Hello everyone! Here's chapter 10 for you all. Can't think of anything to say, so enjoy!
Lawyers: Our client does not own Psych, nor does she own certain details belonging to Dexter. Don't sue her.
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Chapter Ten: Turmoil
After leaving the house the other night, Carlton had insisted that Shawn stay at his place until things cooled down. He had used the excuse that because they had both been targeted by the Butcher, it would be best if they stayed together. Power in numbers and all of that. Truthfully though, he wanted to keep Shawn close so that he could keep an eye on him. In retrospect, that may not have been the wises choice because keeping Shawn close meant keeping the Butcher close, but Shawn had been so happy with the arrangement and Carlton wanted to keep Shawn as happy as he could.
Neither of them got much sleep that night. Shawn was worried about the Butcher coming back for them, and Carlton was worried that Spence would change his mind about letting him live. They had both been tense and on edge for most of the night.
When morning finally came, Carlton left for work early after downing a few cups of coffee. He got into the station and sat down at his desk, but for the life of him, he just couldn't concentrate on the files in front of him. What was the point? He already knew who the Butcher was and he couldn't do anything about it.
Sighing, he still flipped through the papers as if he still cared about being involved in the case. Many of the papers was a report on what had been done last night to find evidence on the Butcher. No solid evidence had actually been found though because Spence was just too good at what he did. Nothing came up on surveillance and any fingerprints they dusted for would just turn up Shawn's prints.
As for McNab's report on the house, he couldn't find anything on it, not even old reports of the massacre that occurred there. Carlton had a feeling that Spence was responsible for the missing paperwork, but he couldn't be completely sure.
Shoving the papers back into the folder, he slid the folder into the bottom drawer of his desk. It was no use. He couldn't concentrate, not with this horrible secret hanging over his head. There was no way he could pretend that everything was perfectly normal. He'd have an ulcer by the end of the week if he just ignored what he knew.
He needed to talk to someone about it, and Henry was the only other person that knew of Spence's existence. Taking an early lunch break, he mindlessly drove to the older man's house and it wasn't until he was knocking on Henry's front door that he wondered just what the hell he was going to say to him.
"Carlton, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Henry asked, standing in the front door.
"We need to talk. Can I come in?" Carlton asked.
"Sure," Henry said, stepping to the side and allowing Carlton to come in. Closing the door behind him, he asked, "What do you need to talk about?"
"It's about Shawn," he said, not really caring that he uncharacteristically used Shawn's first name rather than his last in from of the psychic's father.
Sighing, Henry asked, "What did he do now?"
"It's not so much about what he did," Carlton said before deciding to just come out and say it. "Henry, I know. I know all about Shawn's little 'alter' problem. Last night, Spence made an appearance and made everything quite clear to me."
Henry paled considerably before shaking his head and growling, "Dammit." Looking like he aged ten years, Henry wearily walked into the living room and slumped down onto the couch with a sigh. "That kid just doesn't listen to me anymore." Looking up at Carlton who had followed him into the living room, he asked, "Why are you telling me this?"
"I just don't know what to do," Carlton explained, taking a seat in a chair close to the couch. "I don't want to send him away to some nut house, but I can't just sit back and do nothing."
For a moment, Henry looking like he was going to ask why Carlton even cared this much, but then decided against it and said in an old, defeated tone, "There's nothing that we can do, Detective."
"There's got to be something," Carlton said, not about to just give up. "Some sort of medicine maybe? Some solution that hasn't been thought of?"
"Believe me, I've tried every possible solution that doesn't involve telling Shawn, but there's no easy way to fix this," Henry said. "The only way we'd even have a chance at fixing this is through years of therapy; something that involves telling Shawn the truth."
They sat in silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Carlton knew that Henry had more experience with the situation, but he refused to believe that there was nothing that could be done to remedy the problem.
"Does anyone else know?" Henry finally asked.
"No, I was the only one Spence talked to as far as I know," Carlton said. "Does anyone else know besides you?"
"No, I made sure it all stayed a secret," Henry said. "His mother didn't even know, though she suspected that something was off."
"Last night during out little conversation, Spence said that you..." Carlton trailed off, not knowing if by asking the question that had been bugging him all throughout the night, he'd be stepping over the line. "Why did you do it? Why didn't you get him help in the beginning?"
"You have to understand that I tried," Henry said. "We brought him to therapy in the beginning, before I even knew of Shawn's other self, but Shawn just didn't respond to it. He had completely blanked the whole event from his mind. I know that's not healthy, and the therapist told me it wasn't healthy, but Shawn was back to his normal self, so I accepted it as luck."
