Disclaimer is on the Prologue.
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Chapter Two:
Friday May 6, 2011
The next visit, when Ryan is led in, Eric tries to hide his shock. Ryan has changed so much from his first month of what Eric has come to call his "incarceration."
Scabs cover his face, running down from his eyes and covering his nose. It looks as if someone raked his fingernails over his face. Maybe, Eric thinks, it was Ryan himself. A blood-tinged bandage is wrapped around his neck. His weight, questionable the last few months at the Crime Lab, has diminished even more, making his already prominent cheekbones jut out. His eyes are sunken in, and his hair—so many styles, so few years—has been buzzed short. Eric imagines he can see where they attached electrodes for electroshock therapy. And then there is the matter of the straightjacket wrapped around his shrinking frame and the restraints placed on him as soon as he's been pushed into the chair.
What the hell happened to him?
What is this place doing to him?
Eric wants his friend back.
Ryan glares at him as he evaluates him. He does not move and does not speak.
Eric tries to talk to him about some of the cases he's closed recently, but Ryan refuses to respond. After fifteen minutes of closely supervised silence, one of the attendants grabs Ryan's shoulder and releases the restraints to take him back to his room.
"It's not EST," Ryan says as he's led away, leaving Eric to wonder how he knew what he was thinking.
oOo
Friday May 20, 2011
Walter Simmons had traded days to avoid going to visit. Natalia was willing to take all the times Horatio forced him to drive to the hospital. He'd tried trading with Eric or Tripp, the only other two who seemed inclined to visit without being forced, but Eric had told on him, and Horatio had personally escorted him to the facility.
Standing at the desk, waiting for Paula to finish with the form, he focuses on the badge, a white plastic tag with a large blue 'V' on it. His fingers tremble when he accepts it from her. Calleigh had said Wolfe wasn't himself, and Natalia said he was clawed and buzzed and hiding from what was changing.
Delko wouldn't talk about his visits.
"Any advice you can give me?"
Paula narrows her eyes at him, pursing her lips. "He's not bad, it's just this place." She laughs nervously, and Walter raises an eyebrow.
"You must observe him sometimes, right?"
"He mostly stays in his room. Higher security risks tend to do that. Oh, here he comes." She smiles again, pointing at a shuffling Wolfe being led by two mean looking fellas.
A little worried about the 'higher security risk' addendum to his friend, Walter follows them into the room, watching as they lock Wolfe's shoulders against the back of a metal chair. He is a little surprised, and grateful, that they leave the straightjacket on. Both men step back and let Walter sit at the table.
"So, a little thinner, eh, Wolfe?"
It's not much of an opener, but it's the least obvious thing Walter can think of to say about him. It's not like he can mention the scratches—which Natalia is totally right, they do look self-inflicted—or the restraints. Wolfe ignores his comment and starts rocking back and forth, humming softly.
"Hey," he says suddenly, jerking forward—Walter flinches back—rattling the chain. "D'you think you could bring me a tape player or something next time?"
"Yeah, sure," Walter agrees quickly, looking up to check the attendant's face. At the dark look he receives, he grimaces, "I mean, if it's not against the rules."
"It shouldn't be," Wolfe settles again, throwing a glare at the bigger of the two men. "But, I guess, once they've labeled you, they can impose whatever rules they want on you."
"Don't do that, man," Walter groans, noticing the hardening expressions on Wolfe's keepers. "Seriously, that's why they're mad at you."
"Seriously, they're mad at me for something else." Wolfe flinches when a hand drops onto his shoulder.
"I think our time is up," Walter says, relieved and trying to hide it under a mask of sadness. Wolfe glares at him, leaning back so his restraints can be removed.
"If all you're gonna do is berate me, don't bother visiting, friend," Wolfe spits as he's swept out the door. Walter waits a few moments before standing up.
His stomach doesn't feel well, and he hurries out to the car, barely remembering to give back the visitor's badge, so he can throw up before being driven back to work.
oOo
Friday June 3, 2011
"I'm James," a beefy man with thick forearms and tiny eyes sunken into a clean shaven face shakes Eric's hand with so much gusto that he almost sprains his wrist. "I'm Ryan's primary caregiver."
Eric glares at him. "You're not doing a good job." He means the scratches and wounds he sees on Ryan's exposed flesh, the extreme weight loss. James glares back at him.
