Chapter Thirty-Seven: Withdrawal
"Uhhh... hi."
Miller looked up from stacking books. "...The hell you want?"
"Uh. Nothing?" Donut shifted nervously, half-hiding behind a bookshelf. "Nothing. Um. Just... uh. You run the library, don't you?"
"Yeah. Even if I didn't get a goddamn choice in that."
"I was kinda... looking for a book on, um... crafty stuff."
"Right..." Miller stood up with a groan. "Erk. And they said librarian would be a goddamn easy job. They clearly haven't stacked the lower shelves." Miller looked at Donut, scratching the side of his face thoughtfully. "We've met, haven't we? You're the little queer guy that was helping Caboose find books. Say you didn't bring him with you, I don't want to have to straighten the shelves again."
"Oh. No, he's... somewhere else."
It had actually been very difficult to convince Caboose not to follow him. Caboose seemed a bit worried over the fact that Donut was going to be left alone with the guy who had gotten Church thrown in solitary (albeit in a more roundabout way than intended). The furthest he could get to getting Caboose to leave him alone was letting Caboose sit just a few feet away from the library door.
"Well, good. Craft books are over there," Miller waved his hand at a shelf. Donut nodded. Inside, he was flailing around in a panic.
What do I do? What do I say? Do I just grab the book and leave? Should I stay and try to make more conversation? Would that be suspicious? Would not doing that be suspicious? Oh my god, I have no idea what I'm doing.
"Uh. So. What are you in for?" Donut asked feebly. That was the first question they always asked in the movies, though come to think of it he'd never gotten around to properly asking any of the guys in his row. (Though, he didn't really want to know the details of what they'd done. What little he knew was creepy enough.)
"Check swindling. Walked past the car of someone I'd tricked in the past. Small world," Miller said shortly. "Don't need to ask you. You're one of the lifers. In the same section as some of the other murderers."
"Yeah. How'd you know which section my cell was in?" Of course, Donut knew why Miller knew.
"Well, you hang around with murderers. That means you're probably a damn murderer." Miller shifted a little. "So. Fell into Church's little group of jackasses, did you?"
Donut, who had picked up one of the books, promptly dropped it.
"Uh, what?"
"Come on, kid. I have eyes. I've seen you around them and you have Caboose following you around."
Miller pointed at the door. Donut turned to see that Caboose had edged closer and was watching them, while muttering under his breath, "I am sneaking, I am sneaking, I am sneaking..." Donut resisted the urge to slap his forehead.
"How'd you get that to happen, huh?" Miller asked.
Thirty seconds into the plan, and I'm already so close to getting caught. I suck at shifted nervously, before deciding on part of the truth.
"Blackmailed Church into giving me protection. That's all."
"Hm. Wouldn't consider telling me what information you used, would you?"
"No. Then I'd lose the protection."
"Well, you're a hell of a lot smarter than you look, in that case. Alright, then." Miller sighed. "Well, not like I can kick you out of the library. Not with Caboose following you around. Even if he didn't hurt me over it, he'd probably stare with those goddamn eyes."
"Mhm."
"Just take your book and leave. You don't seem like a bad kid or nothing... but that's what I thought about Caboose until he crushed Phil's head."
"I thought that was never proven?"
"They fell," Caboose muttered from the door. "I mean... there is no-one here!"
"Idiot," Miller said. He lowered his voice so that Caboose wouldn't be able to hear and said, "Saw it with my own two eyes. Well, one eye... someone had shoved macaroni into the other. But I saw it happen." Miller moved a book off a shelf it was wrongly stacked on. "'Course, snitching on him would have probably got me with my head twisted in a similar position. But I was leading up to something... don't trust those guys you hang around. Not just Church and his little followers. Don't trust any of them. Might regret it."
Donut picked up a book on paper mache. "Regret it? This got something to do with Joannes?"
"...Yeah." Miller's face darkened for a moment and he looked away. "He got tangled up with them. And he regretted it, alright? Now get the hell out."
All in all, it wasn't the friendliest conversation.
Doc sorted medication into the little cups. He was still on the edge of his seat, waiting for O'Malley to move. But O'Malley remained motionless. Doc bit his lip nervously, glancing back quickly before returning his attention to the little cups.
"This better be important," Doc heard someone say behind him. He turned to see Wash standing in the doorway. "Why did you call me up here?"
"Just a quick question, that's all," Doc said quietly. He pointed at O'Malley. "O'Malley was found in his cell, and he had been hit over the head more than once. I was wondering if you knew something about it."
Wash looked slowly from O'Malley to Doc. "Why would you ask me what happened?"
