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Chapter 11

Trip paused to wipe the sweat off his brow, then bent back down and buried his spade in the earth. They were planting lettuce today - 5000 seedlings fresh from the hothouse that had to be in the ground by tonight. By now, Trip was beginning to believe that he had never done anything else – make a hole, place a seedling in the middle, water it, fill the hole with earth, move ten centimeters to the right, repeat. Once his crate was empty, he would go and get another one from the seemingly inexhaustible supply at the front of the greenhouse. It was mind-numbing work and after five of hours of kneeling in the dirt, Trip might have believed it if someone had told him that Hell was a large lettuce patch.

Malcolm was working opposite to him, filling row after row with plants. For lack of anything else to amuse himself with, Trip had started his own, private lettuce competition, based on the rule that he had to stay at least two plants in front of Malcolm. Unfortunately, after ten minutes of playing, Malcolm had noticed, and after that was much harder to beat. For half an hour, the competition was fought with vigor and dedication, Trip starting off with a lead of two plants while Malcolm did his best to catch up. For a while, it was a tight struggle for first place, then, right after Malcolm had managed to overtake Trip, his crate was empty and he had to go and get himself a new one. Sportsmanlike, Trip interrupted his own work to wait until Malcolm was back, and was consequently slapped on the back of the head by Lendon, who told him to get his lazy ass moving. After that, the competition had lost much of its appeal and they returned to working in silence, digging hole after hole until the spade began to blur before Trip's eyes.

Lunch time came and went, but nobody told them to take a break and so they didn't. No one complained; they all knew that complaining would only result in the whole group having to work overtime. Owens might have allowed them a break, but he was working night shifts this week and would not be on duty for another five hours. And the other two nurses would not grant them a moment's rest, not with so many unfinished crates left.

"Come on, guys, don't fall asleep there!"

Trip glanced up and saw Moreno, his round face flushed, calling out to the working men while he handed new crates to Toby and Frank.

"If we're not finished with these by tonight, they'll put us on work detail. Hurry up a little, okay?"

Moreno's announcement was met with groans and sudden stirs of renewed activity. Work detail meant that they would lose their one free afternoon a week, which happened more often than not. In the weeks he and Malcolm had spent in River Valley, Trip could only remember one occasion on which they had actually had their allotted afternoon off. Granted, half of the free time they had to spend in "group therapy" (which meant sitting in a circle and boring one another to tears, talking about things like "goals in life" or "secret fears"), but it was still okay because it was a change. The rest of the time it was the same shit, different day, seven days a week: getting up at six, tea and toast for breakfast, then off to the greenhouses where they would work without a break until noon. During lunch break – if there was one – they would gather in front of the greenhouse where the nurses handed out sandwiches and water in plastic cups (or, if anyone looked particularly tired, a can of soda to boost the blood sugar). After half an hour, it was back to work, and no break until their day ended at 6.30 in the evening – if no one had earned the group another half-hour by dawdling or mouthing off to one of the nurses. Jimmy was particularly gifted at that, falling asleep over his work only to be woken five minutes later by an irate Lendon, who would unfailingly punish the entire group by making them stay longer.

"Come on, hurry up!" Moreno called again, and Trip wished someone would shut the guy up, preferably by ramming a bunch of lettuce plants down his throat. After digging holes for what seemed like forever, it didn't take much to put his nerves on edge, and Moreno's constant bleating wasn't helping.

"We'd be done a lot faster if those two would just grab a spade and get down on their knees to help," Malcolm muttered under his breath. Trip grinned a little. It seemed that he wasn't the only one who was thoroughly fed up with holes and lettuce.

Toby passed them carrying his new crate, and Trip followed him with his eyes until the small man had reached his own patch further back in the greenhouse. Toby's shoulders were slumped and he moved like a man twice his age, pausing to press a hand into the small of his back before he knelt back down. It was nothing new; Toby was always tired, and would sometimes nod off over his dinner with exhaustion. It was the meds doing it to him; like many of the patients, Toby was issued his dose of drugs every evening, swallowing them under the watchful eyes of the nurses, who would inspect his mouth afterwards to make sure he wasn't hiding the pills under his tongue. Toby never did and so, like many others, he had dark circles under his eyes and often was barely able to walk straight when the work day was finally over. In the face of Toby's daily struggle, Trip hoped that the doctors would never get any bright ideas about starting him and Malcolm on any of those drugs. So far, no one had paid them any attention, except for forcing them to participate in the work program, and Trip wanted it to stay that way. He didn't trust the doctors any more than he trusted anyone else at River Valley.

