#my previous psychiatrist KNEW without me telling him because they took me to the hospital at the same university that program was at

[ghoulodont]

guys this is so humiliating and embarrassing but i want to talk about it and you already know some of it anyway. basically my psychotic emergency room experience that ive talked about on here was brought about by edibles and i cant ever say that because it makes it seem like something it really wasnt. i took a normal reasonable amount & reacted completely differently than in the past. they thought i was just really really high off 1000000mg of weed. honestly it was a blessing because there was no mental health treatment involved and it could have been way worse for me. they just let me leave in the morning when i regained contact with reality

[slashersgostabbystabstab]

Life in the Shadows (Michael Myers x Reader)

I know I never really got back into writing because I never really got back the motivation after certain things happened. But hey, I started this fic who knows when ago and actually got the motivation to finish it. Hopefully it’s good, I kinda just skimmed thorugh it because I have a hard time reading my own writings and like I said, a good portion of this was written a good while ago and the rest is what I wrote recently. Anyways, have some Michael Myers

Plot: Michael Myers has his eye set on a person he met during his time at Smith’s Grove. Takes place after the second Halloween movie, with a fewe things changed to fit the narrative.

Word Count: 4,866

Warnings: Not much really, mentions of n*dity but nothing explicit. The usual stalking from Michael, mentions of killing obviously. Loomis being Loomis.

The face of Halloween was now nothing more than a white veneer, a haunting sight to any that lay eyes upon it.

Fifteen years ago, not very many felt the terror they started to feel just a week ago. Fifteen years ago, it was nothing but a young boy and his deceased sister. Fifteen years ago, nobody would have expected such a Halloween.

“Thirteen murders in two days. On Halloween night, twenty-one year old Michael Myers escaped from Smiths Grove Sanitarium before stealing from a local hardware store in quiet Haddonfield.”

Michael Myers, that was the name that escaped so many fifteen years ago but ceased soon after when nobody no longer cared.

“At just six years old Michael Myers murdered his elder sister Judith Myers in cold blood, his lust for blood growing the following fifteen years. This past Halloween, only a single of the escapee’s victims survived the attack. Seventeen year old Laurie Strode remains in Haddonfield Memorial Hospital, nearly recovered from the physical and emotional trauma the so-called ‘Boogeyman’ inflicted on her.”

And even this time, their fear grew into a void once a secret was revealed to the public. Nobody feared the Boogeyman; what was there to worry about when they were not who he was after?

“After having survived the home invasion, Strode had to endure yet another attack from the masked fiend who followed her to the hospital the same night. Whilst there, Myers murdered nine people in the hospital, adding on to the previous four. In the end, Strode survived the massacre when Myers’ psychologist arrived to shoot him down and burn him in the hospital’s oxygen room.”

Word spread around. Word that there was another member in the Myers’ family, that only she was the one the murderer was after.

“But in the end, no charred body was recovered.”

Little had the people known, the Shape had his eye on more than one.

“Only a week has gone by but Haddonfield still asks, what could have happened to this malicious hunter?”

Void-like eyes stared through the open window, standing in place with hands laying at each side. Heavy breathing was heard behind the mask, only coming near would allow people to hear such breaths.

Eyes cared not for those that sat on the other side of the glass, sitting on their  couch ever so…vulnerable.

Oblivious.

Helpless.

Naive.

The shape stood in place, eyes staring into the television set in front of them. On it, the picture of a young blonde, the picture taken after the second attack.

Head soon turned before its body followed, calmly striding down a self-made path through the backyard of these unknowing residents who never realized there was someone watching their  every move for more than a few minutes.

The streets of Orange Grove Avenue was nothing but an empty street, nobody in sight unless it was very necessary to go out. Even without the lack of fear, most preferred that their  children would remain at home. Adults thought the same for themselves, thoughts plagued with the idea of accidentally coming across a bloody sight that would end with them as a murdered witness.

Through hedges and trees strolled the figure, never noticed by those who peeked through their closed curtains. The voids of his mask stared straight ahead, eventually looking to the side when their  head finally turned.

From behind a tree, the shape stalked the source from whence a sound was heard.

A door opened to reveal another shape, one whose hand tightly clutched onto a worn out satchel before she gently set it on the ground. Hand now reached into the pocket of her  jacket, making sure that nothing was forgotten back inside her  home, nodding in satisfaction once she pulled out her keys.

The shape stood in the distance, keeping a calm yet very attentive stance as he concealed himself with a tree across the street from the home he watched. He saw the person fumble a bit with her  pocket, shaking soon ceasing before she lifted her head ever so slowly.

Eyes glanced to the left and then the right, head now being the one to move while an uneasy feeling overcame her. A deep feeling of trepidation soon hit when her  eyes landed on the tree standing in the distance, half of a man’s body revealed with a face so pale it looked unreal in her  perspective.

Once again, a shock came when she felt a vibration and heard a jingle, making her look down at her  jacket where her  phone rang.

She pulled out the phone before answering it, placing it against her  ear while looking back up at the tree. Nothing nor anybody stood there, leaving that uneasy feeling while she now shut and locked the door to then make her  way to her  car.

Before actually starting it, she turned to look behind, seeing nothing again. So, with her  phone on its holder, she started the car and drove away, never realizing that darkened eyes were watching from a distance.

_____________

In an isolated property where only light hit stood the shape, behind a fence that no longer proved to serve its purpose. Through it he watched an empty field with nothing but tables for those cursed inside to sit whenever breaks were given. Beyond this empty space was the large building that could have never contained him.

He walked alongside the fence, turning to the right when he reached the building’s other perimeter. From his location, he saw her again.

This time, the person wore a badge on her  jacket as she got out of her car. With her satchel once again in her  hand, she locked the car before making her way through the parking lot until reaching the sidewalk that would lead her to the front entrance of the building. Before continuing, however, she paused her   walking to look at the sign reading a damaged “Smith’s Grove   Sanitarium”. With a shake of her  head, she followed the path before finally walking into the building.

Behind some bushes, the shape watched it all until the person was no more behind darkened glass. He stood there, breaths now soft as she allowed the sound of his heart pumping hard with adrenaline. It was always said that the shape felt nothing, he was but a vessel containing evil alone. But somehow, there was something in him that not even the “best” of psychologists could discover in such a being.

“Looking into those eyes alone is dangerous enough.”

“Why is that?”

“They are the devil’s eyes. There is nothing but evil behind them.”

Such words were enough to make one turn, though the sound of voices coming from outside were also sufficient.

In a room deep inside the corridors of Smith’s Grove was a bed. To the surprise of many it proved to be one of the tidiest beds ever; sheets never undone save for a few wrinkles every now and then.

On the bed sat the patient not many dared near, the story of what he did years back sending chills down the staff’s spines.

“D…devil’s eyes? Dr. Loomis, you can’t be serious. I’ve heard all kinds of things from you, but this is new.”

From the bed, the patient listened ever so attentively, yet he did so without a care in the world. Eyes stared into the nothingness of the white wall before him while his body remained still and hunched over.

The jingling of keys sounded outside of the room, the sound loud enough to echo through the ever so silent hallways of the sanitarium. Soon enough the creaking of the room’s door followed; in the doorway stood two figures who silently peered inside.

One remained on the spot while the other immediately strode in without a care, ignoring the slight worry he had inside. A worry not about him necessarily, but more like the one he had for others such as the person who had accompanied him, and the ones who ran the sanitarium without any concern.

“Michael.” The man now stood at the foot of the bed, staring at the patient sitting on the bed.

The patient never bothered to look any other way, eyes fixated on the wall . Almost as if he wasn’t seeing it…instead, looking past it.

Even then, the man knew that he was aware of his guests.

“Maybe you should leave.”

“Excuse me?” the doctor turned to the doorway, still keeping his distance from the patient who, in the slightest and unnoticable bit, turned his head to the side.

“I’m just saying, I’ve seen that Michael doesn’t exactly…” the other person took a step inside, glancing over at the patient. “React when you’re around.”

“I am the only one in this sanitarium who can approach Michael without being injured.” Loomis now stepped towards her, once again not realizing that the patient’s head had turned even more. “I am his doctor and you are nothing but a temporary transfer.”

“I know-”

“You are in no place to be telling me what to do with Myers.” Loomis sternly spoke, then reaching a hand out to the other individual who turned away with a sigh. “Where are the others?”

“They’re on their   way.” she spoke as she handed a clipboard over to the psychiatrist that immediately looked over the papers in hand.

“Once they’re here, you may excuse yourself.”

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” Loomis’  frown deepened.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“Is that so?”

“My purpose is to examine Michael because your incompetent ass can’t do so.”

Now this had noticeably riled up Loomis who had unconsciously turned his back on his patient, the latter still ever so slightly paying attention to the conversation.

“I know you don’t like working with me Loomis, I learned that along the way. I point out the reality while you continue to insist on foolish tales only a man like you can spin.” the person spat at the elderly man who could not believe the way he was being spoken to. “My tasks threaten your job, even if I only do the medical work. A man like you deserves and could land a spot in an institution such as this one with your lunatic rambles. So either step down and let me do my job, or I’ll have a chat of my own with the administration.”

Loomis could only eye this…unfortunate individual. Examining the as if he were examining a patient of his, looking for any flaws he could spur into a tale of demons and evil. To him, this temporary associate was no more than a burden in between him and Michael. Him and the Devil himself, waiting to unleash hell.

He began making his way out of the room, but not before he glanced back at Michael who had clearly been staring at the white of his room’s walls this entire time. Not a single care or thought in the world.

“I’ll have you packing your things before you even know it.” he promised while slamming the clipboard onto the nurse’s chest, lips near her  ear as she stepped away from him, realizing that the other staff had come by. For the first time since Michael had been incarcerated, Loomis didn’t bother to remain in the room.

“Alright Mikey,” one of the two guards that arrived spoke out. “You know how this goes.”

The apparent leader of the pair had handcuffs ready, these being placed on Michael’s wrists as he made it seem like he still stared at the wall.

Michael ignored every word and action that came from the guards, eyes instead focused on the staff member who was still in the room. Brown locks concealed his dark gaze, eyes following her  fingers that reached into the pocket of her  uniform trousers. From it, a pen was pulled out.

Pen and paper now connected as the nurse wrote notes, or perhaps random scribbles due to her  not being much to report at the moment.

It was a rather funny pen. A fountain pen is what it was. Somewhat girthy, made out of cheap plastic. Pink.

One of the only pieces of color Michael ever really saw inside the sanatorium, the only other times being when Loomis conducted certain examinations or when Michael was fed.

Black ink spilled from the pen and onto the paper, nothing more than a tool to further his years in this building. Black ink that came from this funny little pen, providing the only tint of life in the darkness of these white walls that caged Michael.

Black ink…spilling…merging with the warm crimson from inside the skin. It was almost lovely, the thought of a brightly colored tool, impaling the soft skin of this particular caretaker.

“You ready, doc?”

“It’s nurse.” Michael’s staring was interrupted as he felt hands grab onto his arms, hoisting him up from the bed before he nearly came face to face with his nurse. “And yes, we can take him now. Loomis should be waiting for us, if he hasn’t decided to throw a fit in his office.”

“You and the old guy don’t care much for each other, huh?” a guard spoke up as she followed behind the nurse, Michael sandwiched between the men who led him through the halls.

“I don’t care for any so-called psychologist who runs his mouth like a madman. I don’t think he’s qualified to be a psychologist.”

“Uh huh.” one of the guards replied, the words not having gone through his head properly, as he was another one of the many members who worked without giving a damn about the environment they surrounded themselves in.

“Loomis is a bitch, to put it simple.” the nurse rolled her  eyes, hearing the jingling of keys that came from the guards as well as the cuffs that contained Michael. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, can’t properly care for a patient. I don’t know how he even takes care of himself.”

No more words came from any of the staff as her and Michael’s footsteps echoed through the empty hallways she walked through. Were it not for the continuous jingling, one could have even come to hear Michael’s breaths.

“What now?”

“Michael takes a seat, and we wait for Loomis. You two can leave once he’s here, unless he instructs otherwise.” the nurse scanned the empty room where only a metallic table and two chairs sat in the middle. Behind one of the chairs was a large mirror, one that obviously served for watching whatever interaction occurred inside. It only showed how not-so credible Loomis’ objections were.

“Actually,” a new voice sounded, making everyone but Michael look to the open door, for another nurse had come by.  “I will be staying in your place for a moment. You’re needed elsewhere.”

“Where, exactly? I can’t leave Michael alone with a nurse he’s not used to seeing.”

“I doubt he’ll care much about the change.” this other nurse stated as she made her way into the room, reaching out to grab the clipboard. “The higher ups just want to have a quick conversation.”

“It’s because of Loomis, isn’t it? That bastard.”

“Just deal with it quickly, I have other patients that actually need attending.”

“Alright, just…”

Michael had been seated in the chair opposite from the mirror on the wall, cuffed hands forcibly placed on the table in front of him as his head remained lowered.

“Just treat him right. Please.”

“Sure thing.” the nurse uttered, watching the other walk out of the room.

“What, is someone catching feelings for little ol’ Mikey?” one of the guards snickered once she was out of sight, the two guards chuckling among themselves while the remaining nurse rolled her eyes.

“Hope not, could send her back to the hospital she came from. Even then, dunno what anyone would see in a crazy like Myers.”

And all the while the staff paid no mind to the patient, Michael had actually turned his head.

Eyes looked to the empty and open doorway, almost as if waiting for his nurse to return.

With eyes fixated on the building, the shape now watched as the main doors opened once more. From the doors came the nurse, not having spent much time inside. If she had spent this little in the building on a night she were meant to work, something had changed.

He watched from a distance, taking notice of the lack of Smith’s Grove badge. He didn’t have to eavesdrop on any conversation to know what had gone on.

There was no intention of hiding himself this time, but he also didn’t care if his presence was made known. All that mattered was her, watching every move as she trudged down the sidewalk with her  satchel tightly grasped into.

Despite the distance between the two, it was almost as if this nurse- former nurse could feel him breathing right behind her  neck.

She ceased her walking, nails now digging into her  bag as she scanned her  surroundings, feeling eyes on her…

Beyond the yards of Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, beyond the fence surrounding the perimeter, her  eyes met with the darkest eyes, ever so slightly shaded from the light. Or at least, that was what her  eyes saw, somehow being able to make out…

“The Devil’s Eyes.” he read her  lips murmur, spoken in complete disbelief.

He remained in place, body as stiff as ever as he only…examined, just like she did to him many times.

Was it a figment of her  imagination? Was Michael Myers, the now so-called Boogeyman, really just…watching?

Whatever the answer, he saw her hurriedly threading to the parking lot, immediately finding her  vehicle which she hopped into after struggling to find her  keys. Once inside, she wasted no more time, her  next destination being home.

