There are eight of us in the metal box but we can be counted in threes, which is confusing. Mommy, me, Dexter: that's three in a family. Mommy and her two friends: that's three adults. The three scary guys: that's three more adults. But if you count that's eight. They're mad. Mommy said keep Dexter quiet and stay out of the way, so we're over by the side wall. It's nice and cool in here because of the air conditioner but the wall is warm. We don't have any toys.
One of the angry men starts up a chainsaw which is bad because it's a small room and they are dangerous. I get a good hold on Dexter because he's little and might not know it's a bad thing. He likes trucks and the chainsaw sounds like a loud truck here in this room and mommy there's been an accident, blood is everywhere, why isn't he stopping? Mommy?
Mommy pushes me behind her and grabs Dexter, she's on her knees in the blood which is on her shirt and her pants and face and some of it is on me and Dexter too. She tells me to take care of Dexter and they drag her away and mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy mommy
It smells very bad here now. It smells like someone made a mess in their pants but they don't have… they aren't… it gets dark. It was warm but now it gets cold. I hold Dexter so we can stay warm. They left and we are two alone now two and mommy is mommy is… nobody shut off the air conditioner when they left. Someone is going to get into trouble for not shutting off the air conditioner. I wish it weren't so dark. All I can hear is the air conditioner. All the dripping is stopped.
Dexter and I are thirsty. It's not that dark anymore. I wish it were dark again. We didn't sleep. We sit there for a long time but then I think, it's daytime and someone might come back so I get up. My legs hurt and when I let go of Dexter he makes a little noise so I want to go back and hold him but I get up and almost fall down and go over and grab a knife from where it's on the boxes and I come over and sit back down and hold Dexter and he stops making the noise. The wall gets warm as the daytime goes on forever and it starts to smell worse. A fly comes in.
It lands on mommy's hand. I scream and slap it and the blood splashes like mud and I scream a lot. Dexter doesn't scream. Then I get tired. It starts to get dark. It starts to get colder. I get up and Dexter makes the noise but I need to climb onto the boxes and turn off the air conditioner. I hold onto the knife the whole time in case someone comes back when the air conditioner turns off. Nobody comes. If the men come back I will cut them up into little pieces. I come back and hold Dexter and he stops making the noise.
It is dark. It is quiet. We don't sleep.
It gets light. We are very very very thirsty now. My fingers are wet. I look at them but the wet does not look like something we can drink because it is red. Dexter's pants are wet but I don't get mad even though he smells like pee now. I stick my nose in his hair and he smells sour, like he needs a bath, but I can still maybe smell something like shampoo. I keep my nose in his hair for a while until I can't smell it anymore. When we get home I will give him a bath like. Like he needs, like. I can't remember. I'm so tired and thirsty.
Someone is outside. We hold very still and try to be very small. The door opens. Someone big comes in. I don't know if they're bad or not. Dexter screams at the light and at all the red everything is very red and I hold the knife and Dexter but the man comes and picks Dexter up no Dexter is mine mine mine give him back but I'm stupid and slow and tired so he takes Dexter anyways. He and reaches for me too but I have the knife, he can't have me, and he leaves with Dexter screaming screaming screaming. Then they are outside and Dexter stops and all is quiet but I can hear him shouting for help.
It's too late for help.
I learn a lot in the institution. I learn I am a sociopath. I learn that I am not a sociopath, I have antisocial personality disorder. I learn they are all full of shit and blood and I can let the blood out whenever I want. They give me drugs and tie me up. They are not nice. Sometimes I think about my brother. Someone took him away and they will not tell me about him. Is he in one of these places? Did they give him away to strangers?
The others tell me about foster care and I picture my brother there. All the things that can go wrong. I picture getting out and rescuing him from the families that are abusing him. I need to get out to save him. I pretend to be normal and I don't hurt anyone for ages and ages, but I can't see a way out. I tell the doctor what I need to do - we need to be together. He tells me my brother has been adopted by a nice family and he's not being abused.
My brother has been adopted.
The doctor says things in a stupid voice all soft and gentle about how Dexter doesn't remember me and how he's got another family and I might want to move on. So I pick up his letter opened and open him with it.
