Chapter Three
Defiance
Ring
Ring
It was just another noise to add to the violent churning in his head. Just another . . . just another . . .
Ring
Ring
'Leave a message please. Leave me alone please.
Stop with the calling'
His hip was aching and the mottled, warped wood of his wall was carving different types of hurts into the skin of his back. If he pulled at his hair long enough Johnny was sure that white hot pain would block it out.
Ring
Ring . . .
He pulled one last time. Eventually whoever it was gave up and he could breathe again. Staring at the funny dark color of the telephone he could never remember purchasing, Johnny carefully pulled himself up and grabbed the headset off the base to set it on the table. He could feel splinters pulling at the back of his shirt, tugging like his fingers tugged his hair.
The dial tone drove him limping out of the room afterwards.
[]
Jimmy and Edgar were in the older man's office, at the clinic. It was becoming a very familiar place as time passed. He knew the clerks and nurses by name now, even the shitty night shift ones. Those were the ones who kept telling him that staying up past four wasn't good for a high school student. It could be bad for his health or some shit like that. They also hated checking up on him, because in their opinion he was Dr. Vargas's responsibility, not theirs.
Jimmy loved reminding them that since the clinic paid them to keep the building secure then he was just as much their God damn responsibility. He loved snarking on them too. He passed the night away jumping on them for not checking up on him at least once every two hours.
"You've got to keep on your toes Colene. I could have snuck right past you and you wouldn't have even noticed!"
"Get back to your room, Jimmy! How the hell do you keep getting out?"
"Hah! I'm going to bed. You're so bad at your job there's no use trying to stay up to fuck with you. I could walk out any time that I like and you wouldn't even notice."
"If I see you out again I'll report you to Dr. Vargas for night time disruptions. You're going to wake the other patients!"
"Then do your job, asswipe!"
So Edgar had taken away his television and computer privileges for a week.
And he had predictably thrown a fit, which resulted in a one-sided screaming match with Mr. Poker-face calmly explaining to an inconsolable, irate high schooler that the Internet was rotting his brain anyway. A sort of cycle began rearing its ugly head and the other staff members considered watching them 'fight' better entertainment than television ever could be.
Jimmy stared at the older man from one of the big cushy chairs in front of his desk. Whoever he'd been trying to call apparently wasn't home. The teenager adjusted the textbook in his lap and doodled a little more while Edgar sighed and made more notes in someone's file before demanding that he stop drawing and actually do his Government vocabulary.
"I'm leaving in two hours, Jimmy. If you're not done by then I'll request that your teacher give you actual homework."
"Hey! This shit is homework."
"Copying words out of the glossary is not work, it's an easy grade. Doing research that requires weeks of study and a 5000 word essay is work. That crap they gave you should take less than an hour to do."
"There's like fifty terms here."
"Good God, you are so lazy."
This time his sigh was a little melodramatic. Their friendly banter was just as much entertainment as their actual fighting was, the janitor said it was interesting to see the boss so much less serious than he usually was. He almost seemed light-hearted when Jimmy was around. The more he thought about it the more he wondered.
Maybe his daydreaming wasn't so far off.
Or maybe it was because Jimmy wasn't as much of a serious case by comparison. He'd actually met the other patients, the people who were there because they'd done bad things to others and especially themselves. Jimmy as far as they could tell was a victim of circumstance. They were victims of their own minds.
Edgar wasn't the only one who seemed less serious when Jimmy was around. If any of the other patients living there had managed to get out of their rooms in the middle of the night he was sure the night staff would have called security if not the police. He got yelled at a lot, sure, but people almost seemed relieved when they saw it was him causing a ruckus rather than someone else.
Jimmy imagined what it would be like to crawl over Edgar's desk, pushing and kicking all of those useless knick knacks out of the way as he went.
"Do your homework, Jimmy. Stop daydreaming."
He grinned, if only the man knew. "Yes sir." Apparently he'd heard something he found interesting in the student's voice because he looked up from the file and set his pen down. Jimmy knew what that meant. Analyzing time.
"Where have your thoughts been lately?"
"On stuff." He shrugged, trying not to smile in a way that would immediately give away the sexual turns his dreaming always took. Sometimes they got really dark.