_____________

She wasn’t up to very much. She was merely…sitting.

Eating.

Thinking.

Thinking more than him no doubt, especially as he stood by the window that led into the brightly lit kitchen. Eyes stared into the glass, watching the individual who did nothing but sit with a slice of bread in hand. In the other, a rather large kitchen knife, the first one that she had pulled out from her  knife block.

She was clearly unbothered by things, but there was still a sort of affliction present on her  features.

He watched her bite into the piece of bread she had cut for herself, ever so slowly chewing the bit. her  lips, moisturized with a lick of her   lips that rid of all the tiny crumbs that even he was able to perceive from the distance he stood at.

He never blinked, merely watched with an intensity that brought a chill down her  spine.

Her eyes widened at the strange feeling of being watched, whipping her   head around as she searched for a possible answer. But just like every other time, there was nothing or nobody that could have been keeping an eye on her.

“I’m going insane…” she mumbled to herself, setting down her  piece of bread before pushing her  seat out to stand and approach the kitchen sink. In her  hand was the knife, this being washed up immediately, ever so carefully.

It gleamed under the kitchen’s light, almost making a sound as if it were a sword drawn from its scabbard.

“This was all it took.”

A kitchen knife was all it took to take the many lives of many innocents. A kitchen knife that glinted under almost anything. A kitchen knife that reflected dark pools of that made one stare into oblivion.

Once again, she spun around, this time in a panic. Through the knife she had seen the white veneer, staring right back at her with such vehemence. But alas, just like every time, nothing stood at the window, it was clearly only a figment of her  imagination. Nothing but an apparition.

“I’ve heard wondrous things about you.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I’m just like any other nurse. I’m sure anyone else could do this job.”

“You’re too humble. I’ve heard about your handling of Billy and, it’s impressed me and other nurses.”

Smith’s Grove Sanitarium, you weren’t sure why an institution such as this one specifically requested someone with your expertise. Someone apparently “perfectly skilled” as a nurse, whatever that meant. It was one of the staff members who had desired a nurse such as yourself, a nurse who would be personally assigned to Michael Audrey Myers.

“And…what is so, special, about this patient?”

“If I’m being honest, I’m not entirely sure.” your new but temporary supervisor, Dr. Wynn,  admitted as he walked you down the corridors of the sanitarium. “Myers’ primary psychologist, Dr. Samuel Loomis, is particularly…wary.”

“Of his own patient? I mean, I can understand but, aren’t patients like Michael restrained?”

“That’s not it. Samuel apparently sees something in Michael. Believes there is no redeeming, that Michael is only…waiting.”

“For…?”

“I don’t know, Samuel’s lectures tend to disturb me and some of the other staff at times. We don’t always pay much attention to his rants.” the man gave a shrug, turning on his heel as he and you made it to a door that was marked with a sign reading “M. MYERS”. “We worry that because of this apprehension, that he doesn’t properly care for Michael. We can’t exactly have a patient pass due to lack of care.”

“Of course.”

“You see,” he held his breath for a moment, soon enough releasing it. “Samuel doesn’t view Michael as a human being. Has made many suggestions already, but we don’t see Michael posing as the threat he believes he is.”

You nodded at these words, having seen similar stories as you grew up.

“Anyways, I’d formally like to introduce you to Michael.”

The white door disappeared from your view after being unlocked and opened, revealing a young male who was merely…sitting.

“Michael, I’d like you to meet your new, personal nurse…”

Words became nothing as your eyes landed on this man who sat at the edge of his bed, back curved as he leaned and looked forwards. Thick, chocolate curls hid the eyes that peered at the empty wall, almost as if they examined every inch of paint.

Hands were placed on his knees as the tips of his fingers dug into the cloth of his ivory pants. He seemed so tense, yet so calm somehow. There was no change in his staring as he never lifted his gaze, only listening to the words that spewed from the staff’s lips.

“Every day from now on, you will be seeing her. She is here for your every need.”

You snapped back to your senses after feeling a hand clasp onto your shoulder, making you turn to Dr. Wynn who gave you a comforting smile.

“Right,” you offered a minimal smile before turning back to Michael who had still not moved. Not a single bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Michael. I look forward to helping you as best as I can.”

“I’ll make sure to have you introduced to Samuel after I chat with you in my office.”

“Sounds good.” you slightly nodded, giving Michael one last look before finally stepping out of the room. “See you soon.”

Dr. Wynn followed suit, closing the door the moment he had stepped out as well. Had he taken even the quickest peek into the miniature window that was on the door, he would have noticed the glance Michael had given you.

Nobody ever noticed these small things. Not even you.

Coming back to reality, she shook her head just a bit. Perhaps it was the sleep that was getting to her.

Putting out of mind the slight scare she had just experienced, she turned her attention back to the empty kitchen sink. There were no more dishes, all wet and clean on the drying rack. All but…the kitchen knife.

Had she misplaced it? No, how could she have so easily lost a knife while lost in her own thoughts?

“Weird,” she spoke to herself, now realizing that the large knife lay at the end of the counter. “I don’t remember leaving it there.”

All the doors and windows were locked, she made sure to check every single thing more than once if there really was a danger lurking around. Perhaps she did leave the knife at the end of the counter, perhaps it was during her slight moment of remembering.

He saw her shake her head, putting aside her thoughts and worries after taking the knife and placing it inside its appropriate spot. Soon after, she removed her top and made her way out of the kitchen, the shape following suit as best as he could-

-inside the home.

After the top was removed, her jeans were next once she was in the bathroom of her house.

A heat formed in the room as she turned the knob of her shower, warm water raining over the empty floor of the bathtub. The sound of the water hitting the floor sufficed in hiding his footsteps, his deep breathing.

He easily went unnoticed, dark eyes fixated on the woman as she removed the rest of her clothing.  Eyes admired every curve of her now bare body, taking notes of every bit and piece of skin. So soft. So warm. So…exposed and unguarded.

There was nothing more than glass doors that divided him and her; a pair of doors being the only thing standing between him and his prey. His head became tilted at the sound of her voice, a song from another time escaping her lips as she sang to herself, never realizing that she had an uninvited audience.

Her body in full view through the glass, only slightly distorted by the glass’ design.

His fists clenched as he was filled with an impulse, an unwavering ardor as he studied her every move.

She ran her hands over her body, almost as if caressing herself, massaging her own knots out. Hands dragged themselves over her thighs, fingers digging into them as she squeezed to provide comfort and relief. The warm, hot water almost provided a feeling of…safety.

A safety that could be interrupted at any moment by anything.

Her fingers were entangled in her locks of hair, soap threatening to fall into her eyes that she immediately shut.

It was almost as if he sensed this, stepping towards the glass doors as his heavy breaths created a foggy effect, breathing almost becoming desperate at the proximity between the two figures. His own clothed skin, so near her nude form; almost touching. Sultry flesh that he had all to himself. Flesh who’s scent he inhaled deeply, registering the smell into his system.

It was just the two of them, and that was how he desired it.

The shower knob was soon turned as the water turned off, the only sound in the entire house being the droplets from her hair and chin dripping onto the wet flooring. Once she wiped the remaining water from her face, she properly opened her eyes to look into the emptiness of her bathroom. The scathing water had fogged up all the glass inside the bathroom, hiding the fading imprint of large hands that had been placed on the glass doors.

_____________

Hours had gone by as he remained inside the house, haunting the halls like a phantom with no trace. It was almost ridiculous, foolish even, that the man was not once noticed.

Not even as he stood at her bedside.

A slumber befell the woman not too long after she lay in bed. Once changed into a set of comfortable nightwear, she promptly brought her exhausted form into bed. In front of her was a television, still powered on after hours of watching the leftover Halloween specials.

Her body was curled up against her pillow, eyes softly shut as her chest moved with every breath.

The vulnerability present was ever so tantalizing.

Large, strong hands were slowly lifted, inching closer and closer to the woman’s unsuspecting figure. His hands moved on impulse, wanting to latch onto her neck. Wanting to squeeze her throat awake. Wanting to have her eyes shoot open as she reacted too late. Wanting to have the life drained out of her body with every squeeze.

How quick and easy it would have been to overpower her. Suffocate her. Slice her. Thrust her own gleaming blade into her chest to spill the crimson liquid he had come to see so often.

“Michael…”

His breathing deepened even more at the sound of his name, lips breathing out the name of the Devil himself without realizing the consequence. Out of instinct, almost, one of his large hands brought itself onto her exposed leg, stroking the skin with an unexpected gentleness.

Immediately removing his hand, his head gave one final tilt before he took his time spinning around. His eyes landed on the television set that only presented its viewers with nothing but static.

Something had told him it was best to switch it off before officially making his way out.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Hey, vaccine cult anon here. For the record, I've only sent you the two anons about this, I wasn't involved in the rest of the argument. And this is the last one I'm sending. I've no interest in arguing about it long term.

My issue with doctors and other medical professionals is far from "a bad thing happened to someone I knew once, therefore I don't trust the entire profession." It is, in fact, the simple matter that every single personal doctor I have ever had has done something, whether it was try to trick me into a medical procedure I hadn't consented to, put me in more danger by telling someone threatening me that I had tried to get help, accidentally given me the wrong drug, and so on and so forth.

My sister, who sees doctors all the time, has documents from half a dozen psychiatrist stating that whatever is wrong with her -- I won't say what it is, but it causes her body to behave in a way that bodies don't behave, it's dangerous, and it's painful -- half a dozen psychiatrists have given her documents that state it is not a mental problem, that whatever it is is physical in some way, and yet still every time she sees a new doctor the same thing happens: they talk to her, tell her it's all in her head or she's doing it for attention (it's not a fakeable medical condition), and send her to a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist runs some tests, has a couple of sessions with her, concludes it's not a mental problem, and sends her back to the doctor, who then refuses to look into it further. I did attribute this behavior in a previous message to "not wanting to mess with their record," but I admittedly don't know that's what it is. Regardless of the reasoning, it's quite unprofessional, and they clearly don't have her best interests in mind.

My mother is diabetic, but last year she fell down the stairs and broke her ankle. It was really bad and she was taken to the emergency room, where the doctor barely even looked at her the entire time she was there, never even went close to her legs, and told her that her problem (a broken ankle) was because of her weight and if she went on a diet it would go away (a broken ankle). Then he sent her home and we got to take care of her broken ankle ourselves, because no one had so much as wrapped it.

On another occasion, my mom took my sister to an appointment with a new doctor and he refused to see her because they were both women and there wasn't a man he could talk to. He still has a job, BTW.

My grandmother was killed in a hospital because a nurse gave her the wrong medication. My grandmother was once a nurse herself and recognized the medication as the wrong one, and told the nurse so. The nurse brushed her off and administered the medication anyway, through an IV. My grandmother was dead the next morning. Evidence shows she tried to remove the IV, but the nurse that administered that medication still lives there.

Compared to all this... I mean, I have one funny story about a good-natured oral surgeon who had a decent sense of humor. I was knocked out to have my wisdom teeth removed and tongue tie cut and when I woke up I asked him if he was pregnant and he had a good laugh about it. Surgery went fine, wounds healed well, so that was nice I guess.

Of course there are good doctors and nurses out there who want to help people. That was never in contest. But given the fact that the vast majority of my experiences -- this is just a small sampling -- were so terrible... why take the risk? It's... really not worth it. I wouldn't go on a roller coaster that killed a third of the people who went on it just because everyone who survived said it was really fun. I might die at home, without help, but I also might not. I might not die at the hospital, they might help me... but I also might die a preventable death because someone was too tired or busy to check my chart and see if I'm allergic to something. And that's just appallingly likely. It's not that I think all doctors are corrupt. It's that I'm not willing to take the risk of letting someone who might be have that kind of power over me. There's only a handful of landlords in my town that I know personally that I'll rent from, because the risk of a landlord I don't know taking advantage of me is just too high (and it's happened too often already). I doubt anyone's going to tell me that's an unfair assumption. Unfortunately I just don't have the trust or rapport built up with any practicing medical professionals to put my life in their hands, not after I've seen how fragile it is and how easy it is to lose under all too common circumstances.

Like I said, this is the last message I'm sending about this. I'm not arguing, but I do want to clarify my position. Medical malpractice is, as others have pointed out, horribly common, and I, personally, am not going to take the risk.

Once again I have nothing to add.

[anotheronechicagobog]

The Crackship Sails to Molly’s Natalie Manning x Stella Kidd

written by @anotheronechicagobog​

warnings: swearing, mention of homophobia, Manning isn’t Nat’s maiden name, she changed it when she got married, just saying, Helen’s kindof a bitch, canon compliant accidents, implied artificial insemination, implied/mentioned smut

They had absolutely no idea how they ended up there. Well, that wasn’t strictly true... Molly’s and ladies’ nights. And tequila, tequila was definitely at fault here. For their hangovers and their nudity under the covers. Unfortunately, the tequila didn’t take their memories, so they knew exactly what they did. Or who they did, rather. And the answer was each other.

After Natalie’s awkward exit from Stella’s apartment above the Hermann house, Stella made quick work of the dirty dishes from their breakfast. She couldn’t help but think back to the previous night. They were so drunk, but Natalie was so hot and Stella just felt something inside her snap. It had felt like a coil, but everything that she and Nat did last night, it all just felt so right, so satisfying. She felt like she was on a high. There was no way she was going to last long without having sex with Natalie again, she could already feel herself going crazy.

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As it turned out, she wasn’t the only one feeling that way. And so, their friends with benefits relationship began. Stella was a bit nervous, she had a two-year-old son and a pretty crazy mother in law. But it felt so right. Until it felt more than right, and both women knew they were in trouble. It started with cuddling after sex and lead to watching movies in the afternoon and lingering touches and longing looks. But one rainy Sunday afternoon, they were cuddled on Natalie’s brand new GRÖNLID, and suddenly it just hit both of them. They were dating, in secret, but dating. Natalie licked her lips and looked Stella in the eye. “Will you go on a date with me?” Stella cradled her face gingerly, placing a soft kiss on her lips. “I would love to.”

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It became obvious to Helen very quickly that Natalie was seeing someone, and the thought made her stomach heavy. She knew it wasn’t fair of her to hate the idea of Natalie moving on, but she couldn’t help it. She only had one son. She only wanted one son. And he was gone.

So when Owen was picked up by someone else while Natalie was at work, months after Helen knew she had officially begun dating him, Helen lost it. Her mouth turned bitter as she drove to the hospital, fully prepared to scream at her daughter-in-law in front of her coworkers. When she got to MED she barely remembered to throw her car in park before slamming the door and marching past everyone. The people waiting, nurses, secretaries, the only one who was able to stop her was Maggie. “Helen, hi. How are you? You know you can’t be back here right?”

“I’m here to see Natalie, move.”

“Okay, no. You do not get to speak to me like that ever, much less so in my ED. Drop the attitude. Now.”

