Lost in the Shadows

Lea of Mirkwood (userid=174967)

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Medication swinging in. Daily sedatives, such fun. The moment I get out of here, I'm going to track down Labraccio and Mannus and putting sedatives in their food every single fucking day. How would they like it? It's like that rubbery feeling you get right after sex when you're trying to walk around and your hands won't grasp and your knees won't lock. Nasty stuff when you're trying to negotiate through the halls.

I heard a scream down the hall. Sounds like someone's going in the restraints. Must be Tuesday.

Everything's really funny here when you're on sedatives. Nothing's normal, but it's just really funny. The way the people walk around, really gingerly, like they're tiptoeing on eggshells. The floor isn't going to break. You can walk on it, I'm sure that's what they meant it for. Somehow, possibly through a lack of Saturday Night Live, I now find things like this amusing beyond all comprehension. People-watching has become one of my favorite pastimes here, leading my personal shrink to think I "tend to be a spectator, letting life pass by while you stand on the sidelines, so to speak." Eh, the nut probably thinks I'd rather watch puppies drown than lift a lazy finger to help. Well, hell, it's partially true, I mean…well…dammit.

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I felt like visiting Maggie. Avid people-watching still can't compare with actual interaction with the Nutbar to Rule Them All: Maggie Trenton. I feel sorry for the girl, certainly. It must be tough to be that fucked in the head. All her thoughts swirling around like food in a blender. She's probably let a pretty weird childhood if all these visions of hers have come throughout her lifetime. But of course, much of schizophrenia manifests itself around puberty, so she's probably just had to live through about ten years. Damn, but that's still a long time. Got to give the girl credit, I'd probably have offed myself by then. If I lost reason I'd probably go nuts- but that's the problem, isn't it? Whatever the way, it's something I won't lose. Don't want to lose my brain. Brain's the best thing I've got, according to many people, lacking in heart or soul or all that shit. Grinch-sized heart beating in my chest, here, if you'd believe Mannus.

To return from my derailed train of thought, going to visit Maggie. (Damn nuthouse makes my thoughts trail off into Bizarro Land more often. Not good.) Her room was just down the hall. Either fortunate or unfortunate, I'm not sure. I couldn't visit her as often (this place gives me chronic short attention span) if she were farther, certainly, but I probably wouldn't find her under my bed or in the corner or in the toilets if she were farther away. Double-edged sword, I guess.

Cotton-Candy waved at me tentatively as I passed her in the halls. I don't think I know her name. Oh well. She's giving me this odd, half-appraising look every time I walk by her now. It's unsettling, to say the least. She doesn't look smart enough to be here, for one. Besides, I'm resigned to a life of celibacy or Mrs Palm and her five lovely daughters without the promise of damned Rachel at the end of the tunnel. I'm not a good boyfriend, anyway.

Maggie's door was unlocked and I went in. It still felt odd just going in. I kept expecting one of the orderlies to grab my arm and say, "NO CONTACT, NO CONTACT!" Freaky kind of place. Don't like it.

"G'morning, Maggie," I said, yawning slightly. I grabbed a chair, spun it around and straddled it, resting my arms on the back of its plastic surface. She was still in bed, curled under the covers with only above her nose showing. At least I couldn't see her pitifully hollow cheekbones. That was just damn creepy, like Night of the Living Dead. She murmured an incomprehensible response and the sheet moved ever so slightly as her breath touched it. Sighing, I guess. "How's life?"

She gulped in a deep breath and the sheet sucked in almost imperceptibly. That was a bit frightening that her deepest breath only pulled in that much. Out of practice with medicine (permanently!!!) as I was, that's never a good sign. Lung capacity or whatnot, very important and kind of useful.

"There…" She shuddered all over. "There's a girl in my bed who cries at night." Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with terror. "She says I won't let her leave."

It was just then that I noticed she really was curled up enough to give room at the foot of her bed for another person to sit there. That's called taking delusions a bit too far. "You sure?"

She nodded. "She says it's my fault she can't be happy. Mine."

I was about to nod slowly and ignore her when I heard a whisper of a sob, not coming from Maggie, because she was chewing on the sheet. It sounded like it was coming from another room, but not-

"Be happy be happy be happy be happy please be happy be happy be happy oh please-" moaned Maggie as she bit down hard on the hem of the cotton she was curled under. Jesus.

I shook my head and let my gaze travel down to the foot of the bed, avoiding the fact that I knew Maggie would probably bite her fingers next and draw blood. I'd seen her do that once, before the orderlies put her back in restraints. It's a sight I don't care to see again. There's a difference between medical gore and surgery and someone so out of it they don't realize they're drawing their own blood with their teeth. It's bordering on the painfully pathetic.

The sheets where Maggie wasn't shifted. They just…moved. Someone sitting there uncrossing their legs would have made the same motion. There's no one there. I glanced, Maggie's feet were up, away from the foot of the bed. The sheets weren't touching anything but the mattress and Maggie, who hadn't twitched. I stood up so fast the chair fell to the ground with a clatter, drawing a cry from Maggie as she ducked her head down under the covers.

"Did you see that?" I asked loudly, pointing. "At the foot of your bed, Maggie, dammit! Did you move that?"

Maggie didn't respond, but only buried her face in the pillow deeply. I heard a muffled wail as her fingers clenched the sides of the bed.

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