After Mordecai had told Sharon that 'suicide' was the highest form of art, she closed her eyes, took several deep breaths, and did her best to get over her shock and worry to ask "Why is suicide the highest form of art, Mordecai?"
The answer was obvious, explained Mordecai. An irreversible act committed on an indefinable medium which was viewed differently by each and every person, and by doing so, you were possibly condemning yourself to an endless eternity of suffering and torture, and to top it off – you would never get to see people's reaction. It was the ultimate form of artistic expression over everything else. It was perfect.
When Sharon had composed herself sufficiently enough to ask, "Would you like to commit suicide, Mordecai?" Without her voice shaking, Mordecai replied that of course he would – one day, when he was unable to contribute anything further to the world of art.
And that was that. Sharon promptly left Mordecai's room, went into Rigby's room, and ordered Rigby to go keep an eye on Mordecai. After that, she went downstairs and phoned her husband at work, telling him to come home immediately. They needed to talk about Mordecai. It was urgent.
Not more than three days later, Mordecai had an appointment with an expensive, reputable Psychiatrist in Phoenix. Before going in Sharon gently told him to talk openly with the doctor, and not hide anything – "just tell him what you told me," she said. Mordecai trusted her.
Unfortunately for him, doctor-patient confidentiality didn't apply to minors. When Richard and Sharon met privately with the doctor to discuss Mordecai, everything came out.
Mordecai didn't value life very much. Mordecai thought it was okay to hurt certain kinds of people. Mordecai felt like nobody understood him. Mordecai cried sometimes at night at he didn't know why. Mordecai never slept over four hours a night. Mordecai regretted being born. Mordecai wished his biological parents loved him. Mordecai felt like a failure, and a mistake.
Diagnosis: bipolar disorder, type I, Borderline Personality disorder.
Prescription: 100mg Citalopram Hydrobromide, 50mg Lamotrigine, to be increased 50mg a week until at 400mg per day, 0.25mg Xanax – all three to be taken in the morning after breakfast. Also 3.75mg Zopiclone – to be taken at night before bed. All of the pills were to be taken indefinitely.
The doctor promised Richard and Sharon that if Mordecai took those four pills every day, he would need no therapy, and make a full recovery. Richard and Sharon fully believed in the doctor and his magic pills, and gladly took Mordecai to get his prescriptions filled.
What they never found out was that a month and a half later, the doctor was arrested and sentenced to seven years in prison for malpractice.
Not to mention he had prescribed Mordecai all adult doses of heavy-duty psychiatric medications.
All of the doctor's patients were informed of the incident. A letter arrived at the Quintel household four days after the doctor's arrest, addressed to 'The Legal Guardian/s of Master Mordecai Quintel.' William Quintel never gave his son his mail. He burned the letter in the fire that night.
And so Mordecai took his medication, and the pharmacy kept fulfilling refills, as the instructions on the bottle said to do so.
For the first five weeks, Mordecai hated taking his medication. Richard and Sharon worriedly encouraged him to keep taking it, but it made him feel ill. Two hours after the three morning pills, he would start feeling nauseous, cold and sweaty, which would last for no less than three hours. He would occasionally vomit. He had to stay home from school for over a month while he adapted to his new medication.
After his body had adapted to the huge load of psychiatric medication, he began to enjoy taking his medication immensely. Instead of feeling sick and sweaty, he started feeling good, calm, and pleasant. The pills made him feel sleepy in a way that he enjoyed. He no longer cared about anything. He didn't care about his parents not loving him, and he didn't cry at night. He didn't care about anything at all.
It didn't take long for Richard and Sharon to notice these effects in Mordecai. His entire personality switched and became opposed to what it had previously been. Whereas previously, Mordecai seemed like a child constantly on edge, and ready for anything, he was now laid back and docile. Where he had been intense and passionate, he was now mild and indifferent. Where he had been full of life, he was now devoid of it, and where he had been smart, he was now dumb.
Now, when Sharon looked at Mordecai, she saw the spark in his eyes was dead and gone.
He wasn't the Mordecai who fervently read classic literature and locked himself in his room for days while he reflected on it. He wasn't the Mordecai who would spend three days without sleep while he aggressively pained abstract pieces of art. He wasn't that person anymore, because that person was gone.
