Disclaimer: Hey! Arnold doesn't belong to me. Now, in my absence I found that multitasking is not my forte`. And as for this story, it was inspired by a mix of Beatles tunes and a long drive home – in case you're curious.
HA
"Hey Crazy, wake up!"
Cold water splashing across his face jolted Curly awake from his dreaming. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to use the residual feeling of content to chase after linger memories – something to do with a dark haired, dark eyed woman. A swift kick to his left shin, however, forced his eyes open and the memories to fade.
New ones flooded his mind when he saw he was tied to a chair with his wrists bound to the arms. So he was still here? That would make it about thirty hours then that he'd been in that chair, locked in a room. And all for what? To be interrogated by a couple of trigger-happy and sadomasochistic government lackeys.
"So, Crazy, are you ready to talk yet?" the man he affectionately named Tweedledum, a big guy with probably a bigger appetite, questioned as he brought his sneering face into Curly's immediate rang of sight. For his part, Curly just sighed with his head hung low.
"Thaddeus. My name is Thaddeus, not Crazy. Thaddeus Curly Gammelthorpe. Why does no one remember that?" he muttered, and the larger man laughed as he pulled out a cigarette. He flicked open the lighter and held a flame, letting it dance in front of Thaddeus for a bit before bringing it to the cancer stick. Taking a relieving drag, Tweedledum smiled sadistically and brought the ash a little too close to Curly's arm. When he didn't get the desired response, he decided to try again.
"You're a hard one to crack, Crazy. You know that, right? Maybe I should just go through with it and burn a nice cigarette scar in that white skin of yours." Still no response, Tweedledum held it dangerously close to Curly's limb, and thought he may have burnt some hair, "Shit you're good." Tweedledum almost smirked at the balls the prisoner in front of him possessed.
"That's because I know you won't burn me."
That was it. No pleads for freedom, no cursing, no nothing. Just a statement – but it certainly had Tweedledum hooked.
"Oh, and how is that?"
"Convention (I) for the Amelioration of the Condition of the Wounded and Sick in Armed Forces in the Field. Geneva, 12 August 1949; Art. 3: In the case of armed conflict not of an international character occurring in the territory of one of the High Contracting Parties, each Party to the conflict shall be bound to apply, as a minimum, the following provisions:
"Sub Article 1: Persons taking no active part in the hostilities, including members of armed forces who have laid down their arms and those placed hors de combat by sickness, wounds, detention, or any other cause, shall in all circumstances be treated humanely, without any adverse distinction founded on race, color, religion or faith, sex, birth or wealth, or any other similar criteria.
"To this end, the following acts are and shall remain prohibited at any time and in any place whatsoever with respect to the above-mentioned persons: part a: violence to life and person, in particular murder of all kinds, mutilation, cruel treatment and torture." Curly recited, and nearly made his captor drop the roll of nicotine from his lips. Suddenly though, he chuckled and Curly finally looked up from the floor to see what was so funny.
"Alright Crazy, you're pretty good. But who's to say I still don't just torture the shit out of you physically, kill you after you give me the information I'm looking for, and then cover it up?" Tweedledum asked, and Curly smirked.
"Come on Tweedledum, you may be reckless but you're not stupid. I have family members and friends who would ask a lot of questions. You think they wouldn't put two and two together? Me disappearing after staging a public rally, and not three weeks after returning to the country? Just because I wasn't in the Middle East doesn't make it any less suspicious – isn't that what you first told me when we started this sleep over?" Curly almost wanted to laugh at the look the man gave him after being called Tweedledum, but held it in as the door behind him opened and shut swiftly.
"Well I must say, this one certainly is good. Intelligent too, no doubt. Tell me Mr. Gammelthorpe, are you a Straight A student?" a voice asked from behind him, and even thought he couldn't see the face, Thad could picture it just fine. Clean and somewhat slicked back blonde hair, glasses that always had light reflecting off them so no one could see his eyes, and a lanky frame. Of his two interrogators, this one was who Thaddeus feared. While Tweedledum was a big guy and talked tough, he knew the guy would never actually hurt him. Rough him up a bit, sure, but not mutilate. But Tweedledee was cold and calculated. Curly knew that this man would do far worse than kill him and not think twice about it.
Yet even with this knowledge, Thaddeus Curly Gammelthorpe was never one to play it safe.