"If you move any slower, Reynolds, you're gonna fall asleep. Now get a move on!"

Trip looked up again. Lendon was standing next to Toby, who cowered over his row of lettuce plants and worked faster than he had all day. He didn't turn around or raise his head, but Trip could see that his forehead was gleaming with sweat.

Lendon grinned and half-heartedly kicked the crate so that it bumped against Toby's thigh. "See, that's what I'm talkin' about. Now keep it up, or... you know what."

Trip traded a look with Malcolm, who had watched the little exchange with a dark expression on his face. A week ago, Toby had finally confided to them why he was so scared of Lendon, and after that, Trip had found himself hating the nurse even more.

"He's got a remote that controls the rays," Toby had told them in a whisper, throwing nervous looks over his shoulder even though they had been alone in their room after lock-up. "He showed it to me. It has an antenna to direct the rays anywhere he wants, and he can increase and decrease the dosage. And..." Toby had gotten visibly paler as he continued. "He said that if I get on his nerves or don't do my work, he'll zap me with rays until my skin starts to rot off. He said he's done it before, and the guy lived no more than a week after he turned the full blast on him."

Nothing Trip or Malcolm had said had convinced Toby that Lendon was making it up – "He showed it to me!" he had answered to whatever argument they brought forward – and so Lendon continued to scare the living daylight out of Toby right in front of their noses.

"Got a problem over there, Trippy boy?"

Lendon had noticed his look and was now coming over in his usual, sauntering way. Trip deliberately met his eyes to let the man know that he wasn't scared, then turned back to his work. This was getting to be a routine between him and Lendon, and Trip had soon found out that the nurse hated to be ignored.

Lendon's steps drew closer, and a moment later a dirty sneaker entered Trip's field of vision, stepping down mere centimeters from his hand and crushing two lettuce plants in the process.

"I asked you a question, Tucker."

"I don't have a problem," Trip replied, outwardly calm. "Now can I get on with my work?"

Lendon turned his heel on the crushed seedlings, then slapped Trip on the back of the head, harder than before. "You better be careful, punk. I ain't taking none of your shit."

Malcolm raised his head. "You know, if you keep destroying the plants, it will take us even longer until we're done. To be frank, I don't really see where the sense is in that."

Trip wanted to shake his head at Malcolm, signaling him to keep quiet, but damage had already been done. Lendon turned away from him and walked across the patch over to where Malcolm was kneeling, not caring that he was ruining even more plants in the process. Once there, he grabbed Malcolm's hair and pulled on it as he spoke.

"If I'm interested in your opinion, Lord Malcolm, which ain't gonna happen in this life, then I'll ask. Otherwise, I want you to keep your snotty British mouth shut! Understand?"

He tightened his grip when Malcolm refused to answer. "I said, understand?"

"Listen, why don't you leave him alone?" Trip asked, laying his spade aside. "You-"

Before he could say something that would have earned them an hour of extra work, at the very least, he was interrupted by a loud voice from behind.

"No! I won't!"

Trip turned around and saw Anthony Morris, a huge, black-haired man with a barrel chest, standing next to his patch with his hands balled to orange-sized fists. He was hulking over Moreno, who was visibly struggling not to take a step back.

"Listen, Anthony, you need to calm down. It's okay-"

"No!" Anthony stomped his foot and threw his spade to the ground, missing Moreno's foot by mere centimeters. "I'm tired, and I didn't get my sandwich for lunch! I always have a sandwich for lunch! I'm hungry!"

"Morris!" Lendon let go of Malcolm and began to walk towards Anthony, who flinched at the sound of his voice. "You stop right this instant-"

"Paul!" Moreno held up his hands. "Let me handle this, okay?"

He turned back to Anthony, whose lower lip had started to tremble when Lendon had yelled at him.

"Anthony, I know you're tired, but we can't take a break right now. You know that we have to finish work first-"

"I don't care about work!" Anthony stomped his foot again, tears forming in his eyes. "I want my sandwich! I wanna take a nap!"