He was the Mordecai who liked to sit on the couch and watch cartoons while he waited for his medication to kick in. He was the Mordecai who liked spending eight hours a day browsing the Internet. He was the Mordecai who had nothing better to do.
That winter, when it came time for Mordecai to lock himself in his room for a week, and repaint his 'future masterpiece', he let the day come and go without even realizing it.
Sharon quickly came to miss the old Mordecai. She missed his unusual wisdom and understanding of the world. He didn't come across as a genius when they spoke anymore. He just seemed like a dull, dumb kid. He seemed a lot more like… Rigby.
He even talked slower.
And even Rigby mourned the loss of the old Mordecai. Rigby never understood Mordecai's rantings and ravings, but he loved listening to Mordecai speak so passionately –he made things interesting. He loved watching Mordecai prance around and being weird… it was just so inspiring and uplifting - even if he didn't understand it. Still, Rigby was happy that Mordecai was more willing to just sit and play video games instead of doing anything strenuous.
For what it was worth, Mordecai maintained his interest in art, though with a little less passion and life than he had before.
Now, in the present day and moment, Mordecai sat in his chair in the little makeshift waiting room outside the inpatient processing room in the hospital with three little pills in the palm of his hand.
It was time for Mordecai to take his medication.
The medication he had been taking every day for the past eleven years. Four thousand of each pill, and over twelve thousand of all three combined in total.
Maybe it was seeing the orderlies treat Rigby like a dangerous piece of meat that discouraged Mordecai from taking his pills that particular Monday, as it reminded him of the way the doctor had treated him when he was still seeing him.
Or maybe it was because, from behind the glass prison inside Mordecai's brain, that wild, eccentric little twelve year old was tapping at the glass, impatient, and eager to escape. Mordecai had been on autopilot for too long.
In any case, Mordecai furrowed his brow, frowned, and slid the three pills back into their respective bottles. He would take them later.
Meanwhile, in inpatient evaluation, Rigby had been hauled into a basement-like room, with narrow, rectangular windows right up against the ceilings, concrete walls and floors, and a dim, exposed, singular light bulb, which hung low down from the ceiling.
The orderlies dragged Rigby to the center of the room, and threw him down onto a large metal table. From behind a desk in the corner, a nurse – a fat, middle-aged rat – stood up from her position, and waddled over to them.
"Well, who's this then?" She said out of curiosity. She saw some real whack-jobs in her line of work, but rarely did they come in wearing full straightjackets. One of the orderlies lazily shrugged a shoulder.
"Coon, male, mid twenties – some kind of psychotic breakdown." He said. The nurse rolled her hand, gesturing for the orderly to go on.
"What? What do you want me to say? I don't know anything about him. We got the call from ER to come down ASAP, with restraining peripherals at the ready" He said. The nurse frowned.
"Well that doesn't help me out very much does it? What did you do to him? He looks as though someone's hit him over the head with a lead pipe. He's drooling for goodness sakes," The nurse complained, while removing a handkerchief, and wiping the corners of Rigby's mouth.
"Not our problem" The other orderly said raising his hands, as if removing himself from the situation.
"Again, that doesn't help me out! I need information from him! And it is your problem, because if I can't get what I need from him right now, then you two will be more than welcome to wait with him for however many hours it takes for him to come round again" the nurse said, folding her arms. The orderlies looked at each other, but didn't say anything.
"Well? What do you think we should do? How long will it take him to come around? What did you give him?" She asked impatiently.
"Er… fifty cc's of tranquilizer to the neck" one orderly said.
"Fifty cee-cees! You could have shut him up easily enough with ten! He can't be over thirty-five pounds; you could have made a rhino drowsy with fifty…" she complained. Again, the other orderly raised his hands, trying to remove himself from the situation.
"Look, we got the call, got down there, he was going batshit, I stuck him in the neck – that's how it goes. I can't sit there and calculate how much tranquilizing solution I'm going to need for every psycho that waltzes through here," he said. The rat nurse frowned.
"Well, I guess we'll just have to wait the four or so hours it'll take for him to regain his speech. Please keep an eye on him till then." She said, and made a move to waddle back to her desk, but one of the orderlies stopped her.
"Wait, I'm off in two – I can't wait around for this loony to come down…. Listen – we left a guy back in the hallway – his brother or something. He'll be able to tell you what you need to know." An orderly pleaded. The nurse looked thoughtfully for a moment.