"Now that's a stupid question. Tweedledee, you know that I know that you have my entire life on file. But in case you didn't do your homework: I like to think of myself more as an accomplished Straight C student." Tweedledum snickered, but a firm throat clearing from Tweedledee killed it.
"Yes Mr. Gammelthorpe, I thought that would be your answer. So instead of roughing you up physically, I thought we'd take a different approach." He stepped around the chair, and Curly caught sight of a syringe nearly filled with a bright, ice blue liquid, "Now this method takes a lot longer, but mind you it's a lot more fun. And harder to trace in case you wish to pursue legal action. Mr. Gammelthorpe, I'd like to introduce you to the future of Intelligence Gathering, or torture as you're so quick to call it."
Tweedledee nodded to Tweedledum, who lunged at him to hold him more in place. Curly thrashed about, his baser instincts trying to escape, but only seemed to aide the men. All his stress helped expose his jugular vein. Tweedledee took advantage of this, and stepped forward, injecting the serum into Curly's blood stream.
The effects were instantaneous.
His mind became cloudy, not drunk or high cloudy, but more like crowded. There were too many things going on at once. Sounds, lights, colors, voices, he couldn't process it all. It was like he was in the passenger seat in a car on the highway, and the car was going so fast he could look at the scenery. And he could only see forward.
There were men shouting words he couldn't hear clearly, couldn't understand. And screams, so full of agony and fear that he could feel his heart drop. The images of Tweedledee and Tweedledum were blurry and unstable, Curly had to close his eyes because he started feeling nauseous. But that didn't help, he could still hear cries, still hear gun shots, still hear chaos. Someone close by let loose a pained scream, and it took a moment for Thad to realize that it was him. The colors and images kept speeding by, almost as if picking up momentum, and he could take it anymore.
Is this what Schizophrenia feels like? Was all he had time to think before his mind gave in to a welcoming darkness.
*
When he next awoke, he was in an alley about eight blocks from the high school. It was bleak outside, rainy but not dark, probably about ten in the morning. All around him he could smell hard liquid coming from further down the dark passageway, and he himself reeked of urine.
With a groan, he heaved himself off the ground, catching sight of a small piece of paper fall from his chest. Picking it up, he felt his heart once again sink.
Wonderful, isn't it? The episodes will come and go without warning, so there is no hope of controlling it. We have the only antidote, so the sooner you give up the information, the sooner you'll be free. We'll be in touch.
There was more written, but as it was the rain had washed it away, and was working on what he already read. With an exhausted sigh, Curly crumpled the note and threw it towards the other trash that littered the ground around him. It was useless to him now anyway; all he really wanted was a shower, and sandwich, and a good sleep. Slowly, he made his way out from between the buildings and towards his apartment. His body ached all over and his joints popped with every step and movement.
He had two episodes on the way back, to which all he could do was sit down against the nearest building or lamp post and close his eyes, praying it would soon pass. Sure enough, those few times made him more than willing to comply with the government for once in his life and give them the information they wanted. But there was just one problem with that.
He didn't have it.
He wasn't a terrorist. He was just a kid with poor-ish grades and a suspicious last name who left the country to visit some relatives. So what if China was now spitting out a few pretty good terrorist plots against America? The Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave was birthing some pretty good groups as well, but did the feds and the CIA go out and arrest every Buddy and Tommy? The Good Ol' American boys who join the military as a front? Nope. They rather go after the Gammelthorpes and the Chens and the Jeons and the al-Mihdhars and the al-Hazmis and the al-Shehhis. Go figure.
As he collapsed through the door of his empty home, smelling even more of urine and now vomit, he couldn't help but wonder what his friends would think if they knew. Of course he wouldn't tell them, Tweedledee and Tweedledum might round them up and do the same to them that they did to him. He couldn't put them through that, but it didn't stop his wondering.
Arnold would probably insist they go to the authorities – never mind that the damn authorities are the ones that did this to him. Helga would volunteer to beat the crap out of all of them. The rest of the gang would probably either side with one of the two – they always were a little like sheep in that sense. And Rhonda . . .
Rhonda would more than anything just say that this affirmed thoughts that he was crazy. She was always good for that, tearing him down and refusing his affection. And yet he still loved her, maybe more than ever. A few tears rolled down his cheeks but he didn't notice as he heaved himself into the bathroom, turning the hot water on full blast.
No way was Rhonda ever going to return his affections now.
HA