to see. I set it on fire and ran as fast as I could so I could watch without seeming suspicious. Eventually, people who lived nearby started to see what was going on, so I got out of there. When I was caught, I already had other stuff on my record, mostly theft and vandalism, so I never stood a chance."
"Why would you do that?"
"What? Burn the shed? I don't know, I just like fire. I used to carry a lighter in my pocket that I used whenever I felt that urge to burn something. I don't know where it is now, probably confiscated."
"So you're a pyromaniac or something."
"I guess so. It just calms me down."
"You're still leaving out a key detail of your story."
"What do you mean? That's what happened."
"How did you get caught? You never mentioned that part."
"It was a whole thing."
"What happened?"
"I'm not saying." Mal frowned.
"Fine, don't tell me."
"Why do I have to share everything?"
"Ask me something, then."
I had to tread lightly here. This was an opportunity, and I had to use it wisely. Do I ask why he's in here? Do I ask about his different personalities? Would either offend him?
"Jeez, don't think about it too hard. I already know what you want to ask. I won't get upset, you already saw everything. Besides, you know I'll kick your ass if you say something."
"Fine, I'll ask. How does it work? Like, with the different personalities? I'm assuming that's what it is? Multiple personality disorder?"
"That's not what it's called. It used to be, but now it's Dissociative Identity Disorder." I motioned for him to continue.
"Basically, there's six of us in this body, but we're all distinct identities who switch back and forth. We all have different strengths and weaknesses and different jobs to do, but we work together as a system."
"Wait, you said six."
"Yeah?"
"You, Manitoba, Chester , Vito, Svetlana, but who am I missing?"
"The other one is ...out of commission at the moment."
I wasn't pushing that one further.
"So can you guys talk to each other?"
"Kind of, it's difficult to explain. Whenever one of us is in control, the others stay in our head and hang out. "
"That sounds chaotic."
"Sometimes it is. I'm used to it now, but it can get hectic. I hope that answers your questions."
"I mean, pretty much. Thanks."
"Don't worry about it. And remember: not a fucking word to anybody."
"Yup, you got it."
"Good."
I suppose you could say all was well, at least for a little while. Business continued as usual. I kept to myself, did what I was supposed to do, and didn't cause any problems. Dare I say it, I actually liked eating with Mal. It gave me something to look forward to and broke up the endless, monotonous days. He was actually a good guy when you got him alone. By now, most of the toughest guys already tried to fight him (and lost), so less and less people tried to provoke him. All in all, life was alright, considering the circumstances.
I should have known that it wouldn't last long. Nothing ever does. I was stupid, a hopeful optimist who couldn't see the inevitable.
It happened, as all things do, in the cafeteria. I was sitting with the guys, Mal was sitting alone. It had been a few days since Mal's last fight, which had to be some kind of record. Looking back, it was the calm before the storm.
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched somebody stand up and walk over towards Mal. At the time, I didn't know his name (I later learned that they called him Snake, which I personally thought sounded pretty dumb), but I knew his face. He was a big, hulking mass of a man, one of those guys that you steer clear of. He was mean for the sake of being mean, and knew how to cut a person the deepest. Interestingly enough, he never went after Mal. I guess today was the day.
"Hey, you!" Snake started. Mal didn't bother looking up.
"Hey, I'm talking to you." Mal met his eyes, bored and disinterested.
"What do you want?"
"Is it true? What you did?"
"Whatever are you talking about?"
"Don't talk back to me, freak! See, I heard a pretty interesting story about you."
I knew whatever this was, it wouldn't be good, and it would probably not be true.
"You see, I was wondering about you. I was thinking to myself, what's a tiny guy like you gotta do to get put in juvie? I thought it was some small-time shit, right? But a got a cousin on the outside, and he told me he read about you, in the local papers."
"Sorry, does this story have a point?"
Snake turned to face the rest of us.
"You see guys, Mal over here thought it would be fun to beat the shit out of his dad. What was his name? Max something? Well, it doesn't matter. There were a bunch of witness reports in the newspapers, and I have to say, it wasn't pretty."
Mal lunged forward, but Snake grabbed him by the shoulders, bashing his fist into Mal's nose.
"Not so fast there, Mal. Now, let me share some of my favorite parts. See, Mal's dad decided to stop by his school to say hello, and Mal responded by tackling him to the ground like an animal. His dad begged him to stop, the other kids begged him to stop, but he just kept going and going like some sort of crazed beast. By the time his principal managed to pry him off, his dad was beaten so badly that he was unrecognizable."
By now, Mal had cleared some of the blood from his face and tried to grab Snake a second time, but the guy was just too big. He shoved Mal back down, causing his nose to gush blood all over again. By now, everybody in the cafeteria was watching this scene unfold.
"I mean, I don't think we should be suprised. We've all seen Mal sitting here talking to himself, like sort of lunatic. He doesn't belong in juvie, he belongs in a padded room."
Mal started choking on his blood as it leaked down his throat. Snake leaned down and pulled him up by the collar.
"What was that, freak? Did you have something to say? Are you having trouble speaking clearly?"
"It wasn't like that, you don't even know the full story."
"Shut up, freak. You should be in jail. I don't even want you around me, knowing what you're capable of."
He addressed us all again.
"Anyways, I thought you should all know the truth about Mal. He's a complete animal, and you all need to be careful. Who knows what kind of voices he hears? Clearly, he needs to get back on his meds before they let him near the rest of us."
He leaned down to Mal, putting his face right up to him.
"And you, freak. Stay the fuck away from me. Now, clean yourself up."
Snake walked back to his table and sat down, leaving Mal curled up in a ball on the floor. After a few moments, everybody turned back to their dinners. I didn't look at Mal, but he eventually stood up and limped back to his cell.