"That could work. Don't tell anyone you let him in here though. Now go bring him in," the nurse said, shooing them off.
And so Mordecai too was brought into inpatient evaluation, as a visitor. He followed the orderlies into the room. The room was miserable, and dark, with steel tables, and prison-like cages everywhere. Just being inside made him uncomfortable. Mordecai shuddered.
Maybe it had been the wrong decision to bring Rigby here. But again, it was out of his hands now.
"Did you get him?" The nurse asked, responding to hearing to doors swing open. One of the orderlies gave Mordecai a little shove towards the nurse.
"Uh, hi…" Mordecai began, while giving a sharp look to the orderly that pushed him.
"Sit" the nurse said, pointing to a chair across from her desk. Mordecai sat.
"You're that raccoon's… brother?" She asked, confused.
"Adoptive" Mordecai mumbled awkwardly.
"I thought as such. You're far too handsome to be related," She said, grinning. Mordecai cringed. He was in no mood to be hit on by a fat old rat lady.
The nurse turned back to her computer, and began reading off from the top of the inpatient processing form.
"What's his name?" The nurse asked.
"Rigby Salyers" Mordecai responded.
'His name is what?" The nurse asked, narrowing her eyes.
"Rigby. Like Ricky but spelled as if you were a retard " Mordecai snapped. He was in a bad mood, and he had no desire for the nurse to question every little thing that came out of his mouth.
"Now is that so!" The nurse said excitedly, "Well that ain't the first time I've heard that name – back when I did midwifing in Phoenix, I delivered another raccoon that the parents called 'Rigby'! Is it a real common coon name?" She asked. Mordecai paused, and then started laughing. There was no way, surely. It simply couldn't be.
But it was. This was the same former midwife that had fudged up Rigby's birth certificate.
October 25th, 1990
Sharon sat sprawled out on her hospital bed, contented and quieted by the pain medication she had been given following her baby's birth. On a chair next to her sat her husband, Richard, who was trying not to fall asleep, having been awake for three consecutive days. A huge project at work had kept him up all night for two straight nights, and now, his wife had given birth, keeping him up for a third.
On Sharon's lap, wrapped tightly in a light blue blanket, was their first child, born at half-past four that morning. Their little Richard Junior.
A loud, single knock came at the door, before it swung open to reveal a shy, female rat, who looked to be in her late twenties. She approached the raccoon couple.
"Mr. and Mrs. Salyers? If you have a name ready, we'd like to start filling out the birth certificate, if you don't mind?" She asked.
"Oh…? Sure Rhonda, go ahead." Sharon said sleepily. Rhonda headed over to a small table in the corner, and sat down a large case she had been carrying, and unzipped it, revealing a typewriter.
Out of her folder, she removed a State of Arizona Certificate of Live Birth, and fed it into the typewriter.
"Okay, first name?" Rhonda asked, ready to take the parent's dictation.
"Rick-key" Sharon slurred a little because of the medication, and smiled.
"Rigby?" Rhonda asked, mishearing Sharon. But the exhausted couple wasn't paying attention.
"…Rick-key" Sharon said dismissively, meaning Ricky – as in, Richard.
Rhonda shrugged. Rigby was an odd name at best, but she had heard stranger names. Not even a week ago, she had delivered a boy that the father kept vehemently insisting was called 'Megatron.'
"Um… is that just spelled how it sounds?" Rhonda asked timidly.
"Yeeeahhh…" Sharon said, trailing off, in a daze. Her husband, Richard senior, was asleep in his chair.
"Okay…" Rhonda said, and typed out 'Rigby' in the 'Forename(s)' section.
"A middle name?" Rhonda asked.
"Wilson" Sharon murmured. Rhonda nodded. That was more normal, at least. 'Wilson', she printed next to 'Rigby.' And finally, she printed 'Salyers' under the 'Surname' section, already aware of the couple's last name.
Rhonda then quickly filled out the rest of the information with her own knowledge, and the couple's patient files. She didn't need anything else from Sharon or Richard.
When she was finished, she quickly checked over her work, and satisfied, she carefully removed the completed certificate from the typewriter, and placed it in a manila folder, which she handed to Sharon.
"Everything's in there" Rhonda said, with a smile.
"Mmmm, thank you Rhonda" Sharon said, and after Rhonda had left, she lazily placed Richard Junior's – now Rigby's – birth certificate on the small table beside her bed, and then she fell asleep with the misnamed cub in her lap.
