Chapter Two

Losing Some of Your Senses

Somehow the slightly familiar room appeared different. Poorly lit, cleaned even worse, and just as miserable as the day before, he couldn't pinpoint the difference at first. Then it hit him. He was simply seeing it from a different angle! That was all. A higher vantage point. One that would certainly be unobtainable for him naturally. Pete let out a cry when he fully realized he was looking down into the room from a ceiling corner. Something about looking downwards flooded his arm in goose bumps.

It didn't take long for him to settle to the floor. Peter didn't even get the chance to voice his confusion. He had watched his sockless feet touch down onto the cold looking floor, but he hadn't felt them push against it. And when they touched (or when he assumed they did) they fuzzied out for half a second. He tapped a foot down and watched it happen again. Repeating this action again and again, a bit more forceful each time, until he was slamming his toes down, he came to the conclusion that he couldn't feel anything. The room had been chilly before, but now there was no temperature affecting him whatsoever. And when he nervously rubbed his tongue across the fronts of his teeth, he couldn't taste any of the goobers that formed while he slept.

"No touch, no taste…" he mused aloud. A sigh of relief (a strange lazy wave in his upturned ocean of anxiety) exited his body. He could hear his voice. At least, he was pretty sure he could. It could have just been his internal voice he was hearing, he supposed.

After a bit of spazzing out in his head, he came to understand that all of it had to do with the strange person who had supposedly allowed him to live. It was a shame he hadn't been able to concentrate on the rules they had tried to give him. Pete mumbled a curse, aimed mostly at him but the pug faced teenager (or youthful adult perhaps) as well. They had come the other day to settle him down, why weren't they standing next to him when something was seriously wrong?

"Okay Pete, okay. Just breathe," he ordered himself when his breaths started to shallow with increased speed. "Just try to remember. What did they say?" To help his concentration, he closed his eyes. Only, there was not a black world with the occasional storm of red from his eyelids. He blinked slowly. There was no disturbance of his vision. Peter could tell himself to shut his eyes all he wanted, but the world around him never disappeared.

A far away pain started to speed into his head. Stress headaches normally made his stomach knot even worse, but at that moment, he welcomed it. It felt nice to feel something in the strange still world he awakened in. He concentrated on the pressure building behind his eyeballs for what could have very well been two minutes or an hour. There was no window in the room for his to judge the time of day by, if there even was time wherever he was.

When he finally calmed himself enough to get back to the situation at hand, Pete started by thinking back to that dreamlike experience in the white bubble. That person (thing?) had said something strange. Well, comparatively strange. Something about a punishment. "Two days for every one?" That could have been it; a very effective reprimand for someone wanting to die. Pride swelled through him for his memory. Until he realized he hadn't a clue what it meant.

Although he hadn't experienced his three weeks there, he really felt tired of his stuffy room. Pete decided to walk around the halls for a while, hopefully jarring some other pieces of the conversation loose. When he reached for the flat doorknob, he watched his hand go through it without disturbance. "You know, I'm not even surprised," he muttered.

True, he had just witnessed himself go through the solid knob like nothing, he still anxiously held his breath while dipping past the actual door. The hallway from before filled his vision. Faintly, as if it were coming through thin material, he could hear footsteps coming from his right. Knuckles stomped by, almost passing through Kowalski if he had not jumped back in time. Sure, he'd gotten through the door, but he didn't want that orderly in him.

Unending sights and muffled sounds. That's all he got from several laps around the A Block.

Not recalling anything more (and having boredom mix into his nerves), Peter crossed into the B Block. He noted that it was almost exactly the same as A. Several people passed him, though none seemed to be able to see him. He even called out to a twenty-something woman who'd raved about her imaginary goose the day before.

He spent some time outside, slightly enjoying being able to watch the snow sparkle in the high sun without having to shiver. Then he watched lunch take place. Gary never showed.

The way his feet danced in and out of focus while he slowly walked reminded him of the stranger. Shameful of them to leave him to figure the distant day out by himself.

