February IX

After the first few days they had let up a little on the meds enough for Law to understand where he was and what was happening. He was furious. But more than that, he was scared. Not that he would ever acknowledge that part. His mind was still sludgy, like he was always half asleep. He couldn't concentrate. The worst part was what the help called blanking out.

If he wasn't careful, he'd just drift off. This occurred while he was awake (or what passed for it, now), sometimes even while he was moving around. Hours or minutes later, he'd suddenly be alert again. The time in between was a total blank. Which meant anything could have happened during it. Who knew what the hell they might have done to him! For that matter, what might he have been doing?

It was the meds, of course. He stared the orderly, or nurse, or whatever the fuck he was, in the eye and told him he wasn't taking them. Hell no. The guy didn't seem intimidated at all, which made Law even angrier. He just offered the little plastic cup with the pills again, an ingratiating smile frozen on his face. Law knocked them out of his hand and threw a punch at him. He was shocked by how slow and clumsy he still was. Mr. Nurse dodged him easily and pushed a button on the beeper thing clipped to his waist.

Another guy in scrubs entered, and they pushed Law down onto the mattress. One of them kneeled on him and pinned his arm down while the other gave him an injection. He stopped trying to shove Nurse Two off his chest. Didn't matter. They were in charge. He couldn't think anymore, and he couldn't fight. It was over.

Nurse Two slowly got off him, ready to spring again if he showed any signs of struggling. Law gave him a look full of hatred, then deliberately dropped his gaze. They left, and Law stared at the ceiling for hours. For the first time, he was grateful that it was easier not to think about things.

Over the weeks that followed, he left his cell only to shower and to see the shrink. He got to shower by himself for the first time in years. Undoubtedly there were cameras in there, to make sure he didn't start banging his head on the wall or something, but at least there was the illusion of privacy. He went every other day.

The shrink saw him twice a week, on what he eventually found out were Mondays and Fridays. Someone would come get him, cuff him, and take him down a couple of halls to the office. The halls were eerily quite in this area of the prison. None of the other psych inmates seemed to feel like yelling at those who walked past. There was no cursing or crying or humming, either. The other rooms might have been empty for all he ever heard or saw.

The shrink looked like a lawyer, and Law disliked him on sight. He was pushed down into the chair on the other side of the desk, and his wrists were strapped to the chair arms. "Fuckin' cowards", he muttered. No one replied.

"So, Mr. Alston, may I call you Lawrence?"

Law stared at him silently.

"Well, Lawrence, why don't you tell me a little about yourself? How did you end up here?"

"I'm not telling you anything. Fuck off."

"Well, I have to talk to you for at least half an hour, or I won't get paid. Any favorite sports teams? Political views you'd like to share?"

"No."

"You can say anything you want, whatever comes into your head. I'm legally forbidden to tell a soul. You aren't being taped, and there aren't any cameras in here or anything like that. So if you want to rant about the guards or tell someone why one group or another is fundamentally inferior, now's the time."

"Go to hell."

"Why don't you want to talk to me?"

Law slumped down in his chair and tried to cross his arms, scowling when the straps stopped him. He'd just have to wait this guy out.

"Alright, then, let me call the orderlies and you can go. I'll have to recommend that your medication be increased."

Starting up, Law said, "Why?"

"You're obviously still upset. The meds will help you relax."

"No, don't! Alright, I'll talk to you!"

"Glad to hear it. If you'd like, you can begin by telling me why the idea of receiving more medication distresses you."

"You already know why. I can't think. Why do you have to make it worse? I can't even- I can't think."

"That is a common misconception of people who aren't used to the pills. They're meant to provide a feeling of calm, that's all. If you'll just relax, you'll find you can think as well as ever."

"That's not true", Law muttered, but he was beginning to see the futility of this. Why bother telling the shrink that the meds were making him dull and weak, or that his memory of the past few days was full of gaps and he got scared even thinking about what that meant? This guy wasn't going to help. He was one of them. Best he could do now was play along and hope they didn't make it even worse. They could, he knew. Anytime they wanted.

"Tell me about how you came to be here."

Law tried to remember. He couldn't, not really, but the guy kept providing little details about the crime he was supposed to have committed. So eventually Law began making things up to fit the details. Storytelling had never been one of his talents, and he added as little as possible to what the shrink said, mostly just agreeing with him. Robbery sounded alright, and he was relieved that the guy didn't accuse him of anything too horrible. Arguing with him might have been dangerous.