"It wasn't until later that I noticed the changes in Shawn's personality. He memory of things had been split and his sense of time was skewed. When I found the mini animal graveyard, I knew, and I confronted him on it. He.. Spence that is, didn't deny it at all. He hadn't even been completely aware that he was an alter, but he was very accepting of it. I thought that if I trained him, I could control him. I had already almost lost Shawn once, I didn't want to lose him again. Not to some mental facility or prison, but then Spence broke free from his leash..."
It seemed ridiculous to Carlton that Henry believed he could 'train' something like Spence. He understood an officer's need to stop all the horrible criminals there are in the world, but he couldn't see eye-to-eye with Henry's method. To train a beast in vengeance was just wrong.
He hid it well, but Henry was a broken man and now that the beast he trained had broken free from his mental barriers, he wasn't going to do a thing to fix the situation. Carlton knew that Henry wanted to protect his son, his real son, but the detective had lost a little respect for the older man.
Henry may be able to sit back and do nothing, but Carlton couldn't. He was going to find a solution.
First though, he needed to do a little research.
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When Carlton got back to the station, he booted up the computer on his desk and searched the internet to learn all he could about multiple personality disorder, or rather, dissociative identity disorder.
''They may have as many as 100 alters or as few as two, though the average is 10 distinct ones..''
He only knew of Spence, but the thought that there could be more was... frightening. Carlton quickly assured himself that Henry would have told him if there was another alter aside from Spence. Then again, what if Henry didn't even know?
''Transitions between alters are usually sudden and caused by stress.''
So there was possibly a trigger of some sort that brought Spence on, but what could it be? As far as Carlton could tell, there didn't seem to be any sort of consistent condition whenever Spence was around. Of course, he hadn't known of the situation long enough to keep an eye out for something like that. It seemed more likely though that Spence grew out of needing a trigger.
He read through the different symptoms and each one made him mentally cringe. The patient can often become depressed or suicidal. Self-mutilation is common. Some patients experience visual or auditory hallucinations.
Shawn probably wasn't hallucinating, otherwise he would know something was up, but what about the other symptoms? In the time that they've been dating, he didn't seem depressed and Carlton never saw any scars or injuries that could point to self mutilation. However, Shawn still had many people at the station believing he was psychic, so he'd probably be a good enough actor to cover something like that up.
As for treatments, there were medications he could try, but every website pretty much said the same thing: If Shawn was to ever fully recover from his.. disease, he'd have to undergo extensive psychotherapy, some sites even suggested hypnosis. An average of three to five years was seen as the minimum length for treatment. For something like this, Shawn would obviously have to know the truth, and that was something Carlton wanted to avoid.
''The goal is to deconstruct the different personalities and unite them into one.''
Something like that made sense, but the idea of merging a homicidal maniac like Spence with Shawn was... unsettling. The idea was to protect Shawn and who he was from this whole Butcher case, so how could combining homicidal tendencies with his true personality be helpful at all?
Mentally growling in frustration, he closed the browser window and shut his computer down. A quick look at his watch told him it was almost time to head home anyway. He might as well get his things together.
After a long day of research and investigating, Carlton felt like he didn't have a single helpful solution. The only solution that was apparent to him, and it wasn't even really a solution, was to try some of those medications. He knew some people he could call to get them without leaving a paper trail; people from his past, before he even thought of joining the Police Academy, who he would have been happy to never talk to again.
'The things you do for the people you care about,' he thought with a sigh as he headed out to his car.
It would all be worth it though if the medication could subdue the monster that was Spence.
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Shawn had take-out ready for the both of them when he got home. As Carlton hung up his jacket and took his shoes off by the door, he looked into the kitchen and watched as Shawn got out two plates and glasses. He stared intently at the psychic while trying to look like he wasn't staring, and wondered if this was really Shawn or if it was Spence playing a trick on him.
"How was your day?" Shawn asked, handing an empty plate to Carlton with a small smile, a smile that could only belong to Shawn and was nothing like Spence's fake smiles that looked more like a triumphant smirk.
"Tiring," Carlton said, relaxing a bit as he took the plate and piled on food from the different take-out containers. He never did actually have lunch and he was feeling pretty hungry at this point.
"Was there any new evidence found on the Butcher?" Shawn asked, putting food on his own plate.
