The next morning I'm shocked awake when a weaselly lookin' dude with slick-backed hair throws open the door to my room without warning, offering an obnoxiously cheerful and nasal "Hello!"

I'm still out of it so this scares me out of bed, landing painfully on my hip before I even realize he's was wearing an all-white orderly outfit. Well, maybe it was originally all-white, but as he looms over me I could see stains, especially at his collar, cuffs, and pits.

"Hey pally, whatcha doin' on the floor like that?" He asks, roughly helping me to my feet.

"Like, sorry, man, you startled me." My voice is still shaky. I don't, like, do well with surprises.

"Yeah sorry about that." He shrugs in a way that conveys that he's not actually sorry at all. "I guess I'm just enthusiastic at my job."

"No big deal," I peer at his crooked name-tag. "Andrew?"

He balks, then looks at his tag. "Oh, don't call me that. Everybody just calls me Squiggy. Andrew… so formal."

"That's cool, man," I nod. "I just go by Shaggy."

"Hey, look at us!" He grabs me in a sudden side-hug. "Squiggy and Shaggy! We're gonna be best pals, I can tell. You stick with me, Shaggy, I been here a long time."

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Yeah, I know all the ins and outs of this place. You wanna know my secret?"

"Like, what?"

He leans in, his breath smelling faintly of tuna. "You gotta screw up just enough that nobody gives you real responsibility, but not so much that they shitcan you."

I nod, sensing a kindred spirit. "Hey, that's basically my motto, man."

He slaps me on the shoulder, a little too enthusiastically. "See? I knew we was gonna be friends. Now g'wan, get dressed, I gotta take you for meds and then to group."

"Meds?" I ask, pulling off the shirt I'd been sleeping in and pulling on an identical fresh white t-shirt. Like, everything in the dresser is the same - white shirt, white pants. Guess that'd keep it simple, but I'm not sure I want to wear the same outfit every day.

"Drugs!" Squiggy waggles his eyebrows, then lowers his voice. "I can tell you're a good guy, Shaggy, so I can tell you that if you're gettin' pills you don't want, or not getting pills you do want, I can hook you up. I do a little… let's say… facilitation between the patients."

I chuckle nervously, not wanting to get wrapped up in anything illegal. "Yeah, cool, I'll let you know. What's, ah, what's group?"

"Group therapy!" He holds the door open for me. "You sit in a little circle. With all the other nutjobs… sorry, patients… and you talk about how you feel."

I stop. "I don't know if I can…"

He pushes me out the door and into the hall. "Nah, don't worry about it. I seen guys like you just keep quiet all the time, they don't care. You just gotta, you know, be there."

"Oh… okay."

I follow him as he walks backwards down the hall. "And I gotta say, Shaggo, you lucked out. This is a desegregated ward. Co. Ed."

"Co-what?"

"You got laaaaaydeeeees up in here," he half-sings. "And some of 'em don't look too bad under all the crazy… if you know what I mean."

"Oh." That nervous feeling returns.

"You get it?" He asks, waggling his eyebrows. "You get it? Eh? Eh? Ladies?"

"Yeah, no, man, I think I get it."

"Andrew." The woman's voice comes from behind him - emotionless but disappointed at the same time.

Squiggy's hunched posture immediately shoots straight as if a live wire passes through him. He turns, slowly, coming face to face with a slightly heavyset matronly woman in her late forties, wearing a crisp white nurse's uniform and a stern expression, piercing eyes fixed on the orderly.

He hems and haws a few seconds before managing to speak. "Nurse Ratched!"

Her eyes flicker to me, briefly, then zero in back on the orderly. "You need to watch where you're going, Andrew. I've told you this several times.

"Yes sir, ma'am, Nurse Ratched." He babbles, terrified, and I could see why. This woman is heavy scary… if she looked at me the way she was looking at him, like he was something unfortunate she'd stepped in, I would just, like, lie down and die right there.

"You're always telling me, and I… I listen."

She taps a finger on the cart she's pushing, covered in little cups. "I've got a tray of patient specimens here, Andrew. If I hadn't seen you in time, you'd have stumbled right into me, and ended up with various fluids all over your nice clean… well, your uniform. We wouldn't want that, now would we?"

Squiggy's face pales and for a second I think he's going to run. Hell, for a second I think I'm going to run. "No… no, no, of course not, Nurse Ratched."

"Good." She gives me the briefest of nods, then continues down the hall away from us.

As soon as she's out of earshot, I turn to the orderly. "Whoa, man, that was-"

He holds up a hand. "I know! I know! Let's just… get you your meds." He continues on down the corridor, subdued and quiet, and that alone is almost worth the confrontation with the terrifying nurse, man.

But really… I'm no better than this guy. I'm just as big a coward. Maybe I don't deserve a better class of friends… or rather, good people don't deserve being stuck with guys like us.

Doctor Loomis is standing with another doctor when Squiggy leads me to the pickup window. He nods at us both. "Shaggy. Mr. Squiggman."

