Chapter One

There's No Place like Happy Volts

It didn't take long for Peter to realize that he was lying on top of a cot versus his normal twin-size bed. The rubbery material gripped uncomfortably against the exposed skin of his lower back where his starchy pajama top had ridden up. A mad chuckling sounded again, forcing him to sit up and look at his unfamiliar surroundings. He was in a small room, not unlike a prison cell with its grey color scheme and lack of, well, pretty much everything but the cot on which he had been snoozing. What made the room different from a cell was the fact that it had a plain old wooden door. It was lucky too, because if it had been bars instead, the gangly psychopath leaning against it would have probably looked quite awkward.

"Gare!" Pete exclaimed, unable to tell which rung out clearer: distress or delight.

A cruel grin spread slowly on his lips. Kowalski remembered it well. It was what Gary had looked like when he was out in the school during the day, scheming. If only it could have been that sweet fast smile he used to get when it was the two of them alone in the barely lit common room. Those days were gone though. "He'll never forgive me for siding with Jim."

"So Femme, the rumor birds really were squawking the truth," he paused for an uncontrolled giggle. Then his voice switched into the tone one reserved for a plump baby or new puppy. "You tried to take your poor wittle wife! Oh! And what a big surprise, you even messed that up."

"W-What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to convey a nonchalant attitude and failing miserably. He wasn't even a hundred percent sure where they were.

"Don't ask idiotic questions!" Gary snarled. "You and that fathead king put me here!" He calmed himself a bit before speaking up again. Slowly, methodically, he brought one of his thin hands up to his neck, tracing a line across it. "I see you tried to go out the way you lived, like a pussy."

Pete's hands flew up to his own throat, not fully believing that he would be able to feel anything even if it were there. But he could. A few small spots were rough and scratchy, stinging a bit when he touched them, but there was also an unnatural streak of slickness. He jumped to his feet. If they really were where he feared they might be, then there wouldn't be a mirror in the room. That didn't stop him from feverishly scanning wall to wall though.

The smaller teenager thought that something might have sparked in Gary's sharp eyes. Concern maybe? That was just him fantasizing though. "What's your malfunction, Femme? I worked hard to get here and gloat in your face; don't ruin it with an episode." That didn't halt Pete from frantically using one hand to pull at his unfamiliar clothes, while keeping the other tightly clasped around his neck. Why would he be there? In a room with a rubbery mattress with no sheets or blankets. "Come on Petey, you're beginning to look as though you actually belong here!"

He needed to get to a mirror and see that this was all a mistake! Someone was surely just playing a prank on him. Images from his recent surreal memories of the all-white bubble world passed through his head. "How could anyone have set that up?" The small room, although chilly enough to make his bare feet ache on the cement floor, started to get downright stifling. It wasn't big enough. Even skinny Gary was taking up too much room. Pete needed out! "How did you get in here?"

Smith cocked a brow. "Through the door?" Peter didn't take more than a second after the words were out to shove the taller boy out of the way; he'd have time later to worry about the consequences of such an action. He bolted out the door and into a strange hallway. Everything, which did not include much, appeared to be in a grey haze. It was as if the setting had been used in a black and white film and had forgotten to take off half its makeup. He didn't give himself a moment to think over what a stupid thought that was.

"Bathroom!" he blurted to the psycho who had followed him into the hallway.

Instead of giving him directions, Gary led the way to the single person washroom. It too felt dusty, closed in. Pete didn't care right then though. He charged onto the dirty tile floor and up to the large grimy mirror. He tilted back his neck and angled his head several ways to get the best look. Through the glass, he could see Gary standing against the back wall, watching him in mild bemusement. Peter could also see the pinkish white streak going across the paled olive skin of his neck. It puckered in some spots, still scabby in others. "Oh crap!" he thought, an uncomfortable sweat beginning to trace down his back. "No no no no! I can't go around with this. Will it ever go away?"

"You're all prettied up like me, Petey. Only I got mine from something truly awesome, not throwing a hissy fit."