One year later, when Rigby was due vaccinations, Richard carefully removed the birth certificate from the drawer in their kitchen, in which it had remained since they got home from the hospital.
It had been over twelve months since Richard Junior was born, and he was due his first vaccination, Hepatitis B. They were getting ready to set up an appointment at the doctor's office, and Richard had retrieved the birth certificate to make sure they had it at hand, if the clinic needed the hospital information at it.
Richard flipped open the manila folder, and removed the birth certificate, and smiled.
Then frowned.
Staring back at him, on the paper, read the name Rigby Wilson Salyers.
"Shar!" Richard called to his wife from the kitchen.
"Yes?" She called back. He walked through into the living room.
"Do you remember… did we ever look at Ricky Junior's birth certificate when we got home?" He asked, with a serious expression on his face. Sharon paused.
"Well… of course we did… didn't we?" She said, unsure of herself. Richard placed the sheet of paper down on the glass coffee table in front of her. She read the first line, and a hand came up to her mouth, and covered it. She looked at her husband with wide, shocked eyes.
"Oh my God" she said quietly. Beside her, one-year-old Rigby giggled, and threw a wooden toy block, which landed on the glass coffee table, cracking it.
Present day
The Salyers hadn't been able to change Rigby's name to Richard. The State of Arizona only allowed corrections to be made to vital documents within twelve months of their creation. It had been twelve months, and sixteen days since the birth certificate had been printed. There was nothing they could do. Richard Junior was legally Rigby.
And now Mordecai was sat behind the desk of the lady who made the error. Everything comes full circle. The woman that delivered him was seeing him to his death - or, death as it seemed, as Mordecai thought to himself. How poetic.
"Okay, so Rigby Salyers" Rhonda, the nurse, said, apparently not recalling Rigby's surname.
"Date of birth?"
"October twenty fifth, nineteen ninety" Mordecai said, bored.
"Oh, I was doing midwifing back then, in Phoenix!" Rhonda said excitedly.
"So you said," Mordecai said indifferently.
"Weight?" Rhonda asked.
"Fifty two pounds" Mordecai said. He had no clue how much Rigby weighed since he had lost weight, but answered his previous weight nonetheless.
"Are you sure?" Rhonda asked, looking at Rigby laid out on the table, "he doesn't really look all that overweight" She commented.
"I don't know. He looks like he's lost a bit lately. He hasn't been eating well." Mordecai said.
"Well, let's find out" Rhonda said, standing up. "If you please!" She called to the orderlies, who lifted Rigby up and dragged him over to the scale set. They set him on the metal standing pad, and one orderly held his back, so he wouldn't fall over.
"Thirty-five" he called out, after the machine had finished weighing Rigby.
"Thirty-five, thirty-five…" Rhonda said entering the number into the computer "And his height?" She asked.
"Three one-and-a-half" Mordecai said absently. Rhonda frowned.
"Mmm… he's quite underweight" She commented. Mordecai didn't respond – he was staring out one of the narrow little windows just below the ceiling, watching as the clouds rolled by. If he paid close enough attention, he could see the ray of sunlight moving around the window frame as the sun moved across the sky.
"Are we done yet?" Mordecai asked impatiently.
"Does he have any preexisting medical conditions? Any allergies?"
"Egg allergy. " Mordecai said.
"Well, okay, if that's all, then I think we're done here" Rhonda said, standing up, and retrieving a narrow sheet of paper. From the paper she tore off two strips, which turned out to be hospital bands. She handed them to one of the orderlies. "Put him in B-024" She instructed the orderlies, who, eager to clock off, promptly hauled Rigby out of the room.
"Can I…?" Mordecai began.
"Go with them? Yes, but be patient" Rhonda said, then sat back down, focusing on her computer. Mordecai briskly exited the processing room, taking only a second to recoil in horror, as he had noticed several of the steel cages had been occupied this whole time, with several deranged looking occupants staring keenly at him. He shivered once more in the dark, cold room, before opening the door forcefully, and jogging after the two orderlies in the distance.
Mordecai wasn't allowed to see Rigby until he had been taken into a private screening room, where the straightjacket was removed, and he was searched for sharp objects, and stripped of all the belongings he was carrying on his person.
Afterwards, he was fitted with a hospital gown, and the two hospital bands were applied, and he was hauled to what would be his room for the foreseeable future.