"No, nothing new," he said. "The Butcher's too good, he hasn't slipped up yet."
"Well, he's gotta slip up eventually," Shawn said. "Everyone does at some point... Except for the Zodiac killer and Jack the Ripper and, well, you know what I mean. Anyway, there's no way he'll be like another one of those unsolved murder mysteries, his name isn't nearly cool enough."
'But if he slips up, he'll go down and so will you,' Carlton thought for a moment before shaking the thought away. "I guess... So how was your day?"
"It was okay," Shawn said with a shrug. "I wanted to see if I could get any vibes off that house the Butcher brought us to, but Gus is still so completely against us having any part in this case. I spent the day working on boring minor cases instead."
"I take it you haven't told him about your previous involvement in the Butcher case," Carlton said.
"No way, Gus would pop a blood vessel and we just had the carpet at Psych cleaned," Shawn said. "That reminds me, I should probably destroy the rest of the things the Butcher gave me, like that CD." he paused for a moment and glanced over at Carlton, as if waiting for some sort of reaction.
"What?" Carlton asked.
"You're not going to lecture me on how that evidence could be beneficial to the Butcher case and that I should turn it in to the station so that you guys will have a better chance at catching the Butcher?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow.
"Nope, you should destroy it. If you brought it in, they'd ask why you had it and whatever conclusion they come to would not end well for you," Carlton explained.
"Oh, okay," Shawn said slowly. "That's very out of character for you."
"Is it wrong for me to want what's best for you more than I want what's best for the case?" Carlton asked as he poured them both a drink.
"No," Shawn said, smiling. "It's nice actually."
They ate their meal in the living room with the TV turned to a random channel playing a show neither of them really cared for. It was more for background noise than anything. After they finished eating, they abandoned their plates on the coffee table and flipped through the different channels to see if something more interesting was on. Normally Carlton would have done the dishes after eating, but after such a long day, he wasn't that motivated and felt they could wait till later.
As Carlton flipped through the different TV channels with the remote held lazily in his hand, Shawn leaned over and kissed him on the neck. Abandoning the remote on the couch, he turned to the psychic and, with one hand behind his neck, kissed Shawn back. Lounging on the couch, they basked in each others company, deepening the kiss. Shawn's hand trailed under his shirt, sliding up his chest, and he broke away to move back to kissing Carlton's neck.
It wasn't that Carlton didn't enjoy this sudden display of affection, but his logical mind wouldn't be silenced by a kiss and wondered what brought it on. He pulled away from Shawn, taking in the dark bags under the psychic's eyes and the weary appearance that he himself probably sported too.
"It's late," he explained, seeing Shawn's confused look. "Neither of us got any sleep last night, so we should probably go to bed."
"Oh, come on!" Shawn said, exasperated. "We haven't done anything like this in so long, I'm going through withdrawals. And what about last night? Whoever said people are passionately romantic after near-death experiences is a liar, liar, pants-on-fire."
With that said, he pounced forward and locked lips with the detective. Carlton could hardly argue with that logic and kissed back. It was a rough kiss at first, as if they were both frustrated with the other, but then it became softer and more intimate. Shawn's hands undid Carlton's tie, throwing it in a random direction, before moving on to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt.
Simultaneously standing up, they blindly moved toward the bedroom. Neither parted lips as they stumbled through the house, bumping into furniture and walls along the way. By the time they reached the bedroom, both were missing their shirts and Carlton was busy working on Shawn's belt when the psychic's legs hit the bed and they both went tumbling over onto the mattress.
Neither were fazed in the least. Straddling the psychic, Carlton worked on removing that pesky belt while Shawn wrapped his arms around him and trailed kisses from his mouth down to his neck. Finally the belt was gone and tossed carelessly across the room.
Leaning up slightly, Shawn whispered into his ear, "I hope you know that I will kill you if I absolutely have to."
Pulling back slightly, he asked breathlessly, "What?"
Blinking, Shawn stared up at him, confused, "I didn't say anything."
Shawn pulled him back down for another kiss and for a moment, Carlton's mind was too distracted to give Shawn his full attention. Had he imagined it? Was it just the stress of everything getting to him.
Apparently noticing that Carlton wasn't as into it as he was, Shawn kissed him more furiously and put more effort into his actions in an attempt to draw the detective's attention back to him. Carlton forced his mind to accept the comment as a fluke and kissed back just as furiously. His hands ran down Shawn's chest before coming to rest on the psychic's pants that were in his way. However, as soon as his fingers undid the zipper, Shawn suddenly pulled back from him and pushed the detective off and away from him to the far side of the bed.