They come in and I go away for a while. It's ok. It gives me time to think. I've been so stupid. How could I be so stupid? Dexter needs me and I'm just making them afraid so they'll keep me locked up longer. I need to learn more and be smarter so when I get out I can take care of him.
It's time to start paying attention. You can learn a lot in a hospital. They want you to talk, but it's better if you just listen. You can learn from the doctors and the patients and the janitors, everything there is to know. You can learn how people work, how they think, how to pretend to be one thing or another. How to say the right thing and do the right thing and hide. You can learn that the problem is the solution.
Information and education. There's an information imbalance in my relationships: the doctors and nurses know everything there is to know about me, and I know nothing about them. I need to rectify this if I'm going to have a chance of getting out of here. What, then, makes a doctor and a nurse? Skin and muscle and vein and bone, guts and … blood. No, I need more. I need to know what they know. And since the primary characteristic of any doctor's office is their bookshelf, that's where I start. I steal a DVSM III.
It's enlightening. I've always known the words, known the people they applied to, but now I understand how it all fits together and shapes their view of me. They find the book, of course, but by then I'm done. I am also suitably chastened when they express their disappointment. I explain my reasoning: this is my world, I just wanted to explore it, to know more about it. They are delighted with my desire for knowledge; this is a sacred quest for them. I am given more access. More education. Compliance with the rules in this superficial fashion benefits me.
I am taken off the restricted ward after two years of perfect behavior. They let me go down to the medium ward. I can visit other patients in other areas, but only in supervised groups. It takes a while, but eventually I persuade them to take us over to the medical wing, to meet the cancer patients. The dying. The amputees.
I am overexcited, they say, after that visit. It takes me months of good behavior to earn my privileges back. I read more and study more. I get manuals of anatomy, I mop floors, I am eager to please and often there doing the dirty work, the cleaning and sterilizing. I am friendly, reliable, and I don't tell secrets. They like this. They move me to minimum and give me a job. I can wander around the wards as I please, any time of day or night. It's very nearly freedom.
The privileges are nice, but I want more. This world is too small. The doctor has some reservation, some catch that he's withholding from me, that he won't discuss. I have to bring it up but I don't know what it is. What I really need is access to my file, to see my notes.
It's not hard. I charm one of the on-call shift nurses night after night, watching television with her, making her laugh. Charm is an easy skill. Eventually she lets me wander as I please, since most of what I please is spending time with her. It's not difficult to make sure the door stays unlocked one night. I read my file. They're worried that I don't seem to want sex.
Sex. There's a topic I know nothing about. I need to do some research.
It turns out that sex is as easy as charm, if you already have someone who likes you. The nurse is already halfway there. I try out my shy, fumbling kisses on her, and the rest is easy. We are caught in a compromising position one evening when I accidentally trip the alarm with my foot while we're in the secure room. She is in tears, I am suitably remorseful. She is fired. The doctor, smirking, signs my release papers. This is what they consider healthy?
I don't care. I am free.
I want the first thing I do to be tracking down my brother, but that simply won't work. He's been out here in this world his whole life, and this place is alien to me. I can't just turn up on his doorstep, all sad and pathetic, and say "Hello brother! Miss me?" and expect him to welcome me with open arms. Age aside, he has to be more skilled than I am at navigating this maze of human emotions and strip malls; he's been out in it his whole life. Right now I have nothing to give him. Nothing to offer. He'd be the one taking care of me, and that's impossible to contemplate. I need time to prepare, to develop. I need a plan.
I need to study and work and develop this until I'm perfectly ready. I've got a bag packed for Paris. I'll learn from the best; no point in wasting my time. They knew what they were about in Paris, with the old masters and the guillotine. I'll learn and grow, make something of myself. Something he can be proud of. Then I'll come back.
They said he doesn't remember me. That bothers me. It's a flaw, something that needs to be corrected; but it won't happen now, not without knowing more. You don't bring back a memory without a lot of work and effort. The hospital taught me that. I'll need to prepare him. He'll need to be ready. I'll recreate the event for him, stir up the layers of normalcy and get his blood pumping. He hasn't forgotten me completely; it's not possible. Somewhere, something inside him will know that we are meant to be together. I will find him and dredge his soul until I can drag that piece of us up from the buried layers of his life and force him to see it, force him to remember. And then we will be together forever.
It's what's meant to be.