Pete eerily noticed that many more voices carried through the littered air than there were bodies in the asylum cafeteria. Other than that haunting observation, he felt the breakfast closely mirrored the ones from Bullworth. Sitting so close to the edge of a table that half his butt hung off the bench, he nudged some kind of oat slop around with a bent spoon. A balding man with a heavy middle chowed down directly next to him, despite the table being nearly empty. Gary was the only other person seated with him. Just like at school (before he was forcibly removed), he kept five seats away from Kowalski. In the public eye, even if the public was just a bunch of mentally unwell people, Gary liked to present the image that he'd never been friendly with the usually pink-shirted dork. Sharing a meal together was much too revealing.

A few orderlies and a nurse patrolled the mostly empty cafeteria. They stood tall and prideful like the prefects that had once made life miserable for all the students of Bullworth. Having been head boy for at least four months of the new school year, Peter had finally tamed them some. He'd been their boss of sorts after all. He held no power over these guard dogs though, but went back into his submissive shell without a beat. A particularly fearsome man, knuckles as big as Pete's face decorated with hairs that looked sharp enough to cut, strolled close by. Kowalski kept his eyes adverted. A hand absently rushed to his neck, covering his new shame. "So what made you go bonkers, Femme?" Gary flicked the question at him, barely glancing in his direction.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "I'm not crazy."

Just then, the image of a dark haired teenager with a compressed face flickered into view next to Gary. If Smith had seen it, he kept quiet. Most likely, Petey really was going insane, because it was gone the next moment.

"I bet it was because you missed me so much. That's right, isn't it? Couldn't remember my doe eyes and curvaceous body well enough to fantasize anymore, so you had to come refill your pitcher."

"What are you even talking about Gary?"

"Come on, I'll let you ogle me," he said through a dark smile. "I wouldn't want you to run out of juice for tonight. There really is only one thing for lonely boys like you to do around here."

Petey went back to concentrating on his sticky food. "Don't let him get you worked up anymore. He's just a bully."

"Petey… Petey?" Gary had given up his façade of pretending not to know him. In fact, his voice was getting pretty loud. "You're gonna hurt my feelings if you don't answer me Femme!"

In a feeble kind of exasperation, Pete asked, "What do you want?"

Gary got to his feet and jumped up onto the laminate bench. "You've really changed since I've been locked up! Did you find yourself another man? Is it big ol' Jim? You cheating on me with that fatass!" By the end of his ramble, Gary was shouting. Flustered orderlies flocked around him, silently arguing over who would grab the psycho first. Pete dared to make eye contact with the boy he once tried to call his friend. He didn't see any sort of animosity, all he could find was an inwardly laugh. This was a joke to him, but why?

"He's going this far just to embarrass me?"

It was when Gary had taken his plastic bowl and threw it to the ground that Giant Knuckles tackled him to the table and pulled his arms behind his back. Gary looked at Pete and smiled at him in the way that kids do when they share secrets in the corner of the classroom during reading time.

"We shoulda never let you outta Block C!" the orderly barked.

"It only took me three weeks to convince these imbeciles to spring me," Gary called as they started marching him away. A haggard nurse followed after them, readying a syringe. "I'll check on you—" Pete heard Gary shout before they closed a heavy door. The few patients sitting around all stared at him, some with disgust, but most with a dimmed curiosity.

After breakfast Pete and the rest of the breakfast gang were herded through the halls and out into the freezing courtyard. He imagined that it was nearly nice during the other three seasons. Snow piled heavily on top of the naked trees and all the lawn was blanketed. He slipped on the zipperless marshmallow coat that had been thrust into his arms on his way out the armed doors. It helped some, but couldn't completely ease the fact that he, like the rest of the patients, were wearing the pajama-like scrubs. The others appeared not to care about that though. Several, including a young woman raving about her missing purple goose, ran through the snow to the fence. It clanged each time one of their bodies stopped against it. The rest casually trudged around, some playing with snow and others grumbling in small groups. Pete kept to the covered cement area by the door, eventually resigning himself to sitting on a cold, but mostly dry, spot. If he looked through the meshed window on the door he could see the orderly assigned to watching them. The closest patients to him discussed their need for smokes.

Peter exhaled slowly with his eyes closed. He imagined his breath coming out in the heavy curls. A biting wind came through strong with only the few spread out trees to slow it. "Looks like you're really taking advantage of your second chance." He jumped when he heard the childish voice. Partially against his will, he pried his eyelids apart. Sure enough, the stranger that talked of fates was sitting next to him.