"What the hell?" Shawn hissed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"What?" Carlton asked incredulously. "Did I somehow read the signals wrong in between the making-out?"
"Apparently so!" Shawn snapped. "Was that not warning enough for you? If 'I will kill you' isn't clear enough, maybe I should just stab you next time."
"Spence," Carlton said with a tired sigh.
"Yeah, who else would it be, Casanova?" Spence said, throwing Carlton a dirty look before climbing off the bed and searching for his belt.
"Am I not allowed to make-out with my boyfriend?" Carlton asked, sending a glare right back at the psycho.
"Like I said, if it were up to me, Shawn wouldn't date anyone," Spence said.
"That's just the thing, Spence, it's not up to you," Carlton argued. "This is Shawn's body, do you understand? And Shawn can do whatever he damn well pleases with it."
"You seem to be forgetting that I have the most control in this situation," Spence said as he looped the belt back through his pants. "We wouldn't want Shawn waking up in the middle of a murder scene with blood on his hands, now would we?"
"You wouldn't do that," Carlton hissed. "You want to keep him protected too."
"Do you really want to take that risk?"
Carlton fell silent because, no, he couldn't take that risk. Spence was too unstable and unpredictable. Carlton wouldn't put it past the psycho to pull something like that.
Seeing that he won the battle, Spence smiled that fake smile of his and left the bedroom.
"Where are you going?" Carlton called after him.
"I'm going out for the night," he called back a bit smugly. "Don't wait up."
"Just what should I tell Shawn tomorrow when he wakes up?" Carlton asked.
"Easy, tell him he fell asleep right in the middle of it all," Spence said simply. "I'll even help you out and put him back in bed when I come back."
The door slammed shut and he was gone. Sighing, Carlton took a quick cold shower before collecting up his discarded clothes off the floor and tossing them in a laundry basket. After that, he cleaned up the kitchen and did the dishes before finally deciding to go to bed. He slept restlessly and dreamt that he was surrounded by a hundred Shawns and he couldn't tell which one was the real one.
He was torn from his sleep several hours later by a subtle movement to his left. Opening his eyes, he saw Shawn laying on the bed next to him, fast asleep. In the faint dawn light, he could make out a small spot of blood on the psychic's cheek. Carlton reached over and gently wiped the still-wet blood off with his thumb, hoping that there weren't any other spots Spence failed to clean up, and wiped the blood off his thumb on the inside of his pillow case with the intention of washing it later on.
'I don't know if I can do this...'
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Several days had passed since that night and Carlton didn't make anymore overly affectionate make-out attempts that would invoke the wrath of Spence. Unfortunately, Shawn noticed the slight distance Carlton put between them and Carlton had no solid explanation to offer the psychic. To make up for the decrease in physical affection, Carlton took Shawn out more, to dinner or a movie or whatever they decided to do.
Since that night, there had also been two more murders. At this point, Carlton didn't even care what the people did, though he supposed it had to do with the Rattlesnake Tavern list that the task force was still looking into. Every day that he went into work and pretended to care about the case, he wondered if it would just be easier to ask to be moved to another case. He didn't want to risk suspicion though, so he just stuck with it.
Carlton had also received a few bottles of the medication he requested from one of his old contacts. Thankfully the person had been an old friend, so he didn't have to worry too much about having to pay the man back more than just the money he gave him. Carlton was also very thankful he was a good cook and could mask the taste of the medication, if there even was a taste, in whatever meal he made Shawn.
There were side-effects of course, which was why Shawn was currently camped out on the living room couch with a blanket, a pillow, and just about every other thing a sick person might need. As Carlton got ready for work that morning, in the background he could faintly hear Shawn talking on the phone to Gus.
"No, I can't come in today either, I'm still sick," Shawn said, sounding drained and half-dead. "I'm not lying, I really am sick and I'm hurt that after all these years you can't sense when your best friend is on his death bed."
There was a pause.
"I'm not exaggerating, I really feel that horrible" Shawn insisted.
Another pause.
"Umm, I'm always tired and completely drained. I've been getting migraines, I haven't really had a big appetite... Don't worry, I'm eating, I'm just not enjoying it. And, uh, at times I've been having a little trouble concentrating, if you know what I mean, so it wouldn't really be beneficial for me to even come in," Shawn said.
Yet another pause.
