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Chapter 12

He was in a white room, its walls smooth and cold like marble. The light in the room was bright and unpleasant, hurting his eyes and draining the color out of his skin so that his hands looked unnaturally pale, like the hands of a corpse, gliding over the cold, smooth walls. There was no exit, not even a crack that would have suggested the existence of an opening, but even though he knew that it was in vain, he kept searching. It was the only thing he could do. Sometimes, he heard a disembodied voice talking to him, its tone becoming more urgent the longer it spoke, but he ignored it. He understood the words, but they didn't make any sense to him, and he knew that it would be dangerous to listen. There had to be a way he could get out of here, a way to escape-

Malcolm awoke with a start, gasping like a drowning man who has finally managed to come up for a lungful of air. His throat seemed too tight, and for a moment he saw nothing but a bright glare, not unlike the light he had seen in his dream. Briefly, he wasn't even sure if it had been a dream – the room had seemed so real, its walls so cold and firm. Impenetrable. And his fear had been real, too. He could even remember the itch of sweat on his skin.

Slowly, diminishing with every breath that he took, the brightness in front of his eyes faded away, and his heart began to slow down. He coughed, and found that his throat was no longer too tight, but so dry that it almost hurt him to breathe. His mouth tasted of ashes and dirt.

Malcolm blinked, and his surroundings gradually became clear, turning from blurred shapes into sharp outlines. Not that they made much sense to him – he was lying on his back on a bed of sorts, a quite uncomfortable one, with a hard mattress and no pillows and covers whatsoever. Over his head, there was a bright halogen tube embedded in the ceiling, and across the room he could make out a metal door with a small window in the middle. The window was criss-crossed by a wire mesh. There was no other furniture and no window, not even a switch to turn out the light.

Squinting in the bright halogen glare, he tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes, and froze when he found that he couldn't move. He glanced down at his hands.

Bloody hell.

There were leather restraints on both his wrists, tight enough so that he couldn't even wiggle his arms back and forth. Malcolm tried to move his feet, and found that they had been tied down as well.

"Bloody hell."

This time, he said it aloud, and the sound of his own voice helped to contain the growing panic. He wanted to struggle, fight the bonds someone had so expertly tied him down with, but he knew that it would be of no use. He would only end up hurting himself.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to lie perfectly still. After a while, his breathing slowed down, and he found that he no longer felt as if he were going to lose it. Opening his eyes again, he raised his head as far as he could and glanced down at himself. Someone had removed his work overall and shoes, leaving him with only his gray standard underpants. The restraints circling his wrists and ankles were padded on the inside, the leather on the outside scratched and worn, as if some former occupant of this room had rubbed them against the bedside for hours. Malcolm strained his head to see where they had been fastened to the bedframe, but as he had expected, the straps ran all the way under the mattress. Someone had made sure that he would not be able to free himself.

He laid his head back down and turned his eyes away from the glare of the lamp. He could still feel the place where the needle had pierced his skin, could still remember how he had suddenly felt as if he were floating, the voices and faces around him becoming blurry and then fading away. Before that, Anthony had cried... and Lendon had said something about a broken arm. About him breaking Anthony's arm. He hadn't meant to hurt anyone, had acted on sheer impulse when Anthony had come towards him. And he had no idea how he had done it. His body had moved as if it had a will of its own, his hands knowing exactly how and where they had to take hold, his feet bracing themselves seemingly on their own. And it had worked. He had blocked the attack, and for a short, strange second before Anthony had started to sob, he had felt something like a wild satisfaction. Malcolm remembered the moment very clearly; he had stood there, shocked and startled, and at the same time something within himself had triumphed at the thing he had done. He had stopped a potentially dangerous man from doing further harm. Somehow, it had felt very right.

Then, of course, the nurses had come down on him, and Malcolm realized that they had not seen him protecting the rest of the group from a possible danger. What they had seen were two violent patients, one of whom could obviously throw someone over his head and break his arm if he felt like it. He probably shouldn't be surprised to find himself restrained and in isolation after what he had done.

But I'm not out of my mind. I was defending myself... defending the others. Trip.

That was what it came down to, really. He could not let anything happen to Trip... somehow, he knew that it was his responsibility to protect the other man. Why that would be so, he did not know; Trip was capable and smart, and could very well stand up for himself, if need be. That changed nothing about his responsibility, however. Malcolm knew that it was his job to look out for Trip. And today, he had done his job right. Even if it had earned him a stay in the padded room... or River Valley's equivalent of it.

There was a noise from the door, and Malcolm turned his head. Maybe they had decided that he had "calmed down" again and were coming to get him out. At least that was what he hoped.

When the door opened, Malcolm knew immediately that this was not about letting him out of here. Lendon took his time, closed the door behind him and slid a panel across the small observation window so that the room was cut off from view. Only then did he turn around.

"Back with the living, Reed? About time, you've been lazing around in here all evening."

Malcolm tried his best to sound neutral. "When can I get out of here?"

Lendon grinned, sauntering a little closer. "Bored already?"

Malcolm said nothing and only looked at him.