The room was mostly unremarkable, save for how depressing it was. The pale blue light entering in through the barred windows met the blue-gray walls and dirty white floor tiles of the little room, and every surface appeared to be the same, melancholic shade of weak gray. It was utterly grotesque, but might have been considered state of the art during the Kennedy administration.
Mordecai noticed there were two twin-sized beds in the room – both very close to the floor. Rigby would be sharing his room with someone else, but for the time being, the other bed was unoccupied.
The orderlies hauled Rigby over to the best nearest the window, and set him down. After he had been laid flat on the bed, the orderlies reached under it and pulled out multiple tough-looking thick leather straps, which they secured very tightly around Rigby's body.
"We don't know if he's going to freak out again when he comes to" One of the orderlies explained to Mordecai, having noticed the unpleasant look he was giving them. After they had finished locking the leather straps, they stood up, and made to leave.
"You're welcome to stay until eight, though I have no clue when he'll come around" One of the orderlies said, motioning to Rigby on the bed. "Have fun" he said, closing the door behind them.
Finally, Mordecai was alone with Rigby for the first time in two hours. He pulled up a chair next to the bed, and sat, watching Rigby. The injection was still having an effect on him, although he had stopped drooling at least.
The next hour and a half was rather uneventful. Rigby rolled in and out of consciousness, and Mordecai stared out the window, not really thinking much about anything. A couple of times, he heard footsteps in the hallway, and wondered if Rigby's roommate had returned, but each time, the footsteps faded into the distance, leaving Mordecai and Rigby alone in the dank little room.
Mordecai was leaning his head on his fist when Rigby came to shortly after.
"Morr…Mor-de-cai?" Rigby slurred. Mordecai looked up.
"Hey, dude, it's okay, I'm here" he said, placing a hand on Rigby's shoulder. Rigby coughed a little. He tried to raise his arm, but found he couldn't.
"You're in restraints" Mordecai said gently. "They had you in a straightjacket earlier."
"This sucks" Rigby said, letting his head fall back on the pillow. He wanted to rub his eyes desperately, but he guessed he wasn't going to be let out of these restraints for a while.
"Do you remember anything?" Mordecai asked.
"'Bout what?" Rigby asked.
"You know. Your incident." Mordecai prompted.
"I was just trying to do the right thing" Rigby said. Then turned to face the window. "This room stinks" he said.
"Yeah… and it looks like you're going to have a roommate as well." Mordecai said. Rigby moaned.
"I don't play well with others." Rigby said.
"I know you don't, dude" Mordecai agreed. "But you probably won't have to interact with him much if you don't want" he offered.
"I guess." Rigby said. Then his eyes widened, and he took a deep breath, as if remembering something important.
"Mordecai" Rigby said, sitting up, and facing Mordecai as best he could with the leather straps round his body. "I'm expecting a really important phone call from John Kennedy Toole this evening. I have to get out of here." Rigby said urgently. Mordecai closed his eyes.
"John Kennedy Toole died over forty years ago" Mordecai said. He was used to Rigby's delusions by now, but it still upset him to hear them. Rigby shook his head at Mordecai.
"No, he's living with Hugh Grant" Rigby said, trying to wriggle himself out of his restraints, "He's living in his basement until Hillary Clinton abdicates from the French throne." Rigby said, giving up his attempt at escape, as the restraints held him fast.
"The French monarchy hasn't existed since eighteen-seventy" Mordecai said.
"You would say that. You were always a doubter, Mordecai" Rigby said, frowning, and slumping a little. Mordecai sighed heavily.
"Look, dude. All you need to know is that something bad happened to you, and now you're here for just a little while. Just go along with everything they say, and you'll be out really soon, okay?" Mordecai pleaded with Rigby.
"This is all made up" Rigby moaned, "they're just trying to keep me here to prevent me from being reunited with the divine resistance" he said.
"You were never united with any resistance…" Mordecai began, but then stopped. "I'll make a deal with you, dude. If you do everything they tell you, and act good, and you're still not out within a week and a half? I'll get you out," Mordecai said. Rigby looked at him with narrowed eyes.
"Deal" he said, and let himself lie down flat on the bed.
AN: Chapter 20. Nothing too special, I know, but it's a transition to something else. Stay tuned, and as always, thanks for the reviews, guys.