It took him popping in and out of three empty rooms in Block C for Peter to figure out that he was looking for Gary. There wasn't anything really all that strange about that, he tried to comfort himself. Out of all the people jailed inside the asylum, Gary was the only one he knew by name. If anything, it would be strange to spy on one of the complete strangers. Curiously, he felt it would be unwise to leave Happy Volts all together. Perhaps he'd been dropped there for a reason.

After the fifth wrong room, he knew which one must have housed Gary, if any did at all. There were only six rooms in tact enough to have all four walls standing. The place really was miserable. A total construction zone. In fact, he had to cross a line of orange cones to even get into Block C. They hadn't been standing guard there yesterday.

The room where they locked up psycho(or was it socio?)path Gary was even more uncomfortable than the one Pete woke up in. It was considerably smaller, barely enough room for two people to lie down in. Its only furnishing was a teal mat rolled out onto the uncovered flooring. The mat reminded Petey of the ones they used to give the kids to create forts with in grade school. He almost laughed when he noticed that the walls had been protected with a squishy-looking matting like in the cartoons. Happy Volts must have housed some really violent people in its day.

Gary did nothing but lie on his mat stare at the ceiling. It wasn't a blank look either; his long brows were narrowed as he glared the ceiling down. Peter was actually okay with his not moving around much. It gave him a chance to slow down and really take everything in.

As Gary no doubt schemed in silence, Peter idly wondered how it came to this. He'd been told he tried to hang himself, but, for the life of him, had no concrete memories of doing it. Or even of buying a rope (purple, flat) or planning when to do it. Didn't energy and time go into something like that? He'd fantasized about doing something on particularly bad days, or even just during severely dull moments, but wasn't that something everyone did? A dark curiosity? He didn't think of himself as the boy to actually get up and do it. Perhaps all the strange things going on were simply a warning from God or Fates or someone to knock it off with the brief thoughts of suicide.

He spent the rest of the day with Gary. Twice Smith was escorted to the bathroom and he had been slipped a scentless hamburger on a Styrofoam tray once. That was really the most action that happened for long stretches. Dinner went untouched for some time. Gary was even more slender than he had been while attending Bullworth. Pete couldn't help noting how angular his hip bones were poking out in the space between the bottom of his shirt and the top of his pants. When he finally did go to eat (he didn't take a bite of the patty, but ate the entire top bun and a third of the bottom), Kowalski noted that he didn't feel hungry at all. And he hadn't needed to use the restroom all day.

"Okay, so I can always see, and I can sort of hear." Pete clapped his hands together, studying Gary for a reaction. There was none. His hands stung for a moment from the clap, which he also made mental note of. "I can feel some things?" That didn't sound right. He patted his shoulder firmly. "I can feel my own body, and I felt that headache." He sighed. What an arbitrary set of rules he was discovering, seeming only to serve in the fact to remind him that the day was off.

After his light dinner, Gary stood and faced a wall. At one point he raised an arm up from his side. An inkling of remembrance floated up into Pete as he watched Gary bring his hand close to the wall. His hands had always struck him. Long thin fingers, nearly feminine, confused him with personal knowledge of their strength. A year ago, his skin had been faultless and soft. Now petite cuts and stretched scars littered it. Briefly, he wondered what they were from. Then Gary lowered his arm again, fingers never quite touching the padding.

Unsure of exactly how long Gary went undisturbed, Pete assumed it was hours. Several times he watched the other boy's eyes having to struggle themselves back open. He wished he felt tired as well, growing restless from boredom.

When Gary's eyes fell and failed to rise again, Pete stood and walked (floated?) to the door. He probably could have simply gone through the wall, but couldn't fight the reflex to use the proper exit. Once out in the partially dilapidated hallway, he faced the question of where to go next. Luckily, he didn't have to concentrate on it long, for a familiar figure marched toward him.

"Jim?" Kowalski greeted with surprise. Hopkins didn't react of course, and Pete found himself stepping out of the king's way when he went for the lock on Gary's door. He fetched a skeleton key out from a pocket in his sagged jeans. It was strange to see someone use such an old key, and even stranger knowing they were in a medical facility.