“It’s too soon, Maggie, it’s only been-”

“Four years. It has been four years Helen, I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going through, but I know that it is absolutely no excuse for acting the way you are. You are not entitled to Natalie’s love life, and you still haven’t apologized to me. And since you’re not in an emergency medical situation and I do not feel like dealing with your BS right now, you need to leave.”

“Maggie you can’t-”

“I’ll call security.”

“Don’t interfere with something that-”

“Security, escort this woman off the premises, please and thank you.” The two security guards Maggie had summoned with a raised eyebrow ended up dragging Helen out kicking and screaming. All while Natalie watched in heartbreak. Was it really that awful that she didn’t want to be alone and empty for the rest of her life?

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Because of the incident at MED Nat and Stella decided it was time to sit Helen down and tell her that they were dating and to get over herself. Helen entered in a huff, somewhat pleased with herself that she finally got Natalie to admit she was seeing someone, but she would be lying her ass off if she said she wouldn’t give whoever this guy was shit for sneaking around with a widow. She didn’t see him though, only a Latina woman in a mustard sweater and jeans. “Alright, where is he?”

“Sit down Helen, you don’t’ get to talk to me that way.” Helen threw herself down onto the same chair she’d tossed her jacket and purse on while Natalie sat beside the woman on the light green couch. Helen felt all her rage and grief evaporate as she watched the two women intertwined hands. “I’m bisexual, Helen. So is Stella. I didn’t figure it out really until I met her. I guess a part of me always knew but I kind of ignored it, because, well, you know how people discriminate against LGBTQ people. But, she makes me so, so happy. And Owen just loves her.”

“Oh thank God.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t care about sexualities, really. Love is love and anyone who tries to limit the love of others is a fool and a monster. Truthfully, this is a relief. I was so scared that you’d found a man to replace Jeff. You dating a woman is actually a lot more comfortable for me. I already approve.”

“While I’m glad Stella’s got your stamp of approval, you have to understand that your behaviour recently is unacceptable, right? You are not entitled to anything, and you owe both me and Maggie apologies.”

“You’re... Right. Completely right. There isn’t an excuse or a reason, not a good one anyway. I’m so sorry Natalie. Really, I am... That... That psychiatrist you work with, Dr. Charles, does he, uh, is he accepting patients? I think, I mean I’ve put it off for so long, I think it’s time that I talk to someone. About everything.”

“That sounds like a good idea, Helen, I’ll talk to him tomorrow for you.”

“Thank you. Now Stella, you’ve been very quiet during all this, I’d like to get to know you. What do you do?- Oh! And how long have you two been dating?”

“I’m a firefighter, and we’ve been dating for- eight months?”

“Around that, yeah.”

“That’s wonderful, how do you like being a firefighter?”

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After Helen apologized to everyone and started therapy, things got much calmer. She also became Stella and Natalie’s biggest supporter. Like tonight, she was always offering to babysit for date nights, and the couple took full advantage of that. They were dining out at an intimate restaurant, glad for some time with just the two of them. “So I read this story on Reddit on my break today about this guy who, completely sober, was shoving a toilet brush up his... You know, so that it looked like he had a bunny tail. You guys ever get anything crazy like that?”

“Yeah actually, we’ve got this frequent flyer for ambo who regularly gets high off his ass, draws weird, nonsensical symbols all over his body, then call to complain that he was assaulted by aliens.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah, hey, I found The Italian Job on Netflix, the one with Jason Statham. Wanna watch it when we get back?”

“Oh, absolutely. I love his movies.”

“I know right?”

“He’s like the British Ryan Reynolds.”

“Yes! Exactly!”

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TWO YEARS LATER

Stella was just finishing up with the snacks for Owen’s fifth birthday party when the Hermann Horde arrived. “Hey guys! Nat’s just about done with the decorations, but she and Owen are out back.”

“When does Helen get here?”

“She should be here in fifteen, she picked up the cake from the bakery.”

“I thought you were a pretty good baker Stella, why from a bakery?”

“I can bake many things, but a cake for forty people that looks like a shark? Nope. Not that.”

“Owen really likes the ocean, doesn’t he?” Cindy looked around at all the ocean-themed decorations, the snacks dressed up to look like different sea creatures. “He really does, can’t say I blame him though. We go to the aquarium pretty frequently, and damn these little guys are amazing and beautiful.” The placed the last of the jellyfish sugar cookies on the platter and smiled. She really felt like Owen was her son, and as far as anyone was concerned, she was. It would even be official in a couple of months when she and Nat get married. “I love seeing you happy like this Stella.”

“Thanks, Cindy. It feels good.”

“It looks good too, you’re both just so bright and sometimes I swear that Natalie’s glowing.” Stella kissed the older woman on the cheek, biting her lip to keep from revealing that Natalie was glowing, and that they’d be welcoming another member into their family in around eight months.

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TWO MONTHS LATER

Natalie and Stella were overjoyed, they were finally wife and wife, recognized by the state as a family. Hearts full and warm, they danced in slow graceful circles, the skirts of both their gowns flowing in cloud-like motions around them. “I love you.”

“I love you too. So much.” The music from the orchestra trickled to an end, parting the smiling brides. “Ready to tell them?”

“Yes. I am so excited.” Kisses were exchanged before the blushing brides made their way up to the stage with their arms around each others’ waist. “First of all, we would like to thank everyone for being here to celebrate the best day of our lives.”

“Second of all, we have an announcement to make. Nat’s three months pregnant.” Stella and Natalie placed their hands over Nat’s abdomen, smiling misty tears as they were met with cheers from all of their family and friends, no one louder than Owen.

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FIVE YEARS LATER

While working in the ED Natalie had been a witness to numerous tragedies. She’d also been through a few herself. And Maggie, wise, gentle, loving, Maggie, always knew when the worst of the worst were about to come through. She got this look on her face as she answered the head nurse phone, meaning that it was someone they all knew. After a few whispered words with Ms. Goodwin Maggie’s guilt-ridden gaze settle on Natalie. “Nat, I need you to go wait in the doctor’s lounge.”

“Maggie? What’s going on?” In the back of her mind, in the depths of her heart, Natalie knew what was wrong. But she didn’t want to be right. She wanted to be so, so wrong. “Dr. Conte,” Natalie had realized two months into her and Stella’s relationship that she still had the name she took when she married Jeff at twenty years old and decided to go back to her maiden name. “You need to go wait in the doctor’s lounge.”

“Sharon, no-”

“Incoming! Thirty-three year old female, firefighter, inside an electrical fire when the house went. Halstead, Noah, April, you’re in treatment three.” The sounds of beeps and medical jargon couldn’t be heard above the buzzing in Natalie’s ears. Choi was holding her back, trying to drag her to the doctor’s lounge, stopping her from being with her wife. And then her BP dropped and she flatlined. The instructions given could not be heard by anyone outside of the room over Natalie’s horrified, deafening, soul-shattering scream.

And then it was back. One round of epi and she was back. Natalie broke down into heaving, gut-wrenching sobs in Ethan’s arms. He was the only thing keeping her from sliding to the floor, her legs had lost all their strength.

She didn’t remember sitting down, or getting any water or food. But suddenly she feels like she’s woken up and she has a bottle of water and thermos in her hands. “Eat.” Kelly Severide is beside her with a hand on her shoulder. Sylvie is handing her a spoon. Joe is handing her tissues. “Cindy and Helen are watching Owen and Celeste, don’t worry.” She’s drunk the entire water bottle and eaten five spoonful of soup when Maggie approaches her. “Maggie don’t tell me she’s gone- oh God, please no-”

“She’s fine. They’re closing her up now, she’ll recover just fine. Come on, I’ll take you to her recovery room. And bring that thermos. You’re going to finish eating even if I have to tie you down and feed you myself.”

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“Nat?” Stella had woken up, for good this time, and was staring at the love of her life as Connor and Crockett left the room. “You scared me. So, so much.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just be alive. Please, just stay alive.” Nat kissed her forehead and stroked her hair as all her tears just couldn’t be held back anymore. “I know you love being a firefighter, and I love it too, I will never want you to give up a job that you are so kickass at, but please, please be more careful. I’m begging you.”

“Okay... I’ll be more careful.” Stella’s coughing fit was cured by a glass of water, and the aches in her bones were cured by the gentle hugs from her son and daughter when they saw her an hour later. “I love you.” She chanted to each of them. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” And she did, until she and Natalie were in their eighties and living in Fowlerton. They were found by their neighbour who went to check on them after he didn’t see them on their porch like he did every morning. Stll. Peaceful. Tangled together. In love until their very last breaths.

[elizabeth-234]

The Hourglass

Previous Chapter Ten: For the Great Good Part Two

Hi All. Thank you for reading. This is for prompt ten of whumptober: Internal Bleeding and blood loss.

References to suicide.

Chapter Eleven: Where in the World is Peter? 

???

People were talking around him. They were the type of murmurs you could never hear the exact wording no matter how hard you concentrated. His head lay heavy on the pillow, sunk into the dent worn in it by time. He found the same experience with his limbs. They were all but useless at his side besides the small twitch in the ring finger of his left hand.

Time held no meaning in that state of immobility and exhaustion dragged him back to sleep whenever consciousness creeped back in. Inside the immobile body his cells worked to heal and repair the damage from the attack and fall, though his mind remained unaware. Hours or weeks could have passed, and in some ways they did but Peter wasn’t aware to the consequences of this yet.

He woke up to the sound of voices again. Shaking from the effort, he cracked an eye open. There was a young nurse sitting on a stool near the door. She was on some talking into type of boxed hospital phone. Her intonation rose and fell as skimmed through some paperwork on a clipboard. Peter closed his eyes and panted while trying to ignore the trembling in his neck. He slept again.

Waking moments were more prevalent from then on. He noticed someone was always stationed in his room no matter the time of day. Some stayed in the chair by the door while others came in and watched TV. They sat in the chair beside him and though he would fall asleep, it this strange state of sickness seem less lonely.

The doctor came sparingly but they made sure to give a progress report when they did. “Low urine output still. Give him more fluids” The doctor said much to Peter’s embarrassment. His palms were clammy against the bedsheets but his arms wouldn’t respond to his attempts to move. His mind wanted to claim health, that he was fine and could go back, but his body knew what his mind wouldn’t acknowledge: Peter was hurt and it was taking too long to heal. His heart was beating fast but his pulse pressure remained low. He wasn’t just tired but had full exhaustion and fatigue in his muscles.

Sometimes he pretended they were talking about somebody else so he didn’t have to be embarrassed. Like he wasn’t invisible and they weren’t talking around him. Other times he couldn’t follow the updates from the people. He’d get lost in the numbers and vocabulary, the twisting sentences that almost seemed like they contradicted themselves. A headache formed and he would block out the sounds instead of trying to wake up. Still, Peter slept on.

When he opened his eyes without strain and forethought, it was night. He stared at the moon from his spot on the bed. It hung low and thick in his window. The yellow and dark watercolors of the face casting a strange tint across the room and the blankets covering him. The face stared right back at him all dark eyes and long mouths. Did the man in the moon pity him or was he laughing?

Peter took a mental stock of himself. He tensed his muscles pushing them to see how they functioned after no use. He was breathing hard from his exploration, his legs twitching and restless. With slow, measured movements Peter pushed himself to sit, though his stomach muscles protested the whole way. Hunched over and catching his breath, Peter thought about his next options.

The memories of how he came to be in the hospital were gone, but he knew he had to get out. The more time spent here, the easier it was for the men to come back. They would fine him eventually and such public exposure would work against him. Peter almost caved against the onset of his plans and fell back onto the bed, but he held firm. Rhodey and Tony’s faces appeared before him like apparitions in a ghost story. Their transparent expressions yelling at him to run as invisible enemies attacked them. A branch in the tree outside moved with the wind, disturbing the shadows in his room, and they were gone. He would find a way out for them.

Peter swung his legs off the side of the bed. He gasped as the cold of the tiled floor soaked through his socks and chilled his feet. Some plastic pouch was strapped to his leg. He palpated it and blushed when he felt liquid inside. Pushing away thoughts of his urinary track, Peter tested his balance. He fully placed his feet on the ground and pushed away from the stationary structure of the bed. Back and forth he teetered on the balls of his feet before what felt like the first time in forever, Peter was standing on his own two feet. His muscles burned and shook from the effort, and Peter began sweating but he was standing. It seemed like a time ago he was running on the dock. Had he fallen into the pond? His head pounded. He couldn’t remember what happened next.

Something moved and he saw the heat rustle the papers of the nurse sitting by his door. Her head was bent over to rest on the wall. She was almost asleep. Her eyes kept closing and not even the sounds of Peter’s explorations woke her. He could sneak around her if he moved fast enough. He tried walking but something tugged him back. The IV poll moved forward to catch up with him leaving the metal to scrap on the floor. The nurse woke up with a snort.

“Oh my.” She said when she spotted him up standing. “You shouldn’t be up. Let’s get you settled back in.”

There was no room for argument and he was tucked back in before he knew it. He drooped into the bedding and despite hating to admit it, even to himself, Peter felt like he’d just ran a marathon. Escape stretched further away from him if standing caused this much of an energy drain. He stared at the nurse how was working around him. She was an older nurse, one he might have seen before in one of his brief instances of clarity. She refilled his water and tucked the covers over his shoulders. Before she could move away he stopped her.

“Miss?” He said wanting to ask something that had been bothering him all night. “I’ve been to the hospital a few times when I was a kid and never had someone sit with me. Not that I don’t appreciate it but I don’t think I can sleep knowing someone’s watching me.”



She gave him a critical eye as she checked the IV measurements with the time.

“Well, Mr. Parker that hasn’t stopped you from sleeping in the past 24 hours with other nurses here. I’m acting as a sitter tonight. I’m here to make sure you’re not a danger to yourself given how they recovered you from that lake.”

She patted him on his arm and his mind reeled with startling clarity of her words. They thought he jumped.  They thought he chose to jump into the icy waters and not come back. A shiver ran down his spine. He needed to make her understand.

“That, that wasn’t it. I - someone was running after me and I fell. I - it wasn’t on purpose.” 



She clucked her teeth and pushed the covers up where they had fallen when he tried to get up to reassure her and maybe himself as well.

“Be that as it may, Mr. Parker. I have a job to do until you are cleared with the doctors and you do too. Rest easy tonight and focus on getting better. You’ve had some internal bleeding that they need to look at now you’re awake.”

He nodded and fell back into his pillow all fight and plans of escape forgotten.

“It’s Peter, please. Could you put the TV on? I would feel better with some background noise.” He said.

“I’m nurse Bee. Sleep well, Peter. I’ll be watching over you tonight.”

He closed his eyes and the sounds from the TV filtered into the room. His last thought was he thought he heard a commercial with Shrek come on.

