Two doctors confer over a cup of coffee in a plain room of white paint.
"So Doctor Barton, what can you tell me about him?" the dark skinned Doctor asks.
"Well Doctor Fagan. Want the whole, sickening story, or will the short version suffice?" Barton replies.
"Let's make it fast," Fagan confirms, "I don't want to work over,"
"Hey, you're a Doctor. You work is your life, right?" Barton quips.
He chuckles slightly before resuming, "Very well. As you'll find out shortly, he remains in a vegetative state. His brain is damaged beyond repair. They say he's got schizophrenia, MPD, and the rest," he chortles sarcastically, "but seeing as he doesn't respond to stimuli, we can neither conform nor deny this. It could be that some trace of him is still responsive. They say it's possible his mind is his world now; that he lives there, playing out his own fantasies and past experiences. Christ, how should I know, I just do forensics,"
"Where did he come from?"
"He's just your average Joe Public, nothing special, no previous criminal record. But here's the strange thing… before he reappeared, he'd been missing for two years. Vanished along with his wife and daughter," he stops to clear his throat, "He showed up in Brahams, a small town up north,"
"Yeah," Fagan confirms, "I'm familiar with it,"
"Yeah, well, now they're familiar with him too. What's first?" he says, flicking through a few pieces of paper, "He went on a rampage through the town, killed a bunch of gorillas at the Zoo. Moved on to the public park, killed an old man in a wheelchair feeding the ducks. Staved a dog's head in, then killed its master, a little boy, about nine years old,"
"Jesus," Fagan gasps.
"Jesus had no part in this, believe me. The victims weren't just killed, they were maimed. Cut up to high holy hell with a serrated dagger. The newspapers described it as a 'satanic ritual of an unknown cult'. Whatever it is, I just think he's totally insane,"
"Well, that's what I'm here to confirm," Fagan says, flushing the emotion from his face.
"Uh-huh," Barton confirms, "They say he took a few more people out in the park but there's only so much information the police are willing to release at this time. They're still informing the families and such,"
"That all?" Fagan asks.
Barton continues to read, "Oh no, there's more. The cop who caught him, uh… Finn Jones, died last night. He held on for forty-nine hours, but his wounds were too severe,"
Fagan tries to stay objective. He had to if he was going to get through the night.
Barton hasn't quite finished, "Next, he killed a Doctor, a psychiatrist, just like you. Then he escaped his cell and went to stay with his sister in the city. She didn't last long, drowned in her own swimming pool. Neighbours called in a disturbance; cops arrive and find him lying on a sun-bed merely ten yards from the floating corpse. He was locked in some kind of trance,"
"Okay," Fagan says, "Let's go take a look at our subject, shall we?"
"Right," Barton replies, "But exercise extreme caution in there. Like I said, the last guy we sent in him wound up dead. Battered his head against the wall and tore off his skin using only his fingernails,"
"But now he's unresponsive, right?" Fagan asks, loosening his collar.
"Yeah, but you never know when he could just… snap out of it." Barton warns.
"Well, you just make sure that armed guard has the safety off," Fagan jokes.
"Good to see your sense of humour is still with you, Martin. I just hope it survives the night," he pauses, "Oh and don't worry. We've trimmed Jack's fingernails,"
The lock on the cell door cracks open. The guard carries out one final check for belt buckles, pens, even the glasses on Doctor Fagan's face, anything that could be used as a weapon.
"Flexible arms," the sentry says, studying the glasses, "That's fine,"
The cell door remains open, the guard, alert.
Fagan eyes his patient, curled up in a ball in the corner of the room. His eyes are open but they don't register the Doctor's presence.
"Hello there," the Doctor says, extending his hand, "My name is Doctor F…"
"… Cole,"
A spark in Jack Crispin's brain… his eyes focus.
He looks up and smiles. He's positive, absolutely certain he recognises this new Doctor from somewhere.
"I've seen you before, haven't I?" Jack asks, waiting patiently for the Doctor to finish shuffling through his papers.
Cole looks up at his subject, "Oh?"
"You're on T.V," Jack pinpoints, "World famous psychiatrist, Doctor Bradley Allen Cole,"
"My friends call me Cole,"
FIN
3