It didn't matter where they were, his imagination could always make the setting work for an encounter between him and his doctor.
Edgar the Patient
Edgar the Psycho
Anything. Everything. Briefly he wondered if this was one of those things he should tell Edgar about. But no, it was too personal. He wasn't so off his rocker that he'd sit there and give the man a play by play of his fantasies. He looked forward to the day he'd have the balls, though. Maybe Edgar would be embarrassed about it, made excited by it . . .
"Are you listening to me or daydreaming again?"
"What?"
"Never mind. Finish up." Mechanically he started writing out more terms. Only ten more to go.
If Edgar were crazy he'd have to be confined to a place like this. They'd have to take measures to make sure he didn't hurt himself or anyone else. Jimmy imagined straitjackets and beds with white straps and brown leather wrist cuffs. They'd have locks too.
He felt the weight of his necklace against his throat and wondered what it would be like to have a key on the chain instead of the medallion he had on it now. To have that symbol of power so close he could feel it on his skin every time he moved. He saw white walls and bright lights, sheets mused from struggling but a body as calm as if in sleep. He could imagine those dark eyes watching him as he approached, analyzing him, locking with his in a way that demanded obedience. But didn't the patient realize that there was no use trying to demand such a thing in his situation?
No, he must not have. Perhaps Jimmy should remind him.
He would pull the key out, shining and silver, brand new. Those wrists would flex instinctively, red from rubbing the soft inner padding of the cuffs. There was nothing he could do, no words that manipulative voice could say. Jimmy imagined that the standard pale grey scrubs the patients wore would make Edgar look much younger, almost boyish as opposed to the very professional clothes he usually wore. Long sleeved, collared shirts made him seem so uptight.
"Are you done?" Edgar's voice ripped through his thoughts like a jagged, hooked knife. Jimmy looked down at the book and the papers in his lap, checking for any missing words.
"Yeah, I'm finished." The mysterious file on the older man's desk was flipped through again, a mess of mixed matched papers and doctors' signatures.
"I'm just going to try calling this number again and then we can go downstairs to the foyer. I don't have to see anyone else until tomorrow anyways. We can try to get the others to socialize a little more. They only seem to do that when you're around."
Jimmy hummed distractedly as he packed up his stuff. He could still see the room in his mind, still see more of that skin than he would ever see in real life. He wouldn't allow Edgar to wear his glasses, either. Too dangerous.
He pulled himself out of his reverie when he distantly heard the beeping of the phone on the doctor's desk.
"That's funny, now the line's busy."
"Who're you trying to call?" Jimmy asked, his mood and voice a little broody. Edgar glanced up after carefully lining up the papers in the folder.
"Just someone I'm going to meet tomorrow." He filed it away in a locked cupboard before the two of them headed out. "I had hoped I could get a hold of him before hand but I guess he's busy."
"Or maybe he just doesn't want to talk to you."
"Shut up."
[]
Almost a month ago his leg prevented him from actively leaving his house. That was not a happy time to remember. So many strange things had happened, so many bad things had almost revealed themselves. Johnny was lucky he had such nosy neighbors.
But now he was so used to his leg that he didn't even bother with crutches anymore. He now had this really nifty cane that he had gotten from an old man who used to live a few blocks down from him. It had come in handy, very handy. He was lucky the man had no complaints in parting with it.
It was strange, his handicap seemed to have the oddest effect on people. They seemed to thrive on trying to help him, as if he was some kind of ego boost to their day. Like opening a door for him made up for the shitty things they'd done and said to other people.
How naive of them.
As he reached the store he noticed some people coming out, smirking at him in a familiar way until they saw his limp and immediately scrambled to offer their services in a brief moment of self redemption. He would not be their savior.
Just as they stood aside to let him pass he used his cane to knock their feet out from under them. The man in front slammed into the ground with a grunt while the other man and woman behind him screamed as they tumbled over each other and on to the sidewalk. He stepped inside, grinning in happiness at the lesson he was able to teach those young people.
It felt good to give back.