"Oh, well... I know you were at the prison last night. And I know you follow York around a lot, and when I asked him about it... he was a bit defensive. Uh, not that I'm accusing you or anything," Doc added hastily.
"It sounds like you are."
"No, no, no. I was just saying... only a guard could have easily gotten into the cell, so..."
"I know what you're saying, Doc."
"Well? Did you see anything?"
Wash stared impassively at him. Doc tried staring back, but it was difficult. Wash didn't seem to blink much. They were both too involved in this staring contest to see O'Malley move, although he didn't do more than open his eyes.
"No. I didn't. I heard noise, but nothing else," Wash said, after several seconds of silence. "Did you question O'Malley about the source of his head injuries?"
"Yes... but he said Santa Claus did it..."
"Hm. Most likely he hit his head on the wall so that he could get sent to the infirmary. Wouldn't be the first inmate to hurt themselves to get out of solitary." Wash glanced at O'Malley again and saw O'Malley's glazed eyes staring back at him. "He's done stranger things."
"Really... maybe the medication is too weak," Doc pondered, looking down at the cups of medicine. "Or too strong."
"Can I go now? I don't appreciate being forced to miss lunch."
"Right, of course. Sorry to bother you." Doc heard Wash's footsteps fade, as he continued sorting medication and tried to remember which inmate took the little red tablets.
"You believe people too easily, Doc," O'Malley said quietly. Doc yelped and accidentally knocked over several cups of pills.
"Oh, you startled me... I didn't know when you'd wake up. How are you feeling?"
"Fantastic. Just fantastic."
"I stitched you up some, but you lost a lot of blood so you'll be in here for a while. But any funny stuff and you are going back to the cell. Okay?"
"You believe too easy. You believe what Washington says. You believe inmates when they claim they're too sick to work. And you believe me whenever I'm lying. Though never when I'm telling the truth, funnily enough. You trust too easily."
"What are you trying to tell me? That Wash was lying to me?"
"Hmm? What am I trying to tell you? Nothing. Just observing."
Doc tilted his head. There was something strange about how O'Malley was behaving. After a few seconds of pondering, Doc figured it out. O'Malley wasn't cackling or grinning, or even smiling in his usual twisted way. He just looked very tired. And if Doc looked closely, he could see that O'Malley's hands were shaking just a little. Perhaps from blood loss.
"Well, concentrate on getting better rather than observing, okay?"
"Fine. But I'm only listening because you're my favourite plaything." O'Malley shut his eyes again. "You're very strange... after all, last time I was here I tried to shove things down your throat and tackled you to the floor. Yet you're still treating me nicely."
Doc continued picking up the meds he had spilt on the floor, keeping his head down so he didn't have to look at O'Malley. "Of course I am. You're a patient. I'm a doctor. I have to do my best to treat you."
"You're not a doctor."
"I'm more of one than you."
"Talking back, hm? Growing a backbone... about time..." O'Malley stopped talking, and his breathing got slower. He'd fallen asleep again. Doc climbed to his feet and returned to sorting the medication into cups. Occasionally he would glance back at O'Malley, making sure he was still asleep. At the same time wondering why O'Malley wasn't grinning like a lunatic, like he had been even when he had been dragged in earlier.
O'Malley could have answered that.
Even though he had fallen asleep quickly again, O'Malley had been awake enough to notice that his thoughts were less cloudy. That he could actually think. They were somewhat muddled, but that was more of a result of Wash hitting him over the head several times.
He'd felt somewhat shaky at the same time. His hands couldn't stay still.
The next time O'Malley woke up, a few hours later, he saw Doc sitting on the other side of the room, treating an inmate who had apparently injured his arm. O'Malley's hands were even shakier and his head was throbbing more than ever. But despite this his thoughts were much clearer. He couldn't remember having thoughts so clear since...
Since before Doc put him on this medication.
It clicked. South had dropped O'Malley's medication when she saw O'Malley and his bloody pillow-turban. Doc hadn't given O'Malley his medication while he was knocked out. O'Malley had gone, by now, a full twenty-four hours without his meds. He hadn't received his daily dose and now he was feeling the effects.
That explained the clear thoughts. And he supposed it explained the shakes and the headache. Withdrawal. But that was an effect that would pass, because there was no way that O'Malley was addicted to his little cup of mind control. How could he become addicted to something that made him forget how to think?
The effects were probably just exacerbated by the fact that he was low on blood. Yes, that was it.
Despite the pain and the shakes, O'Malley grinned at the ceiling before shutting his eyes and pretending to be asleep so that Doc wouldn't see him awake and try to give him the medication. After all, he hadn't had a moment of clarity in three years. He was going to enjoy it for as long as possible.