"Later, Anthony, okay?" Moreno smiled, although it turned out a little pinched – which wasn't surprising, given that 240 pounds of enraged patient were towering over him. "Later we'll all go back and have dinner, okay? It's ravioli today. You like ravioli, don't you?"

"I don't want ravioli, I want my sandwich! Sandwich!" Tears began to run down Anthony's reddened face. "I always have a sandwich for lunch!"

"Okay, that's it." Lendon resumed his stride, raising his voice as he approached the crying man. "Morris, if you don't stop right now, you're gonna miss a lot more than your goddamn sandwich, y'hear me? Now take that – " He picked up the spade Anthony had thrown away and thrust it into the man's hand – "and get your fat ass back to work! Move it!"

He gave Anthony a shove that was obviously supposed to send him to his knees. Anthony, however, only stumbled a little and then, all of a sudden, whirled around and pushed Lendon, hard enough so that the nurse lost his balance and fell backwards into one of the lettuce patches.

"Leave me 'lone!" Anthony swung the spade around and would have crushed Moreno's skull if the nurse hadn't ducked fast enough. "I want my sandwich! You all leave me 'lone!"

"Anthony, don't!" Moreno yelled, but the man was no longer listening. Sobbing loud enough to drown out the nurses' cries, he turned around and began to run away, taking large, lumbering steps that crushed dozens of lettuce plants. Frank, who was in his way, was pushed aside by one large hand and landed in the dirt. Anthony never even looked at him and stumbled on, sobbing, face smeared with dirt and tears.

"You all leave me 'lone!"

He came to a halt, trembling and swaying, and looked around with wild, frightened eyes. Then, as if he had suddenly realized where he wanted to go, he turned and began to charge towards Malcolm, his spade raised high in the air.

"Leave me 'lone!"

"Careful, Malcolm!" Trip jumped up, but Malcolm was quicker. In one smooth movement, he got to his feet and a split second before Anthony could bury the spade in his brain, grabbed hold of the man's arm. A moment later, Anthony was airborne, sailing over Malcolm's head as if gravity had suddenly lost its grip on him. Malcolm did a quick turn of the wrist, flipping Anthony over in mid-air, and then the large man crashed down, letting out a cry of pain as he hit the ground.

A moment of silence followed. Anthony lay where he had fallen, sobbing and clutching his left arm, while everybody's eyes were fixed on Malcolm. Malcolm, from the look in his face, was in shock. He stared at the fallen man, then looked up at Trip and opened his mouth as if to say something. Nothing came out, though, and Malcolm raised and lowered his shoulders in a helpless shrug.

Moreno was the first to break the silence. "It's okay," he said a little shakily. "It's okay, guys. Stay right where you are."

Neither Anthony nor Malcolm moved, and Moreno slowly began to walk towards them, still talking in a soothing voice as if he were trying to calm down two scared and dangerous animals.

"It's okay, guys, there's nothing to worry about. Just stay where you are, it's gonna be okay."

He continued talking until he had finally reached the two men. Anthony was lying in a crumpled heap on the ground, crying quietly and muttering unintelligible words. Moreno only gave him a quick glance before he turned to Malcolm.

"It's okay," he said, and laid both hands on Malcolm's shoulders, carefully, as if the touch might be enough to make Malcolm go berserk. "It's okay, Malcolm. Why don't you sit down for a moment, it's going to be okay."

Malcolm complied, his eyes still on Anthony as he awkwardly lowered himself to the ground. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I didn't mean to... is he going to be all right?"

Moreno had knelt down next to Malcolm, his hands still firmly on the Englishman's shoulders. "Paul, could you check on Anthony?"

Lendon, who had picked himself up from the lettuce patch, brushed a few crumbs of earth off his uniform, then went over to crouch down next to the fallen man.

"Looks like Reed broke his arm," he said, his expression torn between amusement and mild annoyance as he looked up. "You know karate, Lord Malcolm? Wouldn't have guessed."

Me either, Trip added in thought. He still couldn't quite believe what Malcolm had done, how expertly he had blocked the attack of a man almost twice his size.

"I'm sorry," Malcolm repeated. "I didn't mean to hurt him..."

"It's okay," Moreno said, fishing something out of his pocket and holding it concealed behind his back. "Don't you worry yourself. Paul, could you call Jake and tell him that we need him to send someone over?"

"Sure," Lendon replied, getting to his feet.

