This morning, Fred was handed a file, and told that he should talk to the latest patient, Edgar Teglee.
It had been a week since the Gloria incident. She had calmed down, was put back into her old room, straightjacket removed, and currently had a nightlight. She still was a tad bitter at Fred though. Fred did not like patients being mad at him. Especially the ones with anger problems, like Gloria. It meant the chance of being shanked numerous times in the back was larger than usual. So he did not want to anger this patient.
Edgar was a man a good twenty years older than Fred, with tattoos covering his strong-looking body, some rather well-kept hair and a mustache, both with some wisps of gray in them. According to the notes, he was arrested for assault, assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder.
The chance of getting killed today was already at 70 percent, and he had only been here ten minutes.
Still, he had to do his job. So, hands trembling, Fred opened the door, praying that the guy hadn't found a way to sharpen his kitchen utensils...
"Ah, the orderly! I thought you would, eh, never show up." said a kindly man sitting on his bed in the dingy asylum room. This was not Edgar Teglee. It couldn't be. Too bright and cheery sounding, not that of a man who tried to kill someone. But the tattoos and mustache matched, as did the description of a Spanish accent. But this was the guy who pistol whipped someone?
"Uh, do you need anything, sir?"
Edgar's voice whacked him out of his thoughts. "Oh, it's nothing. I just need to understand why you are here and such..." He really needed to stop staring when he was thinking.
"Ah, yes that." Edgar's brow furrowed. "Well, they insulted my art."
And so it begins, Fred thought.
"So, you're an artist?" Fred said. Dumb question, but it'd get him talking.
"Yes, a very determined one at that. But lately, I've been having, uh... Oh, what to call it.. Artist's block, I suppose." Edgar replied.
"Artist's block. What do you mean by that?"
"Well, you see, Mr. Orderly, I have only been able to paint one thing: Bull fights."
"Bullfights." Fred said, trying to mask his disbelief.
"Yes, exactly." Edgar said. "And I despise it."
Fred took a deep breath. Edgar is getting irritated, tred gently, he told himself. "Well, do you have any idea how it might have started, this obsession..." He brought up the clipboard and jotted down a few quick notes about his art and the bullfights.
"Indeed, I do." Edgar sighed. "It was a long time ago, back in my old home.I was in love with the most beautiful seorita in the world, my Lampita Pasionado... I was so lucky to have her fall in love with a lowly painter like me..."
Fred quickly jotted down "Trouble with love."
"And then, there was this.. Matador, Dingo Inflagrante. He commissioned me to draw his portrait, and he met Lampita. And he charmed her with his looks, and my poor love gave in, and he took my senorita away from me." he said sadly.
Fred made a quick note, "Bitter about love."
"Well, Mr. Teglee, I will be sure to sure discuss this with the doctors and put you in the correct form of therepy." Fred said, scratching down a few more notes.
"Thank you, mister orderly. I will try and stay calm until then." Edgar said, showing a bit of a smile. Fred backed out of the room and locked the door, thought " What a nice guy," then fell back on the metal door, clutched the clipboard tightly to his chest, and began breathing heavily.
Holy hell. Hoooooollllllly hell. He was still alive. No broken bones, scrapes, or bruises. He survived an encounter with a guy who could probably benchpress 250 pounds! Oh wow, how the hell did he do that...
"Bonaparte? Are you alright?" came a voice. Fred straightened up and tried to regulate his breathing. It was Doctor Thorne, one of the head doctors, in her thick glasses and white labcoat glory.
"Uh. Yes. Yes! I'm perfectly fine, doctor." Fred stuttered.
"Alright then. What do you think we should do with Mister Teglee in there?" she said, tilting her head to the side.
"Uhm.. Well, we should probably put him in art therapy, it'd be the best for him." he said, regaining his composure.
"Hrm. Art therapy. I'll take your word for it, Bonaparte." she said. She turned sharply, and walked down the corridor.
Goddamn. He just survived a strongman-of-a-patient and the doctor. He couldn't handle this much excitement in one day!
Besides Edgar, it was a relatively normal day at the asylum and went by quickly. Fred began to pack the papers back into his briefcase before walking home, still thinking about what board game he should tempt the unresponsive patients with.
"Mr. Bonaparte, I am glad I caught you." Fred froze Doctor Thorne's voice was like a knife to the heart. "I put Edgar in art therapy today, like you said. He smashed a canvas board over an employee's head."
Craaaap.
"Also, he drew this. I want an explanation." she said, shoving a piece of paper into his hand.
It was a picture of Fred in pencil, complete with Edgar's signature at the bottom. A closeup of his head, every detail correct. He was impressed.
"Check. The. Back." Doctor Thorne's angry voice hurt even more than her normal, cold one. He flipped the page.
A bullfight. Fred did his best to suppress a chuckle.
"Well?" The Doctor was getting more annoyed by the second. Fred smiled and packed the picture into his briefcase.
"He's coping." he said quite matter-of-factly.
Chapter two, oh yeah. I think I did quite well. Up next will probably be Boyd, since I've already got some nice ideas for him. Plus, he's so damn fun to write.