"We-ell," the nurse drawled the word, pretending to consider, "let's see... you attacked a fellow patient, injuring him in the process, you obstructed the nursing staff and had to be sedated-"

"I didn't "obstruct" anyone!" Malcolm took a deep breath, then continued in a calmer tone: "You saw what happened. He could have killed someone-"

"Oh, and of course it's your job to prevent that." Lendon smirked, and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. "Of course Sam and I woulda been lost without Malcolm Reed savin' our asses."

He lit a cigarette and began to smoke, leaning against the wall next to the cot. Malcolm had to strain his head to look at him, and was fairly certain that this was the intended effect.

"You know..." Lendon exhaled a cloud of smoke, then slowly turned his head to look down at Malcolm. "I've seen lotsa guys like you and that pretty boy Trip. You come here and think you're so smart, so much better'n the rest of them..." He inserted the cigarette between his lips for another drag. "You ain't, though. You're no better than Anthony or, say, Toby. Someone decided to have you locked up in here, and it's probably the best thing that could've happened to you. You're losers. Crazy."

He walked over to the bed, slowly, the cigarette dangling from his fingers. Malcolm turned his eyes away and stared at the ceiling. The look on Lendon's face was beginning to unsettle him and he didn't want the nurse to know, although Lendon would probably notice all the same. He seemed too experienced in this kind of thing, had seen the same expression on too many faces not to know.

The nurse came to a halt next to the cot and stood there for a while, smoking as he looked down at Malcolm. Then he suddenly laughed.

"You know, I don't know why you two insist on makin' yourselves miserable. It's not as if you're getting out of here. Your buddy Chayton... he was a druggie. Came here droolin' and with the inside of his nose half eaten away by all the coke he'd snorted. That was six years ago. He's clean now, or at least as clean as one like him can get, but he's not getting out of here. And you know what? It's a good thing he don't."

Lendon breathed out another cloud of smoke, and Malcolm resisted the urge to turn his head away.

"Ain't no need for people like him, or you, to hang around on the streets and live off welfare money or stuff you've stolen somewhere. At least we're putting you to work here. Don't you think that's a good thing, Lord Malcolm?"

Malcolm said nothing. It wasn't as if Lendon really expected an answer.

"I guess you don't. But that doesn't really matter, does it, 'cause it ain't you calling the shots in here. And you'd better get that through to your buddy, too. One day I'll have him in here, and he'd better be a little more cooperative then. There's some things that can really hurt if you don't cooperate."

Malcolm was beginning to feel sick. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the urge to scream all the insults that were running through his head, and forced himself not to look at the man.

"You think I wouldn't do it," Lendon said, and suddenly his voice was very close to Malcolm's ear. Malcolm could smell the smoke on the man's breath as he continued in a quiet voice. "Don't you?"

Malcolm said nothing, and Lendon slapped him, hard.

"Don't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Malcolm said between his teeth.

Lendon laughed. "Right. How 'bout I show you? Would you like that, Lord Malcolm?"

He patted Malcolm's stomach and Malcolm recoiled from the touch, except that he couldn't really move away. Anger and panic were mingling in his chest, and he wished more than anything else that he could have lashed out at the man.

Lendon chuckled and took another drag from his cigarette, then blew the smoke into Malcolm's face. "Naw," he said, playfully trailing his hand down Malcolm's stomach before he finally pulled it back. It was all Malcolm could do not to shudder. "Naw, I don't think so. Not today. It's not as if we're in a hurry, right?"

Malcolm said nothing and kept his eyes averted, forcing himself to breathe.

It's not going to happen, relax, he's going to leave you alone, any time now he's going to get bored and leave you alone...

"Although I would have loved to see your buddy's face."

Malcolm heard Lendon exhale again, and out of the corner of his eye he saw that the cigarette was almost gone, except for the small, glowing end. Lendon took it out of his mouth, contemplated it for a moment, then, with sudden force, brought it down on Malcolm's bare stomach.

The pain was sharp and took Malcolm's breath away. He gasped, and Lendon turned his forefinger on the stub so that it crumbled and the glowing ash burned Malcolm's skin. Malcolm struggled and tried to shake it off, only to be slapped again for his efforts, this time with the back of Lendon's hand. He felt warm blood trickle out of his nose.

"Well," Lendon said, getting to his feet. "Maybe you need to stay in here for a while yet. Look what you did, hurt yourself thrashing around... we can't have you back in the ward in such a state. Better wait until you're feeling better."

He flicked the now cool cigarette stub off Malcolm's stomach, and Malcolm knew without looking that a blister was forming where the hot ash had touched his skin. He looked away. His eyes were burning with anger and humiliation, and he hated the fact that Lendon could see it.

The nurse laughed. "I'll see you later, Lord Malcolm. Sweet dreams."

Malcolm kept his face turned the other way when Lendon left. The burned skin on his stomach stung and his face had begun to throb where Lendon's knuckles had connected with his cheekbone. He could not remember ever feeling like this before, trembling with anger and shame at what had happened. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the physical sensations; painful as they were, they were a distraction, and the last thing he wanted to think about now was what Lendon had almost done. Or had implied he would do.

After a while, the trembling and the pain subsided, but Malcolm never moved and or opened his eyes. How ridiculous of him to think that he could protect Trip. Obviously, he could not even protect himself.

TBC…

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