"No, I'm not taking anything," Shawn said with a tired sigh. "Yes, Gus, I'm sure. I would know if I was taking something. The point is that I can't come in and I'm tired right now so I'm gonna hang up."
Shawn flipped his cellphone shut before Gus could get out another word and set the small device on the coffee table that had been pulled up close to the couch. Snuggling deeper into his blanket cocoon, Shawn wearily lifted the remote and flipped to a channel dedicated to children's cartoons. He turned the volume down low before setting the remote on the coffee table next to the cell phone.
Straightening his tie and grabbing his briefcase, Carlton walked over to the edge of the couch and said, "Alright, I'm heading out. I'll be back around noon to make you lunch."
"Uh-huh.."
"Call me if you need anything," he said, staring at the psychic with a spark of concern in his eyes.
"Uh-huh.."
Frowning, Carlton left the house, being sure to lock the front door behind him, and went off to work. The days continued like that for well over a week with Shawn suffering the drug's side-effects and Carlton fighting back guilt because of this. Over and over he had to tell himself that this was for Shawn's own good, that it was the only solution he could come up with, and at least Shawn was getting enough sleep now because of the drowsiness.
It was a little over two weeks later when things started to look up. Along with there being no more new murders, Carlton hadn't had another encounter with Spence since he had started Shawn on the medication. Could it be possible that it was working? Maybe, by keeping Shawn on a regular dosage, he could get rid of Spence for good.
As he entered his house after another long, rather pointless day of working on the Butcher case, the smell of food hit his nose. Smiling, he hung his jacket up and kicked off his shoes before moving into the kitchen. For once, Shawn wasn't in his usual spot on the couch. Instead, he was in the kitchen and he was actually cooking.
"It's good to see you up and about," Carlton said as he leaned against the kitchen counter and watched Shawn cook.
Shawn glanced over his shoulder briefly before turning his attention back to meal he was preparing and said, "Yeah, I'm really starting to feel much better. I'm thinking I might go into Psych tomorrow. I'm not gonna call Gus and get his hopes up until morning though."
Carlton nodded before asking, "Do you need any help with the food?"
"No, it's only stuffed shells and I wanted to do the cooking for you for once," Shawn said as he stirred the extra sauce he had left over before checking on the stuffed shells in the oven. "It's one of the few things I know how to make. You can set the kitchen table though, I've spent enough time in the living room as it is."
So while Shawn hovered over the food, making sure nothing burned, Carlton got to work at setting the small table in the kitchen.
"What do you want to drink?" Carlton asked as he moved over to the fridge.
"Anything's fine," Shawn said with a simple shrug.
Carlton poured them both a glass of milk just as Shawn dished out the stuffed shells onto both their plates. Grabbing the extra sauce, Shawn set it in the center of the table in case either of them needed extra before taking a seat at the table. Putting the milk away, Carlton sat down himself and dug in to the rather tasty looking meal.
"How is it?" Shawn asked.
Carlton mentally grimaced. Shawn put a bit too much spices in the mix for the shells, but that was nothing more sauce couldn't fix. Taking a sip of milk, he poured more sauce over the shells and said, "It's really good."
"Great!" Shawn said as he looked down at his own plate and worked on cutting the shells into halves. "So how was your day? Any news on the Butcher?"
"No," Carlton said between bites. "In fact, he hasn't killed anyone for almost two weeks now."
"That's strange," Shawn said, frowning. "Maybe he decided to call it quits and left while he still could."
"Maybe," Carlton said with a shrug.
"You know, I think I'm going to have water," Shawn said, standing up from the table. "My stomach's starting to act up again."
Carlton frowned as he watched Shawn fill up a glass of water; the guilt once again rose up, but he quickly squashed it down. It was all for Shawn's own good and the side effects were going down. He shouldn't feel guilty for helping the psychic.
For the rest of dinner, they exchanged small talk. Afterwards, Carlton insisted that he clean the kitchen up since Shawn made the meal and Shawn just shrugged in agreement before moving into the living room to watch some TV.
Carlton was in the middle of scrubbing a dish off with a soapy sponge when his stomach suddenly twisted in pain. At first he thought it was that acidic feeling he sometimes got after eating Italian or Mexican food, but as the pain grew and his hands began to shake, he somehow didn't think that was the case.
The dish slipped out of his hands and shattered on the ground. In the living room he could hear the TV go on mute. Ignoring the broken plate, he wiped his hands off on a dish towel before stumbling out of the kitchen on legs that had become shaky and weak. In the living room now, he stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall and he slid to the ground.