-

“You’ve got some very unusual markers in your blood, Mr. Parker. It’s the reason it took us so long to find a suitable donor to get a transfusion. Now that it’s all set you should be feeling much better. We’ve removed the catheter as well and stopped most of the pain meds. The goal is to get you mobile now, build up any muscles, and, of course, you’ll have to see a psychiatrist. One will be sent up this afternoon. CPS was called and-”

“I’m eighteen, Doc” He said maintaining eye contact. The doctor raised an eyebrow but Peter didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t believe Peter, never mind that he was right not to trust him. It was that or he didn’t care either way. “Plus, I’ll call my uncle and he’ll tell you. There’s no need for anything else.”

The afternoon was filled with appointments. Just thinking about it left him a state of denial. Question after question bombarded him. He was scanned and poked and prodded. He didn’t even know how he was going to pay for everything.

The talk with the therapist was the worst. The hour dragged on. Every question was followed by another. Peter tried to be as honest as possible. Sticking to the truth was best in a lie and it would be easier to remember later, but Spiderman, that place, and May. No, all of those things were off limits. What he did repeat was he hadn’t jumped. He was chased and fell. The man nodded and wrote down something in his notebook before trying to dive into Peter’s past. He had no past here.

In any other circumstances it might’ve been helpful. If Peter was open to the experience he might have found talking about his life to a stranger freeing. But this wasn’t the case. His past was gone here to all outside eyes. It hadn’t happened because it would be dangerous to talk about it. He was increasingly closed off as the minutes went by. His attention more focused on the plaid sweater vest the man was wearing than their session.

Night came again. They must have believed his story because was finally alone. He was parched from retelling everything he remembered and more during the day. Still, something was missing. Dr. Lang suggested it was the trauma but Peter thought everything seemed off somehow. Everything was different from before.

He stuffed the blanket around his feet so the cold air wouldn’t chill them and grabbed the controller. He almost wished the nurse from the previous night was there before he stopped the thought. Escape. He needed to escape tonight. The CPS had been too late to arrive today but he didn’t think he would be lucky enough tomorrow. They couldn’t make plans about him and take him farther away than he was now.

The IV prickled with blood after he pulled it out. He pressed the corner of his gown onto the small hole and once it coagulated, Peter tossed a blanket around his shoulders as disguise. It wasn’t the most incognito appearance but it was all he had until he could find something, maybe a nurse’s zip-up to use. He also didn’t want the cold to stress his body even more in its weakened state.

The memory of the therapist in plaid confirming his time with the CPS tomorrow was enough to get him out of bed and into the hallway. It was empty. Only his heart racing and machines talking were heard at this time of night. Above everything else, he couldn’t be caught. He walked without sound but he was too slow all his thoughts of daring escapes and only managed one hallway when he heard someone walking. A nurse turned the corner wheeling a cart in front of him. One of the wheels squeaked as it rolled. Peter held his breath and pushed himself into the wall but it wasn’t cover enough. As fast as he dared Peter darted into the closest room hoping the patient was asleep. He leaned against the door not breathing until the squeaking grew too faint to hear.

“What are you doing?”

Someone said from inside the room. Peter swallowed. His assessment of sleep was way off base. With a stolen breath he peered around the door wall and into the room.

Papers were strewn over a spread of open books on the bed. It was chaos but the person sitting didn’t seem to mind. They were hunched over one of the papers. Peter waited for them to look up. He wondered if his eyes would be cold or warm but they were shrouded from view. His brown hair longer than Peter’s haircut. It was grown out from his buzzcut but still not longer than his ears. Peter spared a glance at the boy’s mouth and forehead. Both were furrowed and lined as he concentrated.

Peter felt like he was in middle school again waiting in the principal’s office after getting into a fight when one of the other kids called him a nerd. The principal made him stand in front of his desk for five minutes while he finished work. Peter didn’t have time to wait now.

“Well?” He asked again with a raised eyebrow. Peter realized he’d never answered. While the ground seemed infinitely a safer place to look Peter forced himself to look up.

His breath froze in his chest. In front of him sat an apparition. Peter almost pinched himself to see if he was dreaming. His eyes were the same brown with flecks of black speckled throughout, but like the first time it was the emotion that kept his attention. There was a certain duality to his eyes. They stayed focused completely on him and taking in his face but this time there was no recognition of the distance between them. This time Peter felt as though he carried the ocean in him that separated them and, for a moment, he could almost understand the expression in his eyes the first time they met. Maybe he’d been asleep longer than he thought. Peter continued to stare and the longer he looked the more differences he spotted. The lines weren’t the same around his eyes, age hadn’t touched him yet, and he was missing that familiar edge to the brown pupils that had grown over the weeks of Peter being with them.

“I was just hiding - I mean, I was, Tony? What the hell are you doing here?” 



The man’s – boy’s - eyes hardened but the curiosity stayed.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?” 


Thank you!

Next Chapter Twelve: The President, Shrek, and Sweater Vests 

[shewas-agaystripper]

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

The Clinic: Part Sixteen

Brian is sent off to Queen Mary's Psychiatric Hospital to cure his depression and borderline. His roommates, John in particular, help him push through this difficult time in his life

Hello dear people! It’s been a while since the last part part of The Clinic was uploaded, which has mainly to do with the fact that my original blog of six years was deteled by Tumblr without any sign or warning, and they would not react to any mails so I had to start all over; and two weeks into waiting for them to reply my laptop broke down and I had to take it back to the store. They said it would take 3-4 days to fix it but it took 18 so that was great! However, I now have my laptop back, and I have a new blog (with basically the same name but different dashes). Please feel free to talk to me and shoot me messages! I’m feeling kind of lonely on my new blog still :s

Anyway! The good news is that I finished Part 16 on an alternative laptop, and Part 17 will be finished before the end of the week also, and will follow suit! 

Have fun reading, and any sort of feedback or suggestions is appreciated!

P.s. Normally I’d link all the previous chapters here, but as SOMEONE @staff) deleted my whole entire blog, they’re now gone. If you haven’t read the previous chapters yet, or would like to reread them first, here is the whole thing on my AO3 account!

‘We’ll see you tomorrow, then, in doctor Imholz’ office. Try and fill in as much of this paperwork already, and make sure to be on time.’

With that, a stack of files, and a handshake from each of the individuals present in the dusty but surprisingly spacious staff meeting room, Brian was given permission to leave the room, and he all but stumbled outside. When he closed the door behind him, he could not help but lean against it with his back, close his eyes, and take a deep breath - something he felt like he had been unable to do for the past two hours. 

After having announced to Nolan and doctor Imholz the evening before that he intended to file for a reassessment to try and be dismissed from Queen Mary’s for the sake of being able to support John when he was released, his mentor had called together what they had called a crisis meeting in which staff discussed the viability of Brian’s wish to be released before. It had been a long and stressful meeting, one in which Brian had largely been left to sit back and let people he’d never been aware were responsible for his progress throw technical terms and mental jargon at each other. He had hardly been asked to explain his reasons for wanting to leave Queen Mary’s so soon, but the overall consensus in the end was that they would grant his wish for a reassessment. That was - he had been at Queen Mary’s for at least three months; had never perpetrated any acts of disobedience, vandalism, violence, and the like; had never skipped any meetings with his superiors; had always displayed what Nolan had called ‘proper and respectable behaviour towards staff and patients’, and, borderline or not, he was deemed capable enough to make his own decisions and understanding the consequences of them. 

Thank God. At least they still treated him as human despite the label they had stuck on him.

‘How’d it go?’

Brian recognised the voice of the speaker sooner than he saw him, even though he should have been able to see him from - as a matter of speaking - miles away. Being one of the few patients with long blond hair, Roger always stood out a bit; but now that he was the only one to be seen in the otherwise empty hallway, let alone that he was leaning against the wall right across from Brian, really made hi unmistakeable to Brian, even now that his mind was spinning like a whirlwind. 

‘Eh… I think it went alright?’ Brian said somewhat hesitantly. ‘They said I meet the, uh, qualifications to apply for a reassessment.’

‘And?’ Roger asked, eyes brightening with hope but still a bit cautious, as he, of course, had no idea what had been discussed in his absence. 

‘They said they’ll make a phone call to the board right this afternoon to formally open the process of reassessment.’

‘No way! That’s great news! You’ll get to leave!’ Roger all but shouted across the hallway, and before Brian could prepare for it, he was tackled in a hug so sudden and so tight that he almost dropped the stack of papers he had been clutching against his chest. To be fair, he was still clutching them against his chest; now that Roger had enveloped him in a nearly reckless embrace, there was no other place for him to put his arms other than squeezing them tight against his body. It was uncomfortable for a bit, mainly because Brian wasn’t so outgoing himself, and wasn’t used to Roger behaving this way either. However, as Roger continued to hold him tight and seemed to try and rock him encouragingly by skipping from one leg to the other, all while unintelligible but nonetheless encouraging sounds escaped him, Brian could not help but smile. It was good to see Roger, who he had seen so down and helpless during multiple relapses into whatever drugs he could find himself, be in such a positive mindset again. Of course, nothing was set in stone yet, and Brian realised all too well that chances were that incriminating information against him could be found during his trial, that the psychiatrist who would be called in to examine him could vote against him leaving, and that the jury might deem him unable of returning to society as of yet. But if the official start of his procedure to try and be acquitted from Queen Mary’s brought his friend so much hope and joy, then who was Brian to bring him down?

‘Oh my God, and you’ll be able to leave Queen Mary’s and live happily ever after with John far away from this clown academy!‘ Roger continued to mumble against Brian’s shoulder, and Brian snorted. 

‘That’s a name for Queen Mary’s I haven’t heard before.’

‘Am I wrong though?’ Roger asked, looking up at him in all seriousness. His blue eyes shone brighter than they had done in ages, and Brian couldn’t help but wish that Roger could always be like this, bright and bubbly and alert and happy. 

‘You’re not. But if you don’t stop crushing me now, this clown will have to be admitted into the infirmary with a pair of broken ribs.’

Roger let go of him with a sigh. ‘Don’t think I will leave clown academy alive if John finds out I broke your ribcage.’

Brian felt his heart skip a beat at the mentioning of the name of his partner. John, who had gone through a dreadful night filled with tearful wake-ups and nightmares, and who unfortunately had been least comforted by the idea that Brian was filing for a reassessment among the four of them. Brian had hoped that making that promise to John would alleviate his worries, but it hadn’t quite been the miracle cure he had hoped for. Looking back at it, he should have known better than to think that John’s grey skies would turn to blue at the mere mentioning of the option of reassessment. Despite the fact that John’s depression turned every good news bleak, it was also not at all guaranteed yet that he’d actually be allowed to leave. After this morning’s meeting they had clarity at least to the extent that Brian could be filed for a reassessment, but this of course did not mean his case would be approved of, or how long it would take for his psychiatrists to come to a conclusion. It might take months for all he knew - months of time he simply did not have. 

‘How is he?’ Brian asked carefully. 

‘Very quiet ever since you left for that meeting. We couldn’t persuade him to go out with us to play, so we stayed with him in our dorm.’

‘Thanks,’ Brian said. ‘That you didn’t- didn’t go off without him.’

‘Of course not. We know he’s not very stable at the moment, and he might do things that he’d…’ Roger’s voice trailed off as he searched for the right words to express what they both knew was possible but which neither of them was particularly eager to speak out loud. ‘Either way, he’ll be glad to hear you’ve been approved for reassessment.’

‘Yes, we should go tell him,’ Brian said, trying to oppress the hint of excitement he felt; after all, he had no idea how or even if John was going to react to this spark of good news. ‘Where is he?’

‘In the canteen with Freddie. Can you imagine how confused I was to see Freddie having to drag John to the canteen instead of the other way around?’ Brian, who could not picture the scene at all, shook his head. ‘Come on, I’ll take you there. Lunch started about ten minutes ago but I’m sure they saved us a plate. I’m bloody starving.’

Brian again nodded in agreement - that was, to the part where Roger said they would head back to the canteen. He was not exactly hungry, and would not mind at all if John, in his current state of depression, and Freddie, with his current solitary task of keeping an eye on John, hadn’t thrown some mediocre sandwiches and milk cartons together for their missing friends. Roger might mind a little more, though; he had gone without heroin for quite some days now, and as a result of this was starting to get food cravings. The evening before he had eaten more than all of his roommates together, and breakfast this morning had followed the same pattern. Freddie had looked at him with a glance of horror and Brian could swear he could see Freddie counting up the number of calories and the grams of fat in his head as Roger was making his way through his third serving of milk and honey loops. Personally Brian didn’t think of it as a problem at all. Roger was skin and bone after years of heroin dependency, so if this sudden food /sprawl/ would result in a few extra pounds, it would probably be for the better.

Brian followed Roger through the hallway, half-heartedly listening to his talk of the constant headaches and cold shivers that he experienced now that it had been numerous days without heroin or any other addictive. He nodded and said ‘yes’ and ‘amen’ when appropriate, but it wasn’t until Roger shouted at him to watch his step that he was taken out of the depth of his own mind.

‘Is it Tuesday today? I hope it’s Tuesday, it’s when they sometimes have croissants at lunch. If so, I hope Freddie saved me some, because I’m seriously craving some croissants with jam right now- watch your step!’

A strong hand around his wrist tugged him to the side, and Brian almost lost his balance. His first instinct was to scold Roger for catching him off guard all of a sudden, but when he looked down at the floor below him, his flurry of anger disappeared at once. Half leaning against the wall, half sprawled across the floor was a young man, whose closed eyes and pale face at once struck Brian as a corpse. 

‘Oh my God, Oh my God, Roger-’ Brian clamped a hand over his mouth and staggered a few steps back, staring in pure disbelief at his friend, who somehow remained completely calm and unbothered as he crouched down next to the body.

‘It’s okay. It’s nothing,’ Roger told him. ‘Or well, nothing- just some drugs. He’s still breathing and I can feel a pulse,’ Roger said, his hand around the man’s wrist. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’  

‘You know this guy?’ Brian asked, still keeping at least a six feet distance between him and the guy who seemed more dead than alive.  

‘Of course. We’re in counseling together every morning. Group therapy or whatever it’s called,’ Roger said nonchalantly. ‘Alexej, can you hear me?’ he repeated - and then, when the guy again did not reply, a sharp slap to his left cheek made Brian shriek and Alexej groan and open one tired eye.

‘Roger!’ Brian whimpered.

‘Don’t worry. I’m in this scene, I know what I’m doing,’ Roger replied without looking up, and Brian was unsure if this answer should console him or stress him out even more. ‘Alex, say something.’

‘Hnn… I feel fuckin’… awful, man,’ the guy said under his breath, but Brian was still able to hear, besides the Slavic accent, the slur in his voice. He had no idea how Roger stayed calm in the midst of this, but then again - Freddie had also always remained calm and collected whenever Roger messed up his clean streak again and was found lying on the dorm room floor with a syringe lodging in his elbow. It was something some people could apparently get used to, but Brian had known right from the start that he was not among these ‘happy few’, or whatever one wanted to call them. 