Sometimes, I look back on this event and wonder if I was an asshole. If I stood up for Mal, could I have prevented what happened? If I ever sat next to him, would that have stopped Snake from doing what he did? I don't think so. I couldn't put my neck on the line like that. As much as I thought Mal was a decent guy, it would have been a suicide mission. I could never take on any of these guys, and I would break the number one rule of not getting involved in anything. You can call me a douche and say that I'm a bad friend, but there are no friends in a place like this.
Still, I wanted to know if Mal was alright, if his nose was broken or something. I left dinner a few minutes after him, mumbled some excuse, and made my way over to his cell.
He was sitting on his bed, holding a towel to his face, staring straight ahead. I cleared my throat and he glanced over at me.
"Mind if I come in?"
He nodded slightly. I took this as a yes and took my usual seat on the opposite bed.
"Are you alright?"
He nodded again.
"I'm sure it'll be fine."
His nose was still bleeding, but it had slowed down a bit. We sat quietly for a few minutes. I stared down at the ground while he worked on his nose. I spared him a glance and saw that his lip was split as well. I didn't ask him anything about the story I had just heard. Neither of us spoke until Mal broke the silence.
"I never got along with my dad."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Don't be. He was a total piece of shit. He… did stuff. You know. He'd… he'd… beat us, you know, that kind of thing. He'd drink, come home, and… you know. I was just a little kid, but our mom never stopped him. Not that I'm blaming her, because he pushed her around a lot too, she would usually bear the brunt of it, she was probably as scared as I was, but… it was fucked up, you know?"
The entire time, he never looked me in the eyes, but kept staring straight ahead.
"It was around that time that the whole personality thing started, and I was the one who was sent out to deal with it, to protect the others, especially the one I told you about before, who you've never met. Whenever there was something traumatic, I would see it so he wouldn't have to. Like juvie, for instance. I've actually been around the longest, after him…" he trailed off for a few seconds. I didn't know what to say, so I decided to say nothing. He didn't seem to need any of my words.
"Eventually, we were taken out of that house and put in foster care after one of my teachers noticed a bruise on my arm. He insisted that the bruise was from something else, my mom supported him, and we were too scared to say otherwise, so he was never convicted of anything. The whole town loved the guy, and the entire incident was weighing down his reputation, so he made up some lie about how we were living with my aunt for a little while. Of course, that's total bullshit. We've been living with this foster family."
"Well, one day, after I'd been with that family for a few years, my dad tried to track us down. He knew that our foster family would never let him see us, so he found our school. The original one of us, the one you've never met, was walking down the hallway when he saw him. Dad started walking toward him, and he assumed the worst, that he'd try and kidnap us or kill us as revenge for leaving him. That's when I came out to protect us, and, well, you know the rest of the story. So, there you go. That's why I'm here."
What do you even say to somebody in a situation like this?
"Wow, that's…heavy."
"I know."
"I'll be honest, I don't know what to say here."
"There's nothing to be said."
"I don't think you're a freak."
"I appreciate that."
"Really, I mean that. I don't think you're an animal, either. He… he abused you for years. If anything, that guy was the animal."
"That's not what the courts say."
"Well, that's what I say."
"Duncan," he looked up at me. "Would you finally tell me how you got caught? Let me focus on somebody else's depressing backstory for a change."
I didn't hesitate. To hell with the rules. If he was willing to share that with me, then I'm sure it would be fine to share with him.
"Well," I replied, "it pales in comparison to yours, but basically, my dad heard me walk in around 3:30 AM after I started the fire. Both of my parents are cops, and they had always been really strict. I couldn't watch TV, or play video games, or hang out with my friends. When I walked in, he phoned it in right away and turned me over to the authorities. I haven't spoken to my parents since. Who knows if they even know I'm here."
"Great," Mal smiled. "We both have issues."
"I suppose so."
"You know what they say: misery loves company."
"Indeed it does, Mal. Indeed it does."
I'm sure after reading that last part, you believe that it was some sort of turning point for both me and Mal. I'm sure you think that we became best friends and shared all of our secrets, surviving juvie together.
This was not remotely the case.
It was lunchtime in the cafeteria (surprise), and it was business as usual (of course), until Mal started screaming.
We all looked up, wondering who was fighting who, but we were surprised to see that Mal was alone, yelling to himself.
"Stop it, stop it, stop it! Get out of my head! No, Mike, you can't handle it. Please, don't do this. You know I'm only trying to protect you. Where are we? Where am I?"
Mal (was it Mal?) stood up and looked at all of us watching him. He resembled a deer caught in headlights.
"Who are all of you people? What am I doing here?"
Gone was Mal's deep, sinister voice, replaced by the yell of a frightened child. He started to slam his head against the table, yelling,
"Get out get out get out! Stop it!"
Some of the guards came running over, which was shocking within itself, and grabbed Mal by the arms, restraining him. He continued to struggle and scream. Why was he suddenly confused as to where he was? Unless… was this the original? The one that Mal had mentioned, but I had never met? The guards dragged him out, still flailing, and we held eye contact fo a fraction of a second before he was gone.
And that was it. I never saw Mal again. I have no idea where they took him, probably to psych, but nobody knew for sure.
I doubted that we would ever meet again. That's another thing about making friends in juvie. Since everything was temporary, anybody could be gone at a moments notice.
I decided to try and forget about him. I would stick to my original plan. Keep my head down, do my time, and get out. What else could I do?
"Jesus," Nico spoke after Mal was gone. "What the hell was that all about?"
My eyes lingered on the door for a few moments.
"No idea," I answered. "He was always crazy. What did you expect?"
FIN