He only barely acknowledged the attention that the other people inside of the convenience store gave him after the commotion. He passed several wide-eyed old ladies on his way to take a seat and wait in one of the four booths lined up against the store's large window. Someone was going to meet with him today, he didn't like it, didn't want to bend his will to the people who threatened to invade his home and privacy but things had been strange since the accident. That flash of light and sound had scrambled things up. Sometimes it was near impossible to hear anything but a high pitched squeal and other times the racket that the voices made was so overwhelming Johnny was sure his body would implode from the outside pressure.
He noticed movement at the front of the store and when he looked up several more people came in all at once. He was waiting for a Vargas and from the looks of it only one of the people walking towards him might have been Mexican.
Was Vargas a Mexican name? It sounded ethnic enough.
The man stopped by his table and made some sort of wavy-hand motion towards his ears. When the sign was ignored he sat across from Nny and started talking. Of course with his headphones on full blast it was impossible to hear him.
The man kept on talking though, and a game began within Johnny's head. How many words could he decipher just by watching the other ramble on and on?
He stopped trying at 'have your consent'. The ear phones came off.
"So I have your permission?" The other man smiled, pleased with himself.
"Consent for what?" Sharp, nettles stinging and stabbing into a goose feather pillow. No phasing, no flinching.
"Were you not listening to me? Maybe now you will." Subtle reminders, Johnny felt a sort of irritation at being manipulated but kept his cool. Power was not with him here. Vargas meant freedom.
Things had been strange, they proved they could take everything away. They would ruin everything, all of his plans. He just needed to hold out as long as he could. He had to endure.
Breaking. This Vargas guy had a blank expression, an empty face. The tiny flickers of weakness were not there . . .
"Since you refused to allow a medical professional into your home I'm obligated to ask. How is your leg doing?"
The doughboys accused him of being blindsided by the events at the club. They said it was his fault for going in the first place. Boom . . .
The end.
The other man cleared his throat and Johnny stopped staring down at his boots. They accused him of being dazed lately as well.
Being distracted, he'd been so distracted since the accident. Some rational thoughts voiced by Nailbunny said he should tell the man about this reoccurring symptom the doctors had promised would go away eventually. He was still finding it very difficult to focus on anything in particular.
"Mr. C? How is your leg feeling?" seconds ticked by like water drops in his head. Johnny looked up and the doctor reached into his bag to grab a folder with papers inside. He started making notes and as he did the white fuzzy lines around the edge of Johnny's vision started to fade. He'd hardly even noticed it this time, the whine in his ears was already gone. Maybe things were getting better.
"It's fine." The man looked up at him, "I hardly even feel it anymore." Click click click of metals gears behind the man's glasses as things fell into place. Johnny imagined that if he ripped them off of his face he'd pull out a head's worth of wires and calculating . . . that calculating expression. Reading . . . reading . . .
Stop, stay focused. Don't stray.
"Even so, I still think we should have a look at it while I have you. I couldn't get a hold of you yesterday so we should head down to the clinic now as I doubt you'd go to any appointment I could set up. It'll only take about an hour and then I'll let you go." It had already been decided. Papers and hands were disappearing into that bag and something was creeping up Nny's spine. Something dangerous was itching at his neck, traveling down his arms and buzzing at his fingertips. Just as the man stood up to leave Johnny snatched at that retreating wrist and held on as if both their lives depended on it.
"I think I want to go home," Calm so, so calm, "I should go home. I did exactly what you people asked, I came to your little meeting and now you want me to go somewhere else. No, I need to go home." Empty, empty expressions, empty eyes. There was nothing . . . when he looked up all he could see were the microscopic gears turning over and over again behind that uncaring expression. Like a mask there was no sympathy on that face.
Johnny distantly realized that the man was reading him objectively.
He saw no scorn or contempt, no surprise or indignation at being grabbed so violently. A strange sort of elation chased away the unease at being told what to do and slowly his fingers uncurled and released the skin, blood and bone it had been clinging to. When Dr. Vargas spoke again Johnny listened attentively, not so much to the words as the way his voice sounded. He was looking for some kind of clue as to where this monster had come from.
"I'm not asking you to stay with me for the rest of the day. Just accompany me to the clinic and back so we can make sure that you haven't had a relapse. You're only other option is to go to the City hospital. It's your choice."