‘Bet you do. Now, listen. Did you do this yourself?’ Roger asked him. Alexej nodded slowly, and Roger did so too. ‘How much?’

‘Wha?’ Alexej opened one eye again.

‘How many grams?’

His eye fell shut again. ‘Don’t… recall.’

‘Right. Well, sit still, I’m taking this syringe out of you.’ With trained expertise, Roger pulled the needle out of the man’s elbow. It was only when the object had been removed that Brian could see how bruised the skin in and around the addict’s elbow was. The image of it made him queasy, even though he had beheld similar sights on Roger’s arms time and time again. 

Alexej grunted when the tip of the needle was removed from his skin, and a drop of blood trickled down from the small puncture. Roger wiped it away and held the syringe up in the air to inspect the item at close quarters. Brian could not have determined anything from the injection, but Roger, an expert of the field, shook his head condemningly.

‘The filler area is still half full, and there are particles in it. Where’d you get this trash?’

‘Geoff sold it to me.’

‘Of course he did,’ Roger rolled his eyes. ‘Listen, don’t buy his shit again. If this is baking soda or whatever it can cause serious problems,’ he lectured, as if doing heroin wasn’t dangerous enough on its own. Brian would have snorted if the entire situation wouldn’t have been so pathetic. ‘It can clog your blood vessels or even arteries, and you can die from that. I know life in here is shit but it’s not worth dying for. You’re with me?’

‘Got it,’ Alexej grumbled.

Roger nodded, then held the injection up in the air again. ‘This syringe must be rather new. The needle is still very sharp - you don’t see that often in here,’ he said, lightly jabbing the tip of it against his forefinger, which made Brian more than a little nervous. ‘You don’t mind if I keep this as a reward for helping you, Alex, do you?’ he asked, and brought the injection up to the back pocket of his jeans.

‘Roger!’ Brian hissed, and his friend looked up with an innocent expression that definitely was completely unfit for the current situation.

‘What?’ Roger asked.

‘Put that back!’ Brian told him, and Roger, bringing up the syringe again, stared at the object, then at the source of it, and then back at Brian.

‘You mean like this?’ he asked, and Brian couldn’t prevent a gasp of horror when he saw the tip of the needle disappear into the bruised inner area of Alexej’s elbow - quite literally the place it came from indeed.

‘Roger! Stop that!’ he whimpered.

‘Just joking,’ grinned Roger, who then showed that he’d slid the needle right past Alexej’s arm, but which from Brian’s viewing angle made it look as if he’d jammed the injection right back into his arm.

‘Not funny,’ Brian all but pouted, unsure if his heart rate would recover from this stunt of Roger’s anywhere soon. 

‘It was hilarious and you know it,’ Roger said before turning to the person still on the floor. ‘Now, let’s get you on your legs and to the infirmary,’ Roger concluded and placed his hands under Alexej’s armpits, but his patient moved away from him with the little strength he could still muster.

‘No,’ he protested. ‘No infirmary. Been there. Isolation…’ From these half-sentences Roger and Brian were able to conclude that Alexej didn’t want to be sent to the infirmary out of fear that they’d put him in isolation to sober him up, but Roger clearly thought this objection was irrelevant.

‘I’m not gonna have you die on me, Alex,’ he said, gesturing for Brian to come over and help him haul the man off the floor. Brian cautiously stepped closer and positioned himself at the other side of his body, and hesitantly followed Roger’s example of placing his arm under Alexej’s armpit.

‘Won’t… just… no nurses,’ their companion said, struggling to try and keep himself on the floor when Brian’s and Roger’s joint power tried putting him back on his feet. Roger and Alexej argued back and forth, until Roger eventually told his groupmate that he could go if he’d be able to climb the stairs up to the dorm rooms himself. Having made this deal, Alexej allowed Brian and Roger to pick him up beneath the armpits and escort him through the hallway and towards the stairs, on the way of which they fortunately did not come across any staff members who might notice that something was off.

It took some time, persistence, and Roger’s threat of calling in the nurse after all to get Alexej upstairs and in bed. Brian judged that he looked somewhat better than he had done before, and after having gotten him a glass of water and Roger promising him he’d drop by later that afternoon to check up on him, the two men left the room behind to finally go to lunch and meet their friends. Roger was a little disgruntled at having missed the largest share of lunchtime, as he was still ‘hungry enough to eat an entire horse,’ and Brian was anxious to see John and bring him the news. They skipped downstairs, paced towards the canteen, and Brian had Roger somewhat begrudgingly throw the syringe he’d gotten from the encounter with Alexej in the bin before they entered the canteen. They found their friends at the usual spot at the back of the canteen, and Brian all but ran towards them. Somehow Roger was still faster than he was - presumably because he saw a plate loaded with croissants in the middle of the table, the promise of which seemed to make him forget about the syringe he’d just had to throw away on Brian’s watch. 

Once they reached the table, Roger was the first to slump down on the chair next to Freddie, and Brian sat down across from him on the vacant chair next to John. John did not look up at either of them, which made Brian’s heart sink a bit - but the smallest of a smile appeared on his partner’s face when he put his hand over those John had placed in his lap.

Roger was the one to do the talking once he’d settled down and grabbed a croissant from the plate. ‘Sorry we’re late. Had to patch up someone of my drugs group again.’

‘Henry again?’ Freddie asked.

‘No, Alexej. The Latvian guy,’ Roger mumbled between two bites of croissant.

‘Don’t think I know a Latvian guy around here,’ Freddie frowned. ‘But what do I care! How did the meeting go, Brian? Please tell me you’ve got some good news.’

Brian smiled at him, which was really all he had to do; the mere curling of his lips made Freddie squeal in delight.

‘You were approved for reassessment! Oh my God!’ Freddie flashed the biggest smile he’d ever seen him do, and even John looked up with a sparkle of hope in his eyes. ‘You’ll get to leave with Deaky!’

‘I’ve merely been approved, Freddie,’ said Brian, who - despite loving Freddie’s enthusiasm - knew he had to remain realistic. However, now that he had seen John smile at the good news, he allowed himself to share some positivity between the four of them. ‘But they’ve gone to my records and found nothing against me. No drugs smuggling or violence or being disrespectful towards the staff or anything, so the process can go ahead.’

‘Darling, that’s amazing news,’ Freddie said. ‘So what happens now? When will you have meetings with your psychiatrist and such?’

‘I’ll be assigned a new psychiatrist to evaluate me. Someone neutral, they said. I’ll get to meet him tomorrow morning,’ Brian said.

‘What’s his name?’ Freddie asked.

‘You probably don’t know him - he’s coming from an external mental hospital. They have to make sure he doesn’t know a thing about me yet and can’t be prejudiced in any way. Even Sarah and Jasper and doctor Imholz don’t know him,’ Brian said. ‘But his name is Fisher. I hope he’s alright.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be alright. And even if he’s dumb, all you’ll have to do is keep up with him for what, two sessions or so?’ Roger said, grasping the second croissant of the plate.

‘Five sessions,’ Brian corrected him. ‘I’ll see him once every day starting tomorrow until the end of the week. Then he’ll make a judgement about whether I’m ready to leave or not, and if he approves, he’ll vouch in favour of my request at the final hearing.’

‘Final hearing?’

‘Yes, in like three, three and a half weeks my case will go to a kind of court that will decide what to do. You know, two people from the board that rule this and other mental hospitals across the country will hear my case, and make a final decision. Those and - and my former psychiatrist.’ Brian could hear his own voice fall when he mentioned this past member of the jury. He had repressed every memory of professor Sumner for the past few days, even though he knew that once he’d go for a reassessment he would be standing eye to eye with him sooner or later. The thought of it was enough to make him shiver, which John seemed to realise, too. Somewhere along the line of the conversation, Brian had retreated the hand he’d placed on top of John’s hand to be able to awkwardly pluck at his own nails, but now he felt John putting his hand on his upper leg and gently stroking him as a form of wordless comfort. They shared a sideways glance with each other and smiled, which was enough to make Brian realise that his partner’s happiness was worth having to deal with Sumner again a thousand times over. 

Roger, still, was unimpressed with the entire procedure. ‘I think just skipping over the barbed wire would be easier than going through all of this crap. But I’ve gotta admit that I’m pleasantly surprised. I never would have thought Queen Mary’s would be able to pull off an actual protocol like this.’

‘Well, we don’t know that yet,’ Brian said. ‘They called someone in to evaluate me, is all they’ve done so far. And handing me two threes worth of paperwork to fill out.’ He nodded at the pile of papers he had dragged along from the meeting, and Freddie was the first one to pick up the documents lying on top to have a look.

‘Code of conduct. Mental health statement. Mental health history. Family background. Plan for return to society,’ Freddie read out loud. ‘It’s as if you’re to become the British ambassador to Saudi Arabia or something.’

‘I’ve definitely got my work cut out for me,’ Brian said, massaging his temples with his fingertips. Nolan had quickly gone over many of the papers he’d have to fill out in the following weeks, but the amount of them had been so staggering that Brian had felt himself drift off after half a minute. He knew he’d have to bring himself around to fill everything out as well as possible, but the idea of it seemed so daunting. It was so weird, so final, to know that this could be his way out of Queen Mary’s. That within a month he could be free again, free to go and do as he pleased, instead of being locked behind the barred windows and the barbed fences of a mental health institution. It was as if he had been at Queen Mary’s for years, yet at the same time he felt like it had been just yesterday when he had handed over his suitcase and said goodbye to his parents. He wanted nothing more than to leave, especially for the sake of John, but he was nervous. What if he wasn’t ready for it yet? His depression was nowhere near cured, and since no one so far really seemed to know what caused and what could alleviate borderline, he doubted he was very much cured in that area. What if he was to leave Queen Mary’s only to have a breakdown, and be shipped right back in? What would become of John if Brian proved to be unable to deal with the mental mess he still found himself dealing with?

‘When is all of this due?’ asked Freddie as he piled up the lot of papers again.

‘The first papers for tomorrow. Not all of it, but… quite some, I think,’ Brian said. A mere look at the stack of paper was enough to make him feel nervous. 

Roger whistled shortly. ‘I was gonna invite you to go outside and play some music, but I’m afraid you won’t have time for that then?’ 

‘I’m afraid not, no,’ Brian answered. ‘This is, eh, kind of more important at the moment. I need to get this done as much as I can.’

‘I’ll come with you. I’ll help you fill them out,’ John said resolutely, and Brian felt his heart swell.

‘Thank you. I’d love that,’ he whispered at his partner, who smiled at him a little shyly. 

‘Marvellous. Do you want us to help you, too, or should we make way for you to get down to paperwork?’ Freddie asked. Normally Brian would have been too nervous to tell them off, but now that so much was at stake and four people working on the same task would probably just distract him, Brian politely told them John and he would manage on their own - something that, much to his relief, went down well with Freddie.

‘Great. But first the two of you got to eat. Both of you haven’t had any lunch yet, and the canteen is closing in like five minutes. Can you believe that I’ve actually gone through an entire croissant while you weren’t here?’

‘An entire croissant?’ asked an obviously surprised Roger, who never would have expected his boyfriend to eat something like that if not directly faced with the threat of being dragged into the infirmary if he would not budge and eat the calorie bomb.

‘Don’t get too excited, dear. I was merely trying to persuade John to eat,’ Freddie said, which, Brian decided, sounded a lot more like something he would do.

‘You haven’t had anything yet, then?’ Brian asked John, who shrugged.

‘No. Not really hungry.’

‘Even not now that Brian’s come back with such good news?’ Roger asked, but the answer remained no. ‘Come on, Deaks, you have to eat something. Or do you need me to use my techniques for Freddie on you for a change?’ 

John now grimaced, and picked up a croissant from the plate, from which he slowly started plucking strips of bread. Roger, Freddie, and Brian enthusiastically spoke of the progress Brian’s case might be making and what to say to doctor Fisher when he would be standing eye in eye with him - whether to be all upbeat or to be sincere about his emotional condition. Brian, in the meantime, could not really get a hold on what John was feeling. On the one hand he did nod and smile every now and then, and answered without a problem when he was asked a question by one of his friends. Still, his heart did not seem in it, and when the lunch lady came over to tell them lunchtime was over, he had only munched down about half of the croissant, and seemed relieved he was now able to toss the remains of it back on the plate. It was Brian who tried to see if there would be some leeway that would allow them to take some food up to their room.

‘Could we maybe just finish these last croissants upstairs?’ he asked the middle-aged woman, who scanned him and his friends over for a few seconds. ‘It’s just that we had a special meeting with our psychiatrist and only got here five minutes ago,’ Brian tried, which seemed to make the lady think.

‘You know that officially I can’t allow that. It’s against policy,’ she said.

‘Please? John here has barely had anything yet,’ Brian added.

‘It’s okay,’ John said. ‘I’m not hungry. I’ll just have a cup of tea and we’ll go back to our room,’ he said, giving a nod into the direction of the vendor at the other side of the canteen.

‘I’m afraid that won’t do,’ the woman said. 

‘Are you in that much of a hurry to close off the canteen?’ Brian asked. He knew staff had been given orders from above to close off the canteen right after mealtimes, but did that really leave no room for someone to grab a drink before leaving? 

‘Darlings, have you been living underneath a stone?’ Freddie asked. ‘The coffee and tea vendor has been dismantled.’

‘The coffee vendor- why?’ Brian asked with genuine surprise.

‘Because last week Drew threw a cup of burning coffee in Clyde’s face, and he had to be taken to the local hospital for who knows what sort of degree facial burns,’ Roger said with an equal amount of amusement as irritation in his voice. 

‘I don’t even know why this sort of thing surprises me any longer,’ said Brian, lowering his face into his hands. If anything, it should surprise him that none of the masterminds they were surrounded by had come up with the idea of pulling off this prank earlier.

‘This is why we can’t have nice things, I suppose,’ John sighed, the legs of his chair scratching over the floor as he stood up.

‘You know, just take your croissant. You don’t strike me as the trouble-making kind,’ the woman said, which made Freddie grin mischievously, telling Brian that something undoubtedly inappropriate was about to leave his lips.

‘Obviously you haven’t met cold turkey Roger before his seven o’clock shower blowjob yet,’ Freddie said with one arm sneaking around Roger’s waist, but it was quickly batted away by his less than amused boyfriend. 

‘Thank you. We’ll be on our way,’ Brian said to the woman who now looked at them as if she saw water burning. He caught Roger’s lower arm to drag him along and make sure he would not stay behind to say anything in reply to Freddie’s comment that could make the situation even worse than it was already. John understood the hint and followed right behind with the stack of papers Brian had left on the table, and Freddie, probably out of fear of being left to explain himself to a now traumatised lunch lady, wasted no time in following suit. 