After plenty of jiggling and a few mumbled curses that Pete could barely make out, Jimmy figured how to unlock the door. Once he retrieved the key, the bulky teenager turned the knob and violently shoved the door open. He wasn't concerned about sneaking. Pete slipped into the room after Jimmy.

"Finally solved the impossible problem of how to use a lock?" Gary asked from the floor. His eyes were still shut, his voice cocky as always. "I heard they have a whole team of MIT students working on that one."

"Shut up, Gary!" Pete jumped from the sudden volume of Hopkin's angered voice, leaving him several inches higher in the air. He let himself hang up there, off the floor, while Jimmy grabbed Gary's shirt. A rip started when he used it to pull the patient up and to his feet.

Gary's eyes narrowed and his smile widened. "Well, well, well, if it isn't big scary Jimmy? What do I owe for this audience with the fearsome king?"

Both of Jimmy's fists were being occupied in keeping the other boy up. Veins danced as the muscles in his hands clenched. He must have thought Gary ready to stand on his own, because he let go, sending Smith's legs crumbling underneath him, butt falling on the floor. Pete watched the back of Jimmy's head shake. Gary remained in a seated position.

"Why do I get the feeling that you're not concerned with the dogs picking up your fragrant scent?"

Not a word came from Jimmy.

"Let me just take a wild guess at this. It has to do with the story of how a particularly dumb fifteen year old broke into this prison and released a wrongly incarnated teen." Gary paused, continuing after no response was made. "They wouldn't want anyone in on this dirty secret, so they let you parade around here, no questions asked, all for the price of your silence. Well, that's just dandy, every boy dreams of unlimited access to the nut house. Are your dreams fulfilled now? All your hopes satisfied?" Still, Jimmy did not reply. Gary's voice fell flat with his next question. "So Jimmy Boy, are you here to beat me senseless or free me?"

"You deserve to rot in here," Jimmy finally said. Pete had expected more than the mumbled words, although they did have a fire behind them.

"Well, do whatever you'd like, just remember that I'm a free man when I hit eighteen."

One of Jim's heels lifted, as though he intended to take Gary up on that offer. He stayed in place though, lowering his head. Pete had to lower himself down again, creeping up right behind his old friend to hear him say, "Petey's dead. I just thought someone should tell you or something."

Kowalski gasped and started to choke, throat burning out of nowhere. He ruined the chance for him to hear Gary's first response, still able to take in his brows arching down for a moment. After a few beats he was able to regulate his breathing, pain in his throat disappearing again.

Jimmy turned to go back, walking right through Peter. His stopped walking, husky torso stiffening and knees locking. Pete himself hadn't felt anything other than a quick thought of distaste, but maybe Jimmy had? The king knotted up one fist and continued walking, until Gary interrupted him.

"I bet this reflects poorly on your reign," he said in an icy voice, following it up with a quick chuckle.

Jimmy whipped around, taking a step and a half back to Smith, who was smiling like a villain. He stopped himself and growled, "You better fucking hope I don't come back here again!" This only made Gary laugh more. Hopkins stormed out, slamming the door shut.

Gary kept laughing for a while when it was just the two of them in the room. Every second of it made Pete's stomach tighten and he wished that he could run. He could leave if he wanted, but it wouldn't feel like a true escape. Gary's laughter abruptly ended several moments after they could hear Jimmy pull the key from the door. Gary rose to his feet and faced the wall. Pete thought he was going to do that weird almost touching thing again, but he dashed that thought away the first time his fist slammed into the padding. Gary punched the wall five times, touches of a pinkish red appearing on the white rubbery material. Taking a quick pause, he then slammed his fist into it at least seven more times. Although Pete could not physically close his eyes against the reddening sight, he lost track of the count. When Gary's fist began to slip in his blood, he finally stopped.

Peter spent the rest of the night watching Gary lie on his back, eyes narrowed in concentration as he glared at the ceiling. Three lines from Gary's knuckles in the smeared blood on the wall also kept a wary eye on them.

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long. I have plenty of excuses, but I won't bother you with them.