Chapter 3

At the Exeter Institute, Dr. Jeffrey Collins was viewing the results of his handiwork with satisfaction. Their newest psychiatric patient was working out just the way he'd planned. He had faked the paperwork admitting a Martin Donner to the Institute, and no one had questioned it. He had destroyed Mark's wallet and identification and removed any potentially identifying effects, such as his watch and wedding ring. He had then concocted for Mark's benefit a sorry saga about how he had been injured in a fight after escaping from the temporary facility where he had been staying. Apparently the poor man had a history of mental instability and violence, and had totally alienated the few family members he had, so that, after this last outbreak, they had decided that the best thing was to have him permanently committed to the Exeter Institute. This story he took great pleasure in imparting to Mark, with a totally spurious air of sympathy, while making sure that the message came through clearly that he was totally alone in the world, with no one who cared about him at all. He then made sure that the 'medication' he gave Mark to control his 'aggression' would act to keep him sufficiently confused to prevent him from being able to consider his circumstances too clearly. But he didn't want him too out of it – he wanted to make sure he was aware enough to appreciate the miseries of his situation. To further this end, he began injecting nerve blockers into the base of Mark's spine to deaden his sensation in his legs, allowing Collins to keep him confined to a wheelchair, while claiming that the paralysis was the result of the injuries sustained in the fight. As a final touch, he had Mark assigned to the nurses and orderlies that he knew were the worst the Institute employed.

So, as Mark gradually recovered physically from the effects of the concussion, he found himself remaining vague and confused about his life. He didn't feel like he was an aggressive person, but Dr. Collins assured him that that was because they were carefully controlling his medication. Occasionally, he did seem to have episodes of unusual agitation, and he had no way of knowing that that was because his 'medication' was being adjusted to produce precisely that effect in order to lend credence to Collin's claim that 'Donner' was basically an unstable, violent personality. What Mark was learning quickly was just how helpless he was. He found that questions and objections, when his mind was clear enough to voice them, were not only discouraged, but were likely to produce negative repercussions. One such episode occurred when he tried to question the need for the injections in his back. Upon being told that the shots were for 'pain', he protested that he wasn't experiencing pain in his back or legs. When he tried to resist the shots, he found himself strapped face-down to the examining table, the restraints cutting deeply into his skin, preventing him from moving at all. He was left that way for quite some time after the injection, just to get the point across.

As the days went by, Mark found himself increasingly feeling that, in addition to being miserable, things weren't right here. Despite the fact that he couldn't remember anything about himself or his life, he seemed to know that the way things were run at the Exeter Institute was inappropriate for a medical institution. Patients were often drugged into submission by nurses and orderlies who seemed to have little time or interest in managing them any other way. Many of the staff were simply overworked and burned out, but some displayed a distinctly sadistic side when left alone with their charges. These had ways of retaliating against patients they felt were particularly troublesome or who complained about their treatment or conditions. Meals would be unfortunately 'forgotten' or inadequate; patients who required assistance would be ignored for hours; particularly difficult patients might find themselves classified as 'uncontrollable' and be restrained to their beds.

One night-time orderly in particular, a man named Stickley, was one of the worst, having a tendency to amuse himself at the expense of his patients. One evening, Mark found Stickley playing a 'game' that involved setting up some of the more helpless patients in their wheelchairs at the top of one of the steeper ramps in the building and giving them a hard shove, sending the chair flying down the ramp, frequently overturning at the bottom or crashing into one of the walls. Since the patients were strapped into the chairs, and Stickley made sure their arms were restrained as well, they were helpless to stop themselves or break their falls. Stickley would watch and laugh at their terrified expressions and cries, as he experimented with varying speeds and directions to see which kind of push resulted in which outcome.

The next day, Mark reported what he had seen to Dr. Collins. Collins was aware of the fact that several of the Institute's employees occasionally engaged in 'inappropriate' behavior with the patients. Since he didn't particularly care about the patient's well-being himself, viewing them all as miserable rejects who were undeserving of his time and abilities, he rarely bothered investigating too closely, unless there were injuries severe enough to require medical treatment. The Institute was too poorly funded and ill-managed to keep the good workers, so they tended to retain mostly the ones who were either ill-qualified or who were not accepted at the better-run institutions. Mark, of course, was unaware of this, just as he was unaware of the fact that Collins had deliberately placed him on Stickley's ward, knowing that Stickley was one of the worst of the bunch. Collins listened solemnly to Mark's tale, promised to see that it was properly dealt with, and made a point of letting Stickley know, when he came in for his shift, who had filed the complaint.

That night, Stickley paid Mark a visit to 'invite' him to join the 'fun'. When Mark tried to lift himself out of the wheelchair to escape, Stickley jabbed the cane he was holding viciously into Mark's solar plexus, causing him to slump, breathless and in pain, back into the chair. Before he could recover, Stickley had fastened the restraints pinning Mark's arms and body to the chair. He then wheeled Mark to the top of one of the steeper ramps in the building and shoved him hard. Mark could only sit helplessly as the chair flew crazily down the ramp, powerless to prevent the inevitable collision. The wheelchair crashed into the side wall at the bottom of the ramp and overturned, it's occupant unable to save himself as the side of his head smacked the floor. Dizzy and hurt, Mark lay there, listening to the sound of laughter above him.