Brian all but ushered the couple out of the canteen, and only let go of Roger when his friend was done threatening Freddie that he would take revenge on him one way or another. By the time this happened, they had reached their bedroom already; John opened the door and practically burst into their safe haven. Putting the paperwork on Brian’s nightstand, he flopped down on his own bed, covering his face in his hands. 

Brian was not too sure what to make of this behaviour. John had always seemed relieved to be back in their room after a long morning of group therapy and two shared mealtimes, but his relief to be able to crawl back into seclusion again for the upcoming hours seemed to consist of something more this time. John was still stressed out and feeling down regarding the judgement which had been made concerning his more or less forced removal from Queen Mary’s in a month, and the steps Brian had undertaken to try and be admitted in time with him had so far done little to ease his nerves. He wished he could do something for John to help him ease out of the whirlwind of worries and depressive thoughts, but for the time being, there was little he could do. Promising John he would be right there with him on the day he would be acquitted would be too risky; after all, even though things looked good for him so far, he could not guarantee that his case would be approved of by the jury of mental health experts he would have to appeal to at the end of this trial. Even if it was, he did not know when he would be set free from Queen Mary’s. The judgement date had been set at approximately three and a half weeks from now, meaning that he’d get to hear the decision a few days before John’s expulsion date. He doubted however if Queen Mary’s would let go of him right away, or if - just like in the case of John - they’d allow another month between the judgement and the date of dismission, to allow for a month of transition time. John was currently in the dismission period, which meant he had sessions with social workers who tried to help him establish a routine for when he’s got to leave and return to his old life.

Not that there was much left of his old life, in all honesty. Both his mother and the aunt and uncle he had lived with had thrown him out, and he had no other addresses to return to. The address Brian and he had discussed was that they’d go and live with Brian’s parents for the first few months, before finding an apartment on their own somewhere in the city - which was a plan Brian’s parents had approved of once they had overcome the shock of hearing that Brian was going for a reassessment to leave Queen Mary’s less than six months after he had been sent to it. The counsellors John had spoken too, however, were less convinced of this plan - mainly because it was of yet unsure if Brian would be released at all, or when exactly this would be. They were busy trying to set John up with guided community housing for people just released from hospital, prison, or mental institutions like the one he came from, taking no note of the fact that it would make John miserable to live in a community setting with around the clock guidance and interference. Brian knew that these social workers meant well, but he thought it really rather objectionable that they refused to listen to John’s opinion on being sent to a housing group, and kept pushing forward their vision regardless of the wishes of the one they worked for. The inability of the counsellors and John to see eye to eye on the question of where he was to go after Queen Mary’s would deliver him back into society made John cooperative to the counselling sessions, and brought stress and tension to his days and nights. Brian wished he could drag the counsellors over the desk by their ties and tell them what he thought of their method of ‘helping’ his partner, but since the sessions were closed to John and his mentor only, there was little he could do. All that was within his power was trying to convince his partner that they’d work their way around it, that his parents were willing to let him in even if Brian would not have been set free yet, and pray that his case would be approved of as soon as possible.

‘I’ll just grab my lyrics book and then Roger and I will be on our way,’ Freddie said as he dug through the stack of notebooks in the drawer of his nightstand. ‘Is there anything we can do for you before you leave?’

Apart from a handful of witty comments in the style of ‘burn down Queen Mary’s’ and ‘bribing the judges to make sure they approve of Brian’s case’ John and Brian had little serious matters to ask for, so Freddie and Roger left them with the promise that they’d be gone for a few hours so that the other couple could have lots of time to get down to the paperwork. They left with a handful of pens and a few notebooks, and before they knew it, Brian and John had the entire room to themselves.

‘Well then,’ said John, who by now had removed his hands from his face and reached out for the bunch of papers. ‘Shall we get going, then?’

Brian, in all honesty, was a tad disappointed by John’s offer to get right down to business. He would have preferred to first take a moment to talk about how John was doing today, with the eye on his partner’s reassessment case and the idea of having to leave sooner or later, but he could tell that John had brought up the idea of doing straight to the paperwork that needed to be tackled just so they would not have to talk about how he felt. Brian was not entirely sure if this was the right way to deal with one’s emotions, but after recent events, he knew better than to push John into talking when his boyfriend clearly did not want to. 

‘Alright,’ Brian said, taking a seat on his own bed. ‘What’ve you got there?’

John skimmed through the papers. ‘Family background and Code of Conduct. What do you wanna start with?’

‘I’ll have Code of Conduct. If I’m not mistaken that’s just the way I’m supposed to behave after I leave Queen Mary’s,’ Brian said, holding out his hand for John to give him the papers. Their beds had moved close enough to be at an arm’s length from each other, and Brian suspected it would not take long before they’d permanently shove their beds together just like Freddie and Roger did. 

‘I’ll have a look at the family background. See if there’s anything weird in there,’ John said, to which Brian nodded. For a moment or so they both quietly read through their assigned papers, the only sound being that of flicking papers and that of John’s humming. Though it distracted Brian from reading a little, he had never heard his partner hum before, and decided to let it be - it was cute, after all, and a sign that John felt comfortable. 

‘It says here I’m not supposed to spread overly negative opinions about Queen Mary’s,’ Brian eventually said. ‘And that I’m not allowed to reach out to the press to share negative experiences anonymously.’

‘So does that mean you can share negative experiences un-anonymously?’ John asked.

‘I guess so. Maybe because they can trace me down and beat me up then,’ Brian said.

‘They would if they’d have staff they could miss,’ John grinned.

Brian flicked the page, and read in comfortable silence until a question popped up in his mind. ‘Have you had similar papers to sign? You know, since you’ll be leaving soon?’

‘Yeah, these things sound kind of familiar,’ John said. ‘I just never paid much attention to them.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘Not after I asked if they would keep me if I refused to sign, and they said I’d be let go of regardless,’ John said, and Brian felt a pang of hurt when he was reminded once again that John did not really want to leave this place that was the only home he’d known for these past two years. ‘These papers are just a formality.’

‘Oh. Should I just sign then regardless?’

‘I don’t think you’ll be approved of if you refuse to sign their dumb codes of conduct, I’m afraid,’ John judged. ‘Besides, spilling the beans on Queen Mary’s doesn’t seem like something you’d do anyway.’

‘Probably not, no. Let me just get a pen,’ Brian said, leaning over to open the drawer of his nightstand, then his pencil case, and fish out one of the only two pens he possessed at the moment. Given that Queen Mary’s had a strict no-sharp-objects-policy, getting to keep two pens was a luxury that Brian had come to cherish and a right he wished to protect. With the ballpoint pen in his hand he skimmed through the last paragraphs - something about keeping confidential information confidential and not slandering the names of any of the staff or his fellow patients - he went to put a somewhat shaky signature on the dotted line at the end of the handout. Just as he was halfway through adding the date and location of signing to the document, John caught him by surprise with a business-like question.

‘What is the gross yearly income of your father?’

Brian blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Not for my interest. It’s one of the questions they ask you to answer in this family background. Along with your parents’ work experiences since the age of eighteen, and their involvement with law enforcement for the past twenty-five years, including petty crimes like parking fines and speeding tickets and such.’

Brian took a few seconds to reflect before replying. ‘It really is as if I’m becoming the ambassador of Saudi Arabia,’ he eventually mumbled. ‘Seriously though, how am I supposed to know whether my father was ever fined for driving through a red light before I was even born?’

‘Guess we’ll have to cross-examine him when we see him this weekend,’ John shrugged, straightening out the paper. ‘Both of your parents are coming, right?’

‘Yeah, they should be,’ Brian said. ‘At least that’s what mum said on the phone.’ He could sense John looking at him, but he did not have the courage to look him in the eyes at the moment, so he focussed his attention on the pen he now rolled between his thumb and forefinger. 

‘Are you nervous about seeing them again? Now that- well, since you broke the news to them yesterday?’

Brian hadn’t expected John to ask this question. He wasn’t usually the one to talk about emotions, let alone to bring up the topic if he was not coaxed into doing so. However, even though Brian wasn’t sure if he was quite in the mood to talk about it, he supposed he owed John something of an explanation at this point. He had told John that he had broken the news of trying to leave to his parents, and that they agreed to his request of letting them move in until they’d get an apartment for themselves, but other than that, he had been rather quiet about the whole matter. Part of it was because John hadn’t been very talkative about his reassessment either, but his parents’ emotional reaction had also been weighing in. This was something he had not told John, but he had a feeling that his boyfriend had been able to sense it - and now that he directly addressed the matter, it seemed best to Brian to break it to him.

‘A bit, I guess. My dad wasn’t happy, and my mom - well, eh, she cried. Said I was wasting my chance of healing by getting away from Queen Mary’s before they could complete their job,’ Brian mumbled, and he could feel John’s empathetic eyes on him. ‘But she said that if it was really what I wanted, then she would support me,’ he shrugged it off, even though he still had not completely overcome his mother’s reaction. It was weird in a way, because he had heard her cry a lot over the past six months - the days prior of his admission, the day of his admission, upon saying goodbye, the first few times they had telephoned, the first visit his parents had paid to him at Queen Mary’s - but this seemed different for some reason. Different, perhaps because now she cried not because she missed him, but because she felt so powerless now that he was leaving Queen Mary’s before his treatment was over - she might even be afraid of what was to become of him now that he might soon be out and about in society again. Because she was disappointed in him, or at least with his decision - which was incredibly hard to stomach for Brian. 

‘I’m sure she will support you,’ said John, who reached out a hand to put on Brian’s shoulder. ‘And your father will also come around sooner or later. He always does, you told me once, right? This will be no different.’

‘Probably, yeah,’ Brian said somewhat vaguely. ‘I mean, he’s got little choice - my mum already said yes to our plans, and regardless of what my dad might think, it’s my mum who wears the pants around the house,’ Brian chuckled, but his amusement faded when something else came to mind. ‘She was also the one to send me here, now that I think about it.’

‘She did that because she cares about you, sweetie,’ John said in the softest, most tender voice - one Brian would only get to hear when John tried to comfort him. ‘She couldn’t know it would be such a shitshow in here. She did what she thought would be best for you.’

‘It was, in a way,’ Brian sighed. ‘I never would have met you and those other clowns if I hadn’t been sent here.’

John pulled a face. ‘Out of all possible nicknames you could have called me, clown would be the one I personally never would have used. I’ve never said anything funny in my life.’

Brian begged to differ. ‘You called this place a shitshow like three seconds ago. And Roger called Queen Mary’s a clown academy just this morning.’

‘Sounds like him,’ John snorted before he pulled his hand away from Brian’s shoulder and tucked it under his head, taking in the sight of the ceiling for a moment before he said: ‘I’ll miss him when I’ll have to leave. You know, despite all the drama with his addiction and his vulgar comments and his annoying- annoying everything, I’ll still miss him. And Freddie, of course. I’ll miss him and his stupid enthusiasm about everything.’

Brian smiled at John’s way of appreciating their roommates, who overtime had become so much more than that. ‘I know. I’ll miss them too if I do get to leave. We’ve become such a team overtime.’

‘I never would have thought so before you got here,’ John admitted. ‘When I’d been assigned to a room with Freddie and Roger about a year ago, I thought I’d lose my mind. They were so… loud and intense and dramatic. I didn’t talk to my psychiatrist for a week when he refused to have me switch to another room. But I got used to them, and then you came around… And it just fit. You brought balance between all of us. You’re like… I don’t know. Some kind of glue that stuck us together.’

‘You’re so sweet,’ Brian smiled. ‘I’m sure Freddie and Roger will miss you just as much. I already overheard their plans of jumping on you for the longest hug you’ve ever had in your life on the day you leave here.’

John, contrary to what Brian had expected, did not pull a face but smiled back at him. ‘And you’re just letting them have that record?’

‘You know you can tell me if you need a cuddle,’ said Brian as he dragged himself up from his own bed in order to join John on his.

‘I can’t. Too antisocial to ask for physical intimacy,’ John said, although he did stretch out his arms to invite Brian into his bed and, more importantly, into his embrace. 

‘Physical intimacy, you say?’ Brian wiggled his eyebrows at John.  

‘This sort of thing is the reason why I’m antisocial in the first place,’ John sighed, but he leaned into the touch of his boyfriend anyway.

‘But you’ve made great progress,’ Brian remarked, tucking a loose strand of John’s hair behind his ear. ‘You talk during group therapy sessions, you go out and have fun with us and even with other people sometimes, like that time in the gym. You’re even allowed to leave because you’re doing so much better socially.’

‘Forced to, more like,’ John muttered. ‘I don’t want to leave.’

Brian, who felt like this might be a gateway to talking about John’s emotions concerning leaving Queen Mary’s in more depth, asked: ‘Even not if I go with you?’ 

‘That’s better, of course, a lot better. But I’m still - afraid. You know, what if I’m just a burden to your parents? What if they send me away just like… like everyone else?’

This was something Brian heard for the first time, and something that caught him by surprise, even though perhaps it shouldn’t have. John had seemed relieved when Brian had told him that they could live with his parents when they would first be dismissed from Queen Mary’s, but every place he’d ever lived had eventually kicked him out - his family home, his aunt and uncle’s place, and now Queen Mary’s. His fear of being expulsed again was reasonable, but Brian wished to tackle it. ‘What? They’d never send you away, honey. Trust me, they’re not that kind of people.’

‘But what if they don’t like me?’ John asked.

‘Why would they dislike you? You’re sweet and quiet and respectful. My parents will adore-’

‘Because I’m the reason you’re leaving prematurely,’ John burst in. ‘I’m the one who- you know, took away your chance at healing if all of this goes through.’

Oh, Lord. That was an aspect Brian hadn’t considered yet, but when John mentioned it, it hit him like a brick. Of course John worried about the effect he’d have on Brian now that his partner was trying to leave Queen Mary’s for his sake, and of course he worried about what Brian’s parents would think of him if this was to be one of his first impression on them. It explained John’s recent quietness and reticence, and Brian could hit himself in the face for not having seen it earlier.

‘Oh darling, is that why you’ve been so quiet about my reassessment?’

‘Maybe,’ John shrugged. ‘I just feel guilty.’

Brian, cuddling closer up to John said: ‘Never feel guilty. I never could have healed at this place of - of what exactly? Of staff members getting bitten in their arms when they try to break up a fight? Of dismantled coffee machines because the risk of people throwing hot coffee in each other’s faces is too high? Of secret isolation cells in the basement for if staff can’t handle the patients anymore and is not allowed to call the police out of management’s fear for inspection?’ Brian summed up. ‘I never could have healed here, John, and neither can you. This place is in the best interest of neither of us.’