"He doesn't make it easy." A sudden glint in James's eye causes Eric's stomach to lurch. Something bad is happening to Ryan in these walls, and James is a participator. "I'll get him ready now," James leaves him in the renovated waiting room. There is a plexi-glass wall cutting the table in half and stretching across the entire width of the room, save for a wood door mounted on the far side.
The room feels even more prison-like now.
Ryan is led in, still packaged in the straightjacket. He smiles weakly at Eric as he passes, pushed towards the door and into the small room. He sits and is strapped to the chair. James stays standing over him.
Some of the scabs have started healing, but new ones stretch across his chin and mouth. Briefly Eric wonders if it's from a reaction to the drugs he has to take.
"Hey," he says. "What's new?"
"The glass," Ryan smirks, and Eric sees a little of the old Ryan shining through. He smiles too, hoping it lasts. Of course it doesn't. Ryan glances back at James and Eric sees the fear grow on his face. Now he knows he needs to get Ryan out of here.
"Can you bring a burger next time?" Ryan's new smile shakes, and some of the scabs crack and blood oozes down his face.
"Ryan…" James leaves the word hanging in the growing silence. Rage wells in Eric's chest. How dare this man make his friend scared?
"I'll try," he promises.
"That's it for today," James yanks on the restraints. He tugs Ryan to his feet and leads him back through the door. Before he can be whisked away, Eric runs to him, wraps him in a hug and pecks his cheek.
"That's from Ani," he whispers. Ryan nods, tears forming in his eyes. The little cousin who kissed his cheek at New Year's. "And me," He wants to say, and "Hang on, I'll get you out," but James and the other attendant march Ryan away.
He leaves the building, dragging his feet and wishing he could do more.
oOo
Monday June 20, 2011
Natalia Boa Vista doesn't feel strange walking into the facility. At least, she doesn't think she does until she reaches the room where Ryan is usually waiting for her, and he is nowhere in sight.
She folds her hands and sits perfectly still, like the absent Wolfe is a wild animal that needs to be convinced she won't hurt him. Something that she admits is not too far from the truth.
Five minutes later, she is still sitting, but now she has begun fiddling with the visitor's badge and the edge of the table. Her patience is running out. Paula, at the front desk, was expecting her, why wasn't Ryan's primary caregiver, that ugly bastard James?
Suddenly, Paula pokes her head into the room, a smile plastered over another, more troubling, expression.
"I'm sorry," she says, her voice wavering just a little as she motions for Natalia to stand up. "Ryan isn't up to visitors today. You'll have to wait your turn again."
"Why wasn't I told when I checked in? Did it come up right now?"
"I'm sure Ryan will answer all your questions the next time he sees you. But, right now, I need you to leave." She guides Natalia out a back way, some small side door hidden behind an enormous potted plant. "You take care now."
Natalia stands in shock long after the door clicks closed behind her, waiting for someone—Ryan—to jump from behind the hydrangea bushes and tell her there's been a mistake. But, no, after several minutes, she stays alone. Curious, and cautious, she walks the perimeter of the building, peeking in windows quickly, trying to locate her missing friend.
She is stared at and waved at by a variety of people, young and old, and still manages to avoid drawing the attention of the attendants. And, on the last window, she finally sees Ryan. He is curled on a bed, staring out the window—barred from the outside. He looks through her, and her heart clenches when she notices he's crying.
Eric's right, there is something wrong with the facility. They need to come up with a plan of attack to get him out of here.
A hand clamping on her shoulder scares her enough to shriek.
"What are you doing here?" James growls as he spins her to face him. "This area is off limits to everyone but authorized personnel."
"I'm just leaving. I wanted to see if I could find Ryan's room, so I could give him the message that I did visit, but he didn't see me. Could you tell him he's not alone, and that we care greatly for him?" She doesn't believe James will deliver her message, but it's worth a shot to divert his attention from her, especially as Ryan has dragged himself off his bed and to the doorway where Paula and a nurse are waiting for him.
"I need to get back to work," Natalia pulls away from James, walking purposefully to the parking lot and climbing into her Hummer. "Tell him what I said, and that I'll visit again soon."
James doesn't respond, just watches her reverse and pull out.
Creepy.