"Malcolm," Moreno said, hand wrapped around Malcolm's right upper arm, "I need you to stay still there for a moment, okay? Don't worry, it's going to be-"

"What are you doing?" Malcolm asked, trying to pull away. Moreno tightened his grip and, so suddenly that Malcolm never had a chance to react, buried the needle of a syringe in Malcolm's arm. Malcolm let out a cry of pain and surprise and began to struggle, but Moreno only gripped him harder and pushed the plunger home.

"No, what are you d-"

In the middle of his sentence, Malcolm suddenly broke off. His eyes began to droop and his head lolled to one side, as if his muscles had suddenly been drained of all strength.

"No..." he whispered, and then his body went limp.

"What did you give him?" Trip jumped up.

Moreno carefully lowered Malcolm's unconscious body to the ground. "It's okay, Tucker, your friend's going to be fine."

"It's not okay!" Trip noticed that he had raised his voice, and forced himself to continue in a calmer tone. "He was only defendin' himself. You can't just-"

"Trip."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around, half expecting to find a syringe descending on his arm. Instead he found Chayton looking at him.

"Don't," the other man said quietly.

"But-"

"They gave him Haldol," Chayton said. "It's not going to hurt him. It's a sedative."

"But he wasn't trying to hurt anyone!"

"I know."

Trip turned around again. Anthony had stopped sobbing and was lying there with his head tilted to one side, obviously out cold. Moreno laid the second syringe aside, then pulled Anthony's shirt over his head and began to tie it into a sling for the broken arm.

"What are you looking at?" Lendon had returned from the intercom and frowned at the men, who were standing there with their spades dangling from their hands, staring. "Get back to work, show's over!"

Trip didn't move, and felt Chayton's fingers tighten on his arm. "Come on, let's go."

"What's gonna happen to them?"

Chayton glanced at the two unconscious figures on the ground. "Someone will drive them back to the main building and take Anthony to the Medical Ward so Dr. Rowland can take care of his arm."

"And Malcolm?" Trip asked quietly.

Chayton looked away. "He'll be put into seclusion."

Trip opened his mouth, wanting to ask Chayton exactly what that was supposed to mean, when Lendon came towards them and clapped his hands.

"Move it there! You too, Trippy boy. Don't start crying, now, you'll get your chance to kiss him better soon enough. Now get yourself back to work."

Trip gritted his teeth and turned away, pretending that he hadn't heard. Much as he wanted to punch the man, he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. He would only be the next one knocked out and dragged away to seclusion, whatever it was.

Chayton half-led, half-pulled him away from the nurse and picked up the spade Trip had dropped.

"There. Come on, let's get started."

Trip stared at the tool in his hand, then back at Malcolm who was still lying on the ground like a bundle of clothes someone had dropped there. Another second, and the Englishman would have been dead, a spade just like this one shattering his skull and crushing his brain. Malcolm had not needed a second, however, had reacted as quickly and calmly as if he had practized the move a thousand times before. And it had looked... professional.

Trip knelt down and began to unearth the seedlings Lendon had crushed earlier. His hands were still shaking a little, though he could not tell whether it was from shock or anger. Seclusion. Malcolm would be taken to an isolated room, he guessed, where he would be left until he had slept off the drug.

Not that he would have needed it in the first place. But then, maybe it's some sort of punishment. He pulled out one of the broken plants and threw it away. Make that probably. Why else knock him out when he's not violent or dangerous?

He plunged the spade back into the earth with more force than necessary. Malcolm had been defending himself, and they knew it. Knew it, but didn't care – if one of the loonies freaks out, knock him out and then haul him off to seclusion. The circumstances didn't matter, nor did the fact that Malcolm had never been violent before. He was a patient, and patients weren't supposed to have a mind of their own. And if they did – well, the drugs would take care of that.

"If you make that any deeper, they're going to think you're trying to dig yourself out of here."

Trip raised his head and saw Chayton on the opposite side of the patch, finishing the row Malcolm had been working on earlier. The tall man pointed with his spade at Trip's own row.

"The hole."

Trip looked down. The hole he had been digging was large enough to hold an entire head of lettuce, let alone one of the tiny seedlings.

"Oh. Thanks."

"He's going to be okay, you know," Chayton said as he bent back down over his work. "Most of us have been in seclusion at some point. It's not unusual."

"Yeah," Trip said softly. "I bet it isn't."

TBC...

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