"Hey Doc. And Doc." He turns to me. "You hang here a second, I'll go get your meds."

The second doctor - maybe a decade younger than Loomis, taller and lanky with a gaunt face, looks more like a scientist than a headshrinker - gives me a look. "Ah, this is the patient you were telling me about, Samuel? Mr. Rogers?"

"Just, like, Shaggy, man," I say, nervous. I don't like the way he's talking about me like I'm not there.

"This is Doctor Jessup, Shaggy," Doctor Loomis introduces us. "Doctor Jessup is the head of experimental psychiatric treatments here at the hospital."

"Experimental treatments?" My eyes widen. This sounds like some kind of mad scientist shit, and I hate mad scientist shit. They always have, like, test tubes and weird little guys helping them.

"Indeed." Interest flickers in Jessup's eyes. "I think your patient here might be a candidate for my regression therapy, Samuel."

Loomis shakes his head. "We need to allow Mr. Rogers the space to build trust slowly. Accelerated or invasive therapies could cause a complete break… he needs to be eased out of his avoidance patterns, not forced through them."

"Like, avoidance what?" I ask, not liking the sound of any of this.

Jessup smiles, a hand on Loomis's shoulder. "Trust me, Sam, I understand the instinct to move cautiously. But Mr. Roger's case is extraordinary. This isn't run of the mill trauma - according to your own notes, he's paralyzed by fear and self-blame. Talk therapy isn't going to push him out of the trauma lock."

I don't like the grin spreading across his face. "I'm in a what?"

Jessup leans in, looming over Loomis. "My method goes beyond words. Sensory deprivation, combined with the psychoactive properties of heimia salicifolia, opens new neural pathways that allow patients to confront their deepest fears directly. No running. No hiding. Shaggy could experience a breakthrough in days, not months. Talk therapy could take years to make him functional again… and with a case like his, we don't have that kind of time."

"Wait, what kind of time don't I have?" My head's spinning with all the words, man. Like, I'm no square. I've experimented with altered states of consciousness, or whatever. Acid isn't really my bag, but I did see Leary at Berkley. I've listened to Jefferson Airplane.

"Imagine the clarity he'd gain, Sam." Jessup continues talking past me. "We can pull him out of his fear, without waiting for him to come to us."

Doctor Loomis moves Doctor Jessup's hand off of his shoulder. "What you're describing is dangerous, Edward. You're playing with powerful forces, and we don't fully understand how the mind reacts to that kind of intense exposure. If Shaggy goes too deeply into those memories, we could lose him entirely."

Jessup groans. "Not all your patients are Michael, Samuel…" he stops, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry, that was uncalled for. This is clearly very important to both of us."

He turns to me, a smile on his face that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Look, Shaggy, I know you're scared. But this decision is ultimately yours - we can only advise you. And I promise, my method could get you on your feet and out of here - fast. I've seen patients break free from their trauma in ways we never thought possible."

My eyes widen at the idea of getting past this and being done with it all at once, but a lot of what Jessup is talking about frankly terrifies me.

He puts a hand on my shoulder. "It's your decision, son. You won't be alone in this. I'll guide you through the process at a house I'm renting for the purpose near Mount Hood. Staying here, doing nothing but talk… it'll only drag things out. Don't you just want to be done with this?"

The pressure between my ears increases with every word he says, like the drumming of my heartbeat, like a killer's footsteps drawing closer to the van I'm hiding under, and I want to agree just to get him to shut up and go away.

Doctor Loomis gently removes Jessup's hand. "Shaggy, you don't need to rush into a decision. You've been through more than most people can even imagine. There's no need to relive it all at once. Our talk therapy will give you the time you need to heal at your own pace. One day at a time. There's no need to risk your peace of mind with something so experimental."

The pressure abates, my heartbeat slows.

My eyes flicker to Jessup, knowing I'm going t0 disappoint him, afraid of his stern frown, but feeling bolstered by Loomis's support. "I- I don't know, man… the idea of just… diving into it, it freaks me out. I don't think I could deal with that right now?" I look away, focused on the chain of Loomis's watch leading to the pocket of his vest. "Maybe talking is better. For now. I don't want to… lose myself."

Jessup forces a smile. "Very well, Shaggy. But if you feel like you're ready for something more… just let me know."

I can hear the anger in his steps as he heads away, and I want to run back to my room.

Loomis places a hand on my elbow. "This is for the best, Shaggy. Slow and steady. One step at a time."

Just as I'm feeling a bit calmer, that nasally high-pitched voice shatters my calm as Squiggy leaps out of the nurse's station, rattling a paper cup. "Who wants some piii-iiils?"

I grab them, toss them in my mouth, dry swallow them.

"Hey, buddy, hey, I got some water for you!" He seems shocked.

"It's cool man, I been eating without chewing for years. Down the hatch!" I chuckle.

"That's a cool trick, man," Squiggy cheers.

Loomis just shakes his head, muttering something about food insecurity. "Come along, Shaggy, let's get you to your group therapy."