She can't wait to talk with Eric, even if he never gives her any details of his visits with Ryan. They really need to get him out of there.
oOo
Friday July 1, 2011
"I'm sorry." the words surprise Eric, especially because Ryan has avoided looking at him the entire visit. Suddenly he lifts his head, staring into Eric's eyes with an intensity that scares him.
"What for?"
"For telling you 'I hope you die.'" Ryan traces a circle on the arm of the chair. The straightjacket has been dispensed with, and Eric is glad. No straightjacket means Ryan is making progress, right? Means he can come hang out and make Mamá happy by telling her everything she cooks tastes good. "I really am sorry. I hope you live forever."
"What if I don't want to live forever?" Eric jokes. The glass bothers him. It stops him from reaching out and touching his friend, from making sure he's really starting to heal. The hamburger he'd promised Ryan is sitting in a bag on his side of the table.
The attendant who stands behind him, presumably to whisk him away if Ryan should somehow break his restraints and attack him again, sniffs deeply, licking his lips with an odd smacking sound.
"Tell me about what you do," Eric encourages Ryan.
"What do I do?" Ryan glances back at James. "Mostly, I stay in my room." He bites his lip suddenly as if there is something else he wants to say, but Eric lets it go. "I have group and individual therapy twice a week."
The scratches covering his face are healing, but Eric notices Ryan has taken to chewing on his fingernails. Despite bloody crescents, he counts at least three times in a minute that Ryan attempts to bite more off.
"I don't want to be here anymore." He sounds scared or hurt or both. Behind him, James tenses. Eric raises a hand to stop the attendant.
"I'll talk to your doctor and Horatio about getting you out," he promises as he stands up. James undoes the restraints and pulls Ryan to his feet. They shuffle out again, and as they pass the table, Ryan grabs the hamburger. James grunts in disapproval but lets him hold onto it.
Eric waits for the other attendant to follow before he goes looking for Ryan's doctor. He finds her waiting for him at the front desk, the hamburger in hand. He smells the disappointment stemming from her.
He grins sheepishly as she confronts him with the sandwich. "I believe you were told not to give him any outside food."
"I'm concerned that he's not eating," he retaliates, satisfied when he sees a shadow of guilt cross her face. "He asked me to bring one in, and I honored his request simply because I thought he would eat it."
"His medication diminishes his appetite."
"And something else is too." Eric waves her to the chairs lined up beneath a barred window. Although this is the waiting room for potential patients and their loved ones, it's as sterile and uninviting as the rest of the building. "I think he has an adverse reaction to James."
"Nonsense, James is our best attendant. The patients don't listen to any of the others as well."
"Just the same," Eric draws in a deep breath to keep from biting her head off—why can't she see what's happening to Ryan? "I'd like you to keep an eye on them, make sure James isn't doing anything he isn't supposed to."
She dismisses him, like waving away an annoying insect. Well, Eric thinks, she'll soon find out he's an annoying grizzly bear ready to defend his…what is Ryan's relationship to him? He knows that he needs to discover what it means to be Ryan's friend before he can effectively rescue Ryan without the facility keeping its claws in him.
It hurts him so much, but Eric leaves the doctor still sitting on the chairs with the cold hamburger.
oOo
Wednesday July 20, 2011
Calleigh waits in front of her locker. Horatio stands behind her, his disapproving glare burning holes in the wall beside her head.
"I really wish I could, but, Horatio, don't make me. Please."
He shifts, she hears the material of his jacket scraping against the lockers he's leaning on. He sighs, clicking the bows of his sunglasses together.
"Fine," he says sharply, voice hard. "I'll give your visit to someone else. But, know this, he still looks up to you. He needs you."
"Don't try and guilt me," she says, turns to face him. "I went through this with my father. I can't do it for him." Tears well up and she wipes at them harshly. "I can't be strong for him. I can't…I just can't."
Horatio opens his arms and leans over the bench in the center of the aisle. Calleigh meets him halfway, sniffling into his shirt and trying to stop. "I understand," he whispers, stroking her hair. "Mostly."
"Eric or Natalia," she says, arms wrapped around his waist, tears still falling. "They both can visit."
"I know." He lets her go, steps back.
"I'm sorry." She turns back to her locker, her holster and gun on the top shelf, her purse on a hook below it. She grabs it, does not turn back to him.
"I'm not the one you have to tell."
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