HEY I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE REALLY TINY UPDATES CUZ THAT'S WHAT THIS IS.
...
There's a boy who sits by me
Who other people don't seem to see
But I listen to him carefully
He says you don't give a damn about me
And I can't hear you
Over the voice in my head
Yeah yeah
The voice in my head
I hear that
Voice in my head
Nobody loves me like my invisible friend
Medication won't cure me
Keep your doctors away from me
Don't you see
You can't compete
With another man you can't even see
~Voice In My Head by the Love Me Nots
Noyce is in pretty much the same position he was in when Andrew left him last night, sitting on the thin pile of blankets that he calls a bed, studiously ignoring the tray of food in front of him. No pudding or juice, Andrew notices, most likely because the guards consider the spoon and cup to be weapons. He resists the urge to roll his eyes just as Noyce shifts and turns toward him.
"Aw, now this just isn't fair," he croaks when he looks up to see Laeddis standing outside his door, hands in pockets.
"What's that?" Andrew glances over at the guard, on watch nearby with keys and a nightstick, ready to use one or the other depending on how this goes.
"You," George rasps, "Being here when you're not really here. Fuckin' with my head... S'like... my mind's last-ditch effort to convince myself that I ain't nuts. That's what you are." His eyes are slitted suspiciously.
"No, George." The ex-Marshal shakes his head, trying to look as non-hallucinatory as possible. "I'm real. It's me- Laeddis."
"I know who the fuck you are; I'm crazy, not blind," Noyce snaps, standing- with some difficulty, thanks to the straitjacket, the material gone stiff with blood. "I recognize you; that don't make you real. You're prob'ly just poppin' up to say goodbye while I still got a whole brain to hallucinate with. Or you're the warden comin' to take me to the Lighthouse."
"I'm not the warden and I'm not a hallucination!" Andrew is torn between sympathy and irritation. He rubs his brow, changing tactics, and wraps his hand around one of the cold metal bars. "I'm here to help you, George."
"Liar," the schizophrenic man spits venomously as he takes a few staggering steps closer. "That's what you said before; that's what you always say, over and over in my head-"
Laeddis' arm shoots through the gap in the bars, grabs hold of the tattered front of the jacket and yanks, hauling Noyce closer so suddenly that the smaller man is knocked off-balance, unable to catch himself. He falls forward against the bars, supported only by the fist curled into his chest. Andrew leans in, close enough to feel the other patient's breath against his.
"Do I feel like a damn hallucination?"
Noyce shakes his head, slowly, breathing shakily. "I du- I don't know. I don't know, you could be- this could all be-"
"Take my word for it, okay?" The taller man insists, feeling exasperated and inept. "I'm real, and I'm tryin' to help you, but you gotta let me. You're not going to the Lighthouse."
George squints like he's trying to focus. "You said that. Before. When you were- when they were doin' the big game. That thing that fixed you. You crazy again, Laeddis?"
"I mean it," he replies, thankful that at least Noyce has started to use his real name. "You're not going. I promise you."
"Yeah." The bound man sounds tired, the fight and madness gone from his voice as he says, "You're a good guy, Laeddis. You really are."
Andrew's not sure if he should take that as a compliment. He's about to say... something, he's not sure what yet, but the guard's hand lands on his shoulder. He looks up, stepping away from the bars and releasing Noyce, who staggers back and regains his balance.
"I'll- I'll be back," Andrew says to him. "Tomorrow."
George doesn't answer, but watches, seemingly in deep thought, as Laeddis is led away.
"So," Cawley offers Laeddis a china glass, steam curling over the edges, and takes a seat at his desk. "How did your first 'session' go?"
Andrew lets out an exasperated noise somewhere between a groan and a chuckle. "Not... great." He peers into the dark liquid, decides what the hell, and takes a sip, only to spit it out. "Phlaah! What the hell is that shit?"
The doctor looks mildly affronted by the spray across his desk. "It's Turkish coffee. You're not supposed to drink the sediment at the bottom." He blots at the stain with a napkin. "So tell me, what went wrong?"
"Well, uh, for starters, he thought I was a hallucination." The younger man huffs and runs a hand through his hair, sitting across from the shrink. "And, well, I dunno, he just seems kind of- hesitant. To talk to me, I mean."
"That's not very surprising."
"Yeah, I know." He glances down at the cup, sets it on the desk, and adds, "I don't think that straitjacket you guys've got him in is helping any, either."
"Straitjacket?" Cawley's eyebrows arch in confusion. "I don't advocate the use of straitjackets, least of all on a self-destructive merinthophobe like Noyce."
"I dunno what that means, but he's definitely in a jacket and he definitely doesn't like it." Laeddis leans back in the chair, the old leather creaking in protest.
"Merinthophobia is the fear of being bound or tied up," the doctor explains. "George has, as we have discovered, a great aversion to any close confinement; he always manages to injure himself somehow whenever we attempt to restrain him."
"Yeah, well, he's been chewin' through the sleeves and most of the skin on his arms," Andrew says, recalling the strings of raw meat caught in the schizophrenic's teeth. "I don't think your guards got the memo about not restraining him."
Cawley sighs slowly, shaking his head. "Unfortunately, I am unable to keep constant tabs on every patient. Sometimes the wardens... take matters into their own hands. McPherson, in particular, has a habit of using his own methods of 'treatment' on some of my patients."
"His arms are fucking shredded, doc," the ex-marshal snaps. "If you let him keep at it, he'll bite through an artery and bleed out while the damn guards watch."
The psychologist nods, seeming to sympathize. "I'll pay a visit to his room this evening, have a word with the wardens and have his arms looked at."
Laeddis considers the assurance, decides it sounds like a starting point at least. "And I can talk to him tomorrow?"
"Of course. I've already informed the orderlies that you are to be permitted access to Mister Noyce, and you have free time privileges, which allow you to walk about the grounds during the day. You are free to visit him during that time."
Andrew nods. It's a start.