‘I know,’ John gritted. ‘But that’s the thing - I want what’s best for you. And I’m not always sure that that’s me. Especially now that you’re about to be set free from Queen Mary’s, I’ve been wondering if I- if I should also set you free,’ John said with a sniff that Brian had a feeling preluded tears. It broke his heart seeing his partner like this, hearing how he felt about the influence he had on Brian, and his brain was working overtime trying to figure out something to say to show him that he had it all wrong - that being with him had made Brian feel infinitely better, and that he was the best thing that had ever happened to him, especially while here at Queen Mary’s. 

‘John- John, listen, honey. You are what’s best for me. I could never have imagined having come this far again, to the extent where I’m able to see that life is out there, and that I want to go back to it again. That’s all thanks to you,’ Brian said, cupping John’s face in his hands when his partner tried to shy away from his eyes. ‘Not because of Sarah’s endless chatter or Jasper’s enthusiastic but bloody annoying ‘thought schemes’ or whatever he calls them, but because of you. If it wasn’t for you, I would have stayed here, biding my time, waiting until they would either admit me back to my parent’s place again, or would ship me off to a long stay clinic. It’s thanks to you that I want to leave this place, go back to school, be back in touch with my friends and family, make a life again, together with you. Because you’re the one who showed me love again,’ Brian whispered, and he could swear he could see the tears in John’s eyes by now - and if those had just been an illusion, they were definitely there when he added: ‘I never thought I’d experience love again until I found you.’

‘Fuck, Brian,’ John choked out, using the back of his sleeve to wipe away his tears. ‘You can’t just… make speeches like that on a regular afternoon and expect me to be okay.’

‘It’s okay to cry. It shows that you care.’

‘I know. I just still have to get used to like… emotions and stuff,’ John said. ‘Fuck, this is unbelievable. They really think they can put me back and have me be a functional member of society? This place honestly doesn’t know what they’re doing,’ he said, desperately trying to wipe out another line of tears, but the smile that shone through underneath told Brian that he was happy despite it all. 

‘Maybe they don’t, but we do,’ Brian said. ‘We’ll go out there, sort ourselves out, get a nice studio apartment, buy some cheap pots and pans and floral furniture you wouldn’t want to be found dead on at a second-hand store, go back to school or work or whatever we want to do. We’ll visit Freddie and Roger until they’ll be let go of. We’ll play music until the neighbours knock on the walls, and drink lukewarm tea from a dysfunctional hand-me-down kettle that already seemed too good to be true.’ John’s smile grew a little wider, and Brian added: ‘And we’ll have one of those weird spider plants that grow all over the place if you don’t watch it. We’ll adopt a scrawny old cat that sleeps in our bed and hangs in the curtains at least twice a week. Your turn.’ 

John blinked for a bit. ‘Oh, eh… Well, I’ll ruin at least three shirts because I can’t iron for the life of me. We’ll have instruments and strings and guitar picks all over the place.’

‘We’ll have to accept ugly knitted pillow cases and crocheted tablecloths from our mums, which we’ll only bring out when they come around to visit,’ Brian followed up.

‘We’ll have an old radio or TV which keeps buzzing regardless of how well you tune it, and we’ll hit the screen with a rolled-up newspaper if we’re frustrated, as if that will make things better.’

‘We’ll have joined showers because there’ll be too little hot water for the both of us to shower separately. And I only want biscuit tins that actually contain biscuits in the house. No needlework or lightbulbs or clothing pins or the like.’

John, who by now seemed to get the hang of the game, said: ‘We’ll spend all of our excess money on records, and hang sleeves up on the wall as decoration.’

‘We’ll dump out that dumb kettle and buy a decent one, and we’ll try out weird tea flavours all day. Pineapple tea, cotton candy, or tomato-broccoli flavour or so.’

John pulled a face. ‘And I’d dump it right into the plant pots when you’re not looking. That might make those weird spider plants stop growing.’

Brian snorted. ‘And then I’d buy a cactus, and we’ll be known as the first couple ever to manage to kill a cactus. I also want a bed with at least twenty pillows and five different sorts of blankets and duvets on it so we can roll around all night. All as mismatched as possible - really kitschy.’

‘We’ll play guitar in bed until late, until I fall asleep with my bass pics still in hand. And when we wake up in the morning you’ll make your nasty tea and I’ll put on a record on the record player next to the bed so we can stay in late and listen to the Beatles, and we’ll be happy.’

Those last words were the most meaningful Brian had heard John say concerning their upcoming freedom - whether Brian would be released at the end of this reassessment trial or whether he would have to sit out his time at Queen Mary’s until the end, they would stay together, and they would be happy. They’d overcome the turbulence of their youth, the problems of the past, the battles with themselves - they’d be together, united, and they’d be happy together. They’d have each other even if the world around them would crumble, and catch each other if they would fall.

Brian tightened his arms around John’s torso, and pulled him in for a chaste but meaningful kiss on the lips.

‘And we’ll be happy.’

# # # 

Unfortunately for the pair of them, John’s new-found positive outlook on Brian’s reassessment and leaving Queen Mary’s behind did not last long. A mere few hours after Brian and he had signed paperwork and reunited with Freddie and Roger for a game of mensch-ärgere-dich-nicht, a bomb threat from an anonymous culprit - most likely to be an ex-patient or relative to a patient of Queen Mary’s - destroyed whatever had been left of the atmosphere as the entire populace was escorted into the basement while police flocked around the building. Nothing was found, but the threat and the stress of hours spent in suspense waiting for the police report had put a permanent strain on all four of the members of Room 41, and none of them slept well during the night that followed. The usual drill of incident-filled mealtimes and hostility in the hallways and activity rooms took their toll on John, who was further discouraged from the forced acquittal process through another string of meetings with counsellors who tried arranging help he didn’t want and resources he didn’t need. 

Brian tried to keep John somewhat upbeat by reminding him of the upcoming visit of his parents, which he hoped John would see as a safe haven to stay after Queen Mary’s, but it seemed to have the polar opposite effect on John. Instead of taking comfort in the fact that there would be a family waiting to take him in when he would be released, the mere idea of moving in with people he did not know and living at their expense seemed to freak John out, and no amount of reassurance from Brian that his parents would not mind and would love to take him in could convince him otherwise - to the point where on the day of the scheduled meeting, John hardly dared to come out of his bed.

‘Come on, lovie,’ said Brian, who had seated himself on the bed next to John. His partner, currently lying on his stomach with his face buried in a pillow, tried hard to ignore him. ‘Nolan will be here in a few minutes. You have to get up.’

‘Don’t wanna,’ John murmured into his pillow. 

‘I know, but you’re going to do great.’ When John ignored this comment, Brian sighed, running a hand over John’s back. ‘What are you most afraid of?’

John huffed. ‘Everything.’

Well, that was not exactly a conclusive answer, but Brian knew what he meant. John feared meeting his parents, their reaction to him, the paperwork they’d have to sign, and most of all, the finality of his time at Queen Mary’s the meeting would signify. They would talk of plans for the future and questions would be asked regarding his background, his mental situation, his ideas for the upcoming years - the mere idea of which Brian knew freaked John out. Still, he remained hopeful that he could convince his boyfriend to get up, brave his fears, and go out there; it was important that John would get to see his parents at least once before permanently moving in with them, regardless of whether Brian would be joining him right away or not. Especially if Brian’s request of reassessment would be denied it would be important that John at least knew who his parents were, given that he’d then go to live with them without having Brian there to be his rock in an otherwise unknown environment. 

‘You shouldn’t be. My parents won’t think anything negative about you, believe me.’

‘I’m sure they’re thrilled to find that their only son came home with a suicidal college dropout who was disowned by his own family,’ John said, and Brian felt his heart sink in. He hated having to hear his partner talk about himself in this manner, and was determined to make him feel more secure about himself - especially in the light of the upcoming visit.

‘Everyone in here is a dropout of some sort. Does that mean we’re all failures? Does that mean Roger, Freddie, and I are failures?’ Brian knew it was a bit cruel to put John on the spot like this, but his words seemed to have some effect on his partner.

‘Of course you’re not. You have plans to go back to school and make something of your life.’

‘And you don’t?’ Brian asked him. ‘You don’t want to go back to college at some point in time?’

John shrugged. ‘I guess.’

Knowing that this was likely to be the most he was going to get out of John at this point in time, Brian said: ‘You will. We’re going to get out of here, take some time to readjust, go back to school, find ourselves an apartment. I’ll finish my degree and you’ll finish yours, or find a job you enjoy, or- or whatever makes you happy. I’ll support you regardless of what you choose to do.’

John now turned around to lie on his back and looked at him, and it looked like he wanted to say something - a word of thanks, or an affirmation that he’d do the same for Brian - but he ended up just looking at Brian until his gaze was eventually pulled away from his boyfriend when a knock on the door distracted his attention.

‘I’ll go get it, dears,’ said Freddie as he bounced off the bed with a bit too much enthusiasm for his emaciated body, but he nevertheless made it to the door without too much visible trouble. The door was opened and Freddie enthusiastically exclaimed that Nolan had arrived (a useless statement really, given that no one else but their mentor would ever approach their ‘stink cave,’ as Roger had taken to calling their room as of late) but neither of his friends reacted to the announcement. They just sat there, each on their own side of the bed, looking at each other; Brian with a glimpse of hope and John with a look of desolation on his face. Brian knew John would have given it all he owned to be able to skip this meeting, which gave Brian all the more reason to try his best and pick his boyfriend up from the depth of the mental rabbit hole he had dug himself into.

‘Come, let’s get up. Nolan is waiting for us,’ Brian said. He deliberately let out the fact that his parents must be waiting on them, too - the mere mentioning of the presence of his mum and dad was enough to make John slide back into desolation. Brian had never seen anyone as anxious about a meeting as John was at that given moment, and he was running out of things to say to comfort him.

‘Baby, you know you won’t be alone there. I’ll be with you the entire time, and so is Nolan,’ Brian said. John didn’t react. ‘Do you need anyone else there? Maybe Freddie or Roger…?’ he said with a hesitant look towards the other side of the room, but he was luckily met with smiles and nods.

‘Of course!’ Roger said, the overly enthusiastic tone of his reply quickly explained when he added: ‘I’ll have to miss my counselling for once, but I don’t think that will matter too much.’

‘No, I’m fine. Just Brian and Nolan will do,’ John said, much to the relief of everyone apart from the proposer himself.

‘Well, Nolan and I are ready whenever you are,’ Brian told him, then corrected himself when he realised the vast liberty this statement would grant his partner to stay in their room for the remainder of the day. ‘Nolan and I are ready, and we’d like to go. There’s a lot to discuss and they’ve planned an hour for this meeting,’ he said, careful to address the discussion of future plans with his parents as neutral as possible.

‘Hm-hmm,’ John hummed as a form of answer, but his eyes were empty, and he made no movements that indicated he was planning on getting up from the bed anywhere soon. Brian thus took matters into his own hands and stood up from the bed, taking a few steps to the left so he could stand in front of John.

‘Come on, honey. Time to go. We have to take care of this sooner or later.’ Brian reached out a hand towards his partner to help him get up from the bed, but John merely stared at it. Brian heard the soft murmur of Freddie’s and Nolan’s voices behind him, and he sighed deeply before crouching down to John’s level.

‘Listen, darling. I know you’re not very comfortable about meeting my parents and talking about what to do when you have to leave Queen Mary’s, but you’re only making it harder on yourself by not cooperating. You’ll have to leave in about three weeks, and we can’t change that. The best thing we can do is arrange something so we can stay together and support each other.’

John blinked, then finally spoke. ‘But what if you won’t be allowed to leave?’ 

‘Then I want to make sure you’ll be in the best place possible until I’ll be dismissed. And that place is going to be at my parents’ house. Please, John, give this a chance. I know you’re nervous, and you don’t want things to change, but things will change, and we’re gonna have to deal with that in the best way possible.’ Brian’s voice was a bit more insistent than he would have liked for it to be, but it at last seemed to have an effect on John.

‘Promise me you won’t leave me alone in there,’ John whispered - pleaded, nearly.

‘I promise. You just have to say the word to let me know you’re no comfortable. And you don’t have to answer any questions you don’t want to answer, in case anyone might ask them,’ Brian vowed. ‘Come with me?’ he asked. He stretched his hand towards John again, and this time John took it.

John was still visibly nervous - the smile he gave Nolan when they came face to face with him in the hallway looked tensed rather than sincere, and he kept his head down as they walked through the hallways, past the canteen and the staff rooms and into the corridor leading to the visiting area. Brian had only been to the place a few times before, but he remained uneasy each time a guard opened the multiple barred doors they crossed on their way. 

‘Your parents have already arrived, I’ve been told,’ Nolan said to Brian. ‘They’ve also signed the paperwork in which they vow to take in John and you, or just John in case of- well, in that case,’ Nolan cut himself off when Brian shot him a look. Brian was glad that his mentor understood the hint - right as John was heading for the meeting he’d been dreading since the very moment it had been planned was not exactly the right moment to bring up all that could still go wrong in Brian’s process. The string of meetings with Professor Fisher, the independent psychiatrists who had been assigned to supervise the case and oversee Brian’s ability to return to society, had gone well, and the professor had given his blessing to Brian’s appeal. It had been a victory for Brian and all those around him - apart from John. Every time an obstacle was removed from Brian’s path towards accelerated freedom, all John seemed to be able to see were the new mountains showing up on the way. 

To some extent, John had a point. Even though he had managed to push his appeal for freedom past the internal staff of Queen Mary’s and an outsider in the form of a psychiatrist, Brian had no guarantees that the eventual jury he’d have to beat up to would grant him leave. Especially the presence of his former psychiatrist Doctor Sumner did not sit comfortably with him, but he refused to let this prospect weigh him down; he had a task in front of him, and he was going to give it all he could. Nothing, not John’s negativity nor his own nerves, and most of all not Doctor Sumner’s preening eyes and tight-lipped smile were going to hold him back.

Nolan babbled on about the contact he’d had with Brian’s parents over the phone - something Brian had been unaware of, and something he did not know whether to appreciate or to be wary of - but it was only when they reached the last door that separated the three of them from his parents that Brian really felt his attention resurfacing to the presence. The guard who had walked them all the way over searched their pockets for forbidden items and had a small fit over the shaving cream bottle cap Brian had forgotten he’d put in his back pocket that morning for no particular reason other than not knowing where to leave it as he was shaving. Nolan managed to convince the guy that it was nothing, so the item was confiscated and they were given leave to enter the heavy iron door.

‘Alright, folks. Are you ready?’ Nolan asked with his usual upbeat expression on his face as he stepped over the threshold of the door. Brian was ready to do the same, but one look at John was all he needed to know that John needed a few more words of encouragement.

‘One second, Nole,’ Brian said, not realising he just called his mentor by the nickname Freddie sometimes used to refer to him in private. He stepped into the direction of John, who was still standing next to the guard - and who slipped back a few steps when Brian approached him.