"You're real?" Peter groaned.

"This is certainly one of the more colorful first days back I've witnessed, I'll give you that. I didn't even realize places like this still existed. At least, not this severe."

He returned to having his eyes shut, finding it easier to keep his breathing steady. It was too late in the day for him to simply be dreaming anymore, although he mused whether or not to forcibly buy such a lie. On the tops of the knees he pulled to his chest, Petey crossed his arms and leaned forward to hide his mouth against them. "Nobody can see you except for me, right?"

"Correct! Rotting your brain with all that television wasn't a complete waste of life I see."

"What's going on here?"

"Exactly what I tried to explain to you before, back when you were dead. You weren't paying attention, remember?" He could nearly hear the person (thing?) smirk. "I'm your guide, of sorts, on this lackluster journey of your new life. Fates want me to keep an eye on you, make sure you don't get too overwhelmed."

"You've done a great job of it so far."

"I tried to check in on you earlier, but you were… preoccupied with your friend. The crazy one."

At that point, Peter wasn't surprised that the being seemed to actually be able to read his mind. If all of this was really happening, he might as well try to take it with some sort of stride. And telepathy would help to make him appear less insane. "That was Gary. He's not my friend. At least, I don't think he is."

"You'd be surprised," they tossed at him. "He is unhinged though. Almost belongs in a place like this."

"Like me?"

"A few weeks in this lawsuit-waiting-to-happen institution isn't so bad. You were dead, remember? Anyways, it'll be okay. You've already survived three weeks of forced winter recess, you can get through what's left of today."

"Three weeks?"

"Oh, did I not tell you? It's almost been a month since your botched attempt. Things were pretty bland around here, and I didn't want to run a higher risk of you trying to off yourself again (that would be bad for both of us), so I just plopped you in on your last day."

"It's like starting a book on the third chapter."

"Kind of. I could fill you in on anything you've missed, if you want. I could tell you what'll happen tomorrow too, but I won't."

The cold was starting to really gnaw at his behind. Icy stabs started up his tailbone and along his spine. "How long do they keep us out here?"

They chuckled. "You really go for the deep stuff, huh? They usually stick you guys out here for twenty minutes or so. Believe it or not, but the lifelong residents actually get upset if they don't get to muck around in the yard every day, no matter the weather."

"Did I miss anything important?" His stomach started to cramp up sharply. Kowalski didn't know how much more of this insanity he could swallow in one dose.

"Well, let's see what I can remember. There was the trip to the hospital, although I skipped most of that. Those places creep me out. You made your mother cry and your father snap at her for it. And then he cried. After that your folks agreed to let the doctors ship you off here for therapy and adjusting. I don't mind your shrink. You've only met with her five or six times though. Mostly, you've been staying to yourself, eating the slop and going wherever you're schlepped."

"Like every other day of my life then."

A sound croaked out like they were going to say something and then stopped. A pause passed before they spoke up again. "If you're going to be a bucket of sunshine like this, then I'll just leave you to it. I don't need to be present to observe you anyways."

Of course he wasn't being a peach! He'd been given the most disturbing news of his life, followed by the strangest (and least comfortable) day, and less than twenty-four hours to process it. He had plenty of questions in his head and the only thing that could answer them was the one he felt was at least partially to blame for his predicament. Pete opened his eyes, expecting the see the squished face and offer a feeble apology which he wouldn't really mean. They weren't there when he looked though. Poofed to wherever the heck they came from. Back to the Fates? Peter found himself laughing at the absurdity of it.

When the orderlies called them inside, he still had a bit of a smile. It was stuck like spinach in teeth. The grin remained while he attempted to ingest a stiff stale sandwich and while he stared through a foggy window in the 'games' room. The first time it slipped was when he caught a glance at an abandoned looking corridor. Age had corroded away chunks of the concrete slab and several spots in the walls were down to just boards. There weren't even any light fixtures, just bare bulbs hanging. He found it hard to imagine that anyone could be forced to live down there, especially Gary.

His mind was still on the slim boy when he rested his head back onto his uncomfortable cot. What was with Gary? That was the question, like dozens of other nights, that remained flittering through his head while he finally fell asleep.