[]
Oh the stories he could tell.
Was telling. The things that happened at the clinic were book worthy.
A woman ran head first into a wall the other day and Jimmy had been standing not even a few feet from her when she did it. She'd hit the wall so hard that there'd been a splat of blood upon impact. Edgar, who'd been standing right next to him, rushed forward to grab the girl's arms before she could get up to do it again.
Several people were standing around him now in the cafeteria, they were listening in awe to his story. He'd gone from social outcast to that weird kid who lived in an insane asylum.
"Did she die?"
"That's so sick!"
"She might have a stress disorder. Sometimes when they freak out they can't control themselves."
"Do you know why she was in there in the first place?"
"Maybe she killed her family."
"Drowned her kids."
"Stabbed her husband."
"Set someone's house on fire!"
"That is such a freaky story, Jimmy."
"So I guess that makes you crazy too, huh?"
"Man, I always knew something was up with you."
A different kind of respect, a fearful kind. They wondered what he was capable of, hell, even Jimmy himself wondered. Never mind that in reality he'd just gotten kicked out of his house. Never mind that Edgar had set it up on the pretense that he needed the doctor's help. Jimmy was obviously sick.
"Just like a loser like you to get stuck in a place like that." Another voice cut in. Jimmy looked up at Ester, eying the unreadable expression on her face. The others didn't know her the way he did. Everyone else was floored by the sound of her voice, everyone was shocked that she could talk at all. For so long they'd been convinced she was a mute, that some kind of horrible accident had left her physically unable to speak. The entire section of the cafeteria grew still and completely silent.
But Jimmy had heard it before. He'd done things to that body that had forced the noises out. And what a fun time she'd had trying to explain to him why she never talked to anyone. They'd shared so much, so many thoughts, hopes and dreams. Fantasies even, almost everything had been put on the line because who was she going to tell? Who would listen to Jimmy if he did tell?
She didn't like that people were paying attention to him, didn't like that he was so willing to tell the secrets of the strangers at the clinic. If Jimmy was willing to tell their stories would he tell anyone about hers? Ester wanted even ground. He had to know that she could squeal on him if she wanted to.
It made sense, people where clamoring up to him to hear the horror stories, they wanted to talk to Jimmy because suddenly he was interesting. But this sound reasoning didn't stop the sting of betrayal he felt. He knew where this was going, knew what she was going to do if he didn't stop her.
"But really, are you anything more than an attention-starved juvie reject? The last I recall you said your father-"
"Big talk from the slut who's screwing this attention-starved reject, isn't it?" Everyone was looking between the two of them, watching them like they were a circus side show. It wasn't a big thing for Jimmy to call a girl such a vulgar word but this girl? The only one in the school who could stand him on a regular basis? The one who was only moments ago on par with a cripple?
But she wasn't something to be pitied by them anymore, was she?
No one stopped him from verbally abusing her for a good ten minutes before the bell rang. She would probably count her blessings later that most of what he'd said hadn't been too revealing but she'd been humiliated all the same. As everyone was leaving a few other girls commented on how much of a jerk he was even though none of them had tried to defend her. A few of the guys came up to say that they hated him even though none of them had done anything about it.
Ester and Jimmy had never been friends. She was a lot like him in a variety of ways, but outside of those similarities they were two completely different people. He was the way he was, he didn't justify it or hide it. Even when they'd shared intimate details about the darker thoughts in their heads he hadn't tried to analyze it the way she had. She'd given excuses for liking the idea of tying someone up and watching them squirm, for wanting to take a lead pipe to someone's head over and over again until what was left wasn't recognizable.
Jimmy hadn't.
And if his smile a few moments ago was anything to go by, it was probably because he still didn't think there was anything wrong with it.
[]
A/N: Future beta has been found. This chapter will be updated later with better grammatical forms and such. Spelling may improve as well, WE CAN ONLY DREAM CAN'T WE LADIES?
*ahem*
End Chapter Three
Next up: Chapter Four; Desperation
A strange atmosphere has settled over the clinic. Edgar's newest guest has sent the other patients buzzing . . .