"Problems, Detective?" came a smug inquiry.
"W-what's going on," Carlton asked, his breathing reduced to short, pained gasps.
Walking around the couch, Shawn came to stand before him. No, not Shawn, but Spence because only Spence could have such a vile, cold-hearted look on his face. Spence stood there, staring down at him for a moment, before finally holding up a few medication bottles, a few empty medication bottles.
"Did you really think I wouldn't notice all the side effects along with the fact that I was 'sick' for over two weeks?" Spence said, tossing the empty containers onto the ground by Carlton. "And did you really think that simple medication would get rid of me? Sorry to tell you this, but dear old Dad tried that a while back. When Shawn decided to sneak off to Psych this morning after you went to work, I saw it as the perfect opportunity to get back at you for trying to poison me."
Carlton curled up on the ground as the pain in his body spread and spots danced in his vision.
"Maybe next time you'll be more careful about what you eat when there's a killer living in your house. I put the medicine in the milk, the mix for your stuffed shells, and the extra sauce that you might have noticed I didn't help myself to. It only seemed fair after you did the same to my food for the past couple weeks."
Kneeling down before him, Spence set the cordless phone down on the ground next to Carlton and said, "I'll tell you what I've told my dad time and time again: There's no easy way to get rid of me, do you understand? I'm a part of Shawn, and I'll always be here." Standing up, he said carelessly, "You should probably dial 911 now. Wouldn't want you to die of overdose, now would we?"
Picking up the phone with shaking hands, Carlton dialed the three numbers that would get him help. Off in the distance, he could faintly hear the front door opening and closing as Spence left.
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When Carlton came to, he found that he was laying in a hospital bed with a nurse checking his vitals.
"Oh, I'll go get your doctor," she said when she saw that he was awake, then scurried away.
Carlton closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, trying to come up with a back story as to why he overdosed on prescription medicine.
"Mr. Lassiter," someone said.
Carlton opened his eyes and looker over at a man in hospital scrubs who was probably his doctor.
"Hello, I'm Dr. Dwayne. You were brought in here last night due to severe drug overdose," Dr. Dwayne said, explaining what he already knew. "You had to have your stomach pumped and we hooked you up on a series of IV fluids. Could you explain to me what happened that night?"
The doctor clearly thought he was suicidal.
Sighing again, Carlton looked the doctor straight in the eyes and said, "A while back, one of my cousins visited along with her son who has several mental problems. He must have mixed some of his medication in with my food before they left. That's the only explanation I can think of because I didn't take anything last night, not even aspirin."
The doctor nodded, apparently satisfied with his answer, and said, "Yes, that matches up with the chemicals we pumped out of you. However, I would like to keep you here for a couple more hours of observation. After that, you're free to go, and I'd suggest you throw away the rest of the food in your house so that this doesn't happen again."
"Sure thing, Dr. Dwayne. Just tell me when I can go," Carlton said, relaxing back into the hospital bed.
"Do you feel up for visitors?" Dr. Dwayne asked.
Carlton's back stiffen slightly because he knew that one of those visitors was probably Shawn. He knew it wasn't Shawn's fault, that Shawn had no control over any of this, but his body was still worn out from the overdose and he didn't want to see the psychic just yet.
"Actually, I'm feeling a little tired. I'd rather get a little shut-eye in before I can go," Carlton said.
The doctor nodded and left, probably to go tell whoever was waiting to see him the news.
Things couldn't continue on like this, he knew. He couldn't sit back and ignore it all, but he also couldn't just hope that simple medication would solve things. Spence was right, there was no easy way of getting rid of him. There were ways, just... difficult ways. Henry wasn't going to do anything, and Carlton was the only other one that knew of the situation.
He needed to put a stop to this.
He was at a crossroads and he needed to make a choice. He could either turn back, like Henry did so many years ago, or he could choose a path and accept the unfortunate consequences for what they were because neither path had a pleasant outcome...
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Wooh! Finally done with this chapter. Not a really happy one though.. Meh, what can you do? This isn't a happy situation. Hope you're all enjoying the story. The info I got on multiple personality disorder is just random stuff I googled. Using medication rather than therapy is not recommended and probably frowned upon, but Carlton felt it was his only option. ALSO, any errors in this can be blamed on fanfiction for logging me off just as I was about to save all the hard work I spent editing this thing. (goes on an f-bomb, cursing rampage)
Review please!