‘John…’ Brian said quietly.

‘I- I can’t do this,’ John told him. ‘I need more time. I can’t do this now.’

‘But there isn’t more time,’ Brian said. Then, stepping close quickly enough to make it impossible for John to back away from him any further, he placed his hands on either of his boyfriend’s shoulders and said: ‘Listen, John. I wish I could give you all the time in the world, but we don’t have that luxury. We have to step up now to make the best out of the situation; we’ll regret it if we let Queen Mary’s rehabilitation services figure out our future for us,’ Brian said. ‘And I know you think you’re expected to go out there and put on your brightest smile and act like the perfect foster child or whatever for my parents to take you into their house, but you don’t. You don’t have to live up to any expectations. You don’t have to be perfectly sociable and nice - it’s not a competition where the winner takes it all and the loser is left behind. There is no losing here, you see?’ Brian took a second to take a break from his monologue, but picked it up again before John could disagree with him. ‘You’re going to get out of his Godawful place and move into a home where people will care for you, regardless of whether I’ll be released right away or a few months later. My parents already signed the papers and they promised to take you in and take care of you for as long as needed. And you don’t have to worry about them liking you or not, because they will.’

John had remained perfectly blank throughout the soliloquy, but he snorted at those last words. ‘They won’t. I’m a disappointment.’

‘You’re perfect and they’re gonna love you. You’re smart and funny and polite - if you choose to be so - and perfect company. My parents have always wanted to have a second child, and getting one at the age of twenty doesn’t mean they’ll be any less enthusiastic,’ Brian said with a little smile, and he could see that John’s face copied his despite his lover trying to look away from him. ‘And as for you… You could do with a family after all these years. A real family.’

At the mentioning of these words, John turned his face away from him even further, but this did not prevent Brian from seeing that tears were brimming his eyes. The idea of having a family, a house to come home to every night, a space where he did not have to feel like an outsider, a burden, an unwanted alien - Brian could tell that it touched John, and he knew that this was the right moment to usher him through the door before either of them could think better of it.

‘Come on. Let’s go in,’ Brian whispered with a soft yet steady hand on the small of John’s back. He heard John smother a sob and saw him wipe the back of his hand across his eyes, but once this had been taken care of, he allowed Brian to gently usher him towards the door through which Nolan had just disappeared. John halted for a second when they neared the threshold - his hand seemed to be seeking Brian’s, and the guitarist placed his hand on John’s and squeezed it shortly. 

‘I’m right here with you.’

‘I know,’ John whispered. With that, he stepped over the threshold; Brian followed him, and then the guard closed the iron door behind them, leaving no way back until the end of the meeting. It was a thought that Brian knew should freak John out, but personally he was rather relieved to know that there was no other way for John than to follow him to his parents.

The meeting room seemed a lot larger than the last time to Brian - which was probably at least partially to blame to the fact that it had been filled with patients and their family members and at least a handful of guards and other supervisors the few times he’d visited so far. This time, however, his eyes darted around the room without seeing more than a single guard flicking through a leaflet in the corner of the room. There was one single occupied table at the other end of the room, towards which Nolan was currently making his way. He could make out the figures of his parents, who were standing up from their chairs as the stranger approached them. He could see his mum shove her handbag into her husband’s hands as the mentor reached a hand towards her.

‘Good morning, folks!’ Brian could hear Nolan say with a perfect mixture of politeness and informality. ‘I’m Nolan Ferrier - we’ve spoken on the phone.’ Brian watched as first his mother’s and then his father’s hand was pulled into a strong handshake from Nolan’s side. They seemed to share a few more quiet words, and Brian suddenly realised that Jon and he had not moved on any further than perhaps three feet away from the door. 

‘Come, let’s go over there. I’ll go first.’ Without awaiting John’s reply as to avoid giving him the opportunity to protest, Brian walked past the first row of empty tables. He heard the sound of John’s shoes clicking on the floor behind him confirming that his partner was following him. He then changed his walking pace to a more rapid one - he did not want to waste any time that could be used for coming to agreements for when either John came to live with them, either on his own or with him straight away.

The second his parents caught sight of him, the polite discussion of some sort they had been following with Nolan was wrapped up; hands were detached and excuses were made, and they turned to walk into his direction. He could hear his mother call his name - first softly, then louder - and his smile brightened. He hadn’t seen his parents since the last family visit, which had been at least three weeks ago at least. Their enthusiasm for seeing him, however, never seemed to subside; they were as happy and emotional as they came to him now as they had been the very first time they’d been granted entrance into the visiting room of Queen Mary’s to come see their son. Brian could already hear his mother’s first sobs before they had even gotten towards each other, although it was only a second or so later that they met in the middle. Brian was caught in the surprisingly strong grip of his mother’s arms, followed by those of his father. Being embraced by his parents always felt so secure, so safe - it was like coming home regardless of how far away he was from his paternal house.

‘Oh, Brian, my love! How are you?’ The voice of his mother was high and shrill so close to his ear, but it did not seem to Brian that this was an appropriate moment to say something about it.

‘I’m fine, mum. You know you don’t have to worry about me,’ he mumbled against the shoulder of his father. This time there were no guards telling them to break up and sit down - just the three of them getting a moment to express their love for each other through touch rather than through words. Not that that stopped Brian’s mother from blabbering on, though…

‘But you know I do,’ his mother sighed. ‘A reassessment! I didn’t even know what it was! Or that it was possible! And that you were already working on it-‘

‘Don’t wind yourself up too much, dear,’ Harold interrupted the stream of words flowing from his wife’s mouth. ‘Mister Ferrier will tell us all about it in a moment, I’m sure.’

Brian opened his eyes at the mentioning of his mentor, whom he had completely ignored since the moment he had met eyes with his parents. Much to his relief he saw Nolan smiling at him lazily, but the same, he assumed, could not be said about John. His boyfriend, who remained standing a few feet behind him, could hardly be comfortable around the family scene he was currently witnessing. Brian thus pulled himself away from the arms of his parents, and took a step back to line up next to the person he’d momentarily neglected.

‘Mum, Dad, this is John, my friend and roommate.’ Brian felt himself beam with pride as he introduced the boy around whom he’d centred his life for the past few months, and his parents seemed equally eager to meet him and exchange some words with the person their son had been unable to shut up about lately.

‘Oh, John! How good to finally meet you!’ his mother all but cooed, extending a hand towards him. ‘I’m Ruth May - Brian’s mother.’ John followed her example and shook hands with her and introduced himself somewhat awkwardly.

‘Er, it’s great to see you too. I’m John Deacon.’ He forced a small smile and withdrew his hand as quickly as possible; Brian hoped his mum would take no offence. He had told them during their last phone call that John was incredibly nervous - and that his antisocial personality disorder meant that he was not one to enjoy himself in social situations - so that they should be a bit lenient on him. Knowing his parents, they would behave just so; but Brian did feel that a lot of questions concerning John would be coming up as soon as his boyfriend would be out of their sight, especially when his father took his turn to introduce himself.

‘John, I’m Harold May,’ Brian’s father told him as he took John’s hand in his own. ‘We’ve heard a lot about you.’

Brian saw the smile wash off John’s face. ‘Is that an, uh, good or a bad sign?’ he asked with a renewed fake smile and a hint of humour, but Brian knew that it was really the joke which John tried to play it off yet. His mother laughed her typical, high-pitched laugh, and said she loved his humour, and his father was chuckling still when he disclaimed it had been a pretty good picture that had been painted of him by their son. Neither of this worked, though - and it was only when Brian put an arm around him that his tensed body relaxed a little.

‘A good sign, Deaky. Do you think I’d tell them bad stories about you? Do you think I even have bad stories to tell about you?’

John looked at him thoroughly at first, as if he was deciding whether Brian was playing with him or not, but eventually the slightest of a smile broke through. The somewhat awkward silence, however, by then had already prompted Nolan to speak up.

‘Shall we sit down and go over the arrangements? We’ve got quite a bit to discuss.’

John seemed to be most enthusiastic about following Nolan’s proposal. He agreed whole-heartedly and paced towards the table on which Brian’s parents had been sitting before. Nolan, who - as usual - seemed to sense exactly what he was feeling, made sure to sit next to him on the one side, and made Brian sit down on the other. Harold and Ruth sat across from them and waited for Nolan to bring out the papers he’d brought with him in a dark red folder with Brian’s name and patient number printed on the front. Brian saw John getting fidgety with the hem of his shirt while Nolan looked for the right papers, and placed a hand on John’s leg underneath the table.

‘Alright,’ Nolan eventually declared when he’d found the papers he had been looking for, and closed the folder to put it aside. ‘What we’re here for today is to go over the agreements which have been made for John’s rehabilitation into society, and that of Brian in case that his reassessment will be approved. I’m first just going to go through some formalities,’ Nolan announced. ‘Is it correct that you are Harold and Ruth May, parents of Brian May?’

‘Correct,’ Harold said.

‘So far so good,’ Nolan smiled. ‘And you were the ones who applied for your son to be admitted into Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Hospital, together with his psychiatrist Doctor L. J. Sumner?’ Brian felt his stomach turn at the mere mention of the name of his previous psychiatrist, but he buckled up for the sake of everyone around him. His father once again confirmed, together with the date on which they had filled out the application and the date of approval.

‘Then, according to this file right here…’ Nolan’s voice trailed down near the end of the sentence as he searched for the right paper. ‘Ah, here. According to this, you handed Brian over to the care of Queen Mary’s on March fifteen, nineteen seventy-one, by bringing him over and seeing to it that he was taken in.’

‘Yes. Wasn’t it you that took him in?’ Ruth asked. Nolan nodded with a small smile.

‘It was. It’s just that the protocol tells me to have you confirm all these details - because, as the next point tells me, you volunteered and were approved to take Brian back under your roof and carry parental responsibility for his well-being and further recovery when he would be released from Queen Mary’s?’

‘We are. And we still stand by that,’ said Harold, which preceded the next question Nolan was to read out loud. They were reminded of what it meant to be the guardians of Brian in a mental health context, and of which people to inform and turn to in case things went downhill again. That, if Brian had a fallback, he could be reported and taken back into Queen Mary’s, but that this would first need investigation, and could not happen overnight. This point seemed to make his mother more than just a little nervous - but, upon Brian ensuring her that chances of this happening were small, and Nolan telling her that help would always be available in case of acute danger, she eventually agreed. A few more such questions were answered and considered before Nolan placed down the papers and started looking for another set.

‘Now, as we all know, these arrangements will be critical in case Brian gets released after his reassessment trial. We cannot guarantee when or if that will happen, but what we do know is that John will be released in three weeks,’ Nolan said, and Brian saw John’s jaw clenching. The soothing hand stroking John’s leg seemed to be able to do little to soothe him when Nolan spoke on. ‘John Richard Deacon, taken in on September three, nineteen sixty-nine at age eighteen, after his foster guardians Alec Baldwin and Molly Baldwin-Forester signed him up to be taken into Queen Mary’s when they could no longer deal with his mental problems.’

‘Foster guardians?’ Ruth sounded surprised, if not a little afraid. Nolan looked at John as to find out whether he was allowed to tell them what happened, or if he should tell them that John would tell them later. Brian remembered having told his parents at one point during this past week’s phone calls and conversations that John could not return to the aunt and uncle with whom he had lived before being taken into Queen Mary’s, but he was afraid that his mother at the moment failed to see that the foster guardians which Nolan referred to were nothing more than John’s aunt and uncle. He knew the official documents referred to them as his foster guardians, but he understood how different, how dramatic this sounded - as if John had been a problematic child who had gone through multiple sets of foster parents over the years, the last pair of which had sent him away to a mental institution. It was far from the truth, but Brian could hardly blame his parents for getting an idea like this in their head.

To his utter surprise, John hardly blinked when he offered an explanation to Brian’s parents. ‘I was taken in by my aunt and uncle after my mum could no longer combine the care of my disabled sister with taking care of me,’ he said, which Brian had to admit was not a lie - just a very polished version of what he had actually gone through with his entire family locking him out. Brian could not blame him, though, for John only telling part of the truth to his parents. He doubted he would have been able to disclose more about his terrific past to a pair of strangers upon first meeting them - especially in John’s current state of being.

‘Disabled sister-’ Brian heard his father mumble, but he effectively managed to shut him up by giving the man, who was sitting across from him at the table, a light kick against the shin. His father’s face retorted, but he did not protest; he seemed to understand that this was not the right time or place to discuss the ins and outs of John’s life. Besides, Brian had clearly instructed them not to pry into John’s personal business; he would tell them what he wanted them to know as soon as he felt comfortable around them.

Nolan, like the hero he was, continued his story. ‘Alec and Molly Baldwin thus handed John over to the care of Queen Mary’s, but while our staff has reached out to them to tell them their nephew will soon be released and to ask them if they are willing to take him in again, they have declined their responsibility, and do not wish to be involved in backing John up in his rehabilitation process whatsoever, as they stated in a formal letter we received the other day.’ A light brown envelope was brought up and put in the middle of the table. Four pairs of eyes stared at it, but no one seemed to dare make a move or say a word. ‘John’s mother has also been informed, but she- she declared herself to be unfit of taking care of John again, referring to- her daily task of taking care of-’

‘Of my sister, yes. I expected so,’ John finished the sentence of Nolan, of whom both Brian and he was currently making up a more socially acceptable answer to refuse to take in a son again than what she really had told the staff upon being contacted. Brian wondered if she had yelled, if she had cursed her son, if she had laughed viciously and asked if they were out of their mind to ask her to take back the person who she deemed the one to have ruined her life. Brian guessed he would never know, and perhaps it was better like that - especially if John would also be spared from the probably /scalding/ reply his mother had made to the request.

‘Your sister, yes. Your mother sees herself currently unfit to combine, eh, her care with that of you,’ Nolan said. ‘Other family members we unfortunately could not reach. So that…’ he stressed while looking at the couple sitting across from him, ‘is where the pair of you come in’. 

Silence for a moment while Ruth and Harold looked at each other. Brian could see the doubt and uncertainty in their eyes. He realised he had sort of convinced them overnight to have both him and his secret boyfriend come back to live under the same roof as them over the past few days; after all, there had not been more than about a week between the first moment he had rung them to tell them about his plans of getting a reassessment, and this meeting which had been scheduled last-minute as his psychiatrist had approved him for the first round of his trial. He knew his parents were hesitant people in general, and the fact that they both did not know John and that they realised he suffered from mental problems wasn’t making it easy on them. Learning now that he came from a troubled family background also wasn’t making matters any less complicated for his parents, but Brian refused to let their fear of the unknown ruin his opportunity to escape Queen Mary’s with John - and, much more importantly, John’s chances of a stable future to make up for all the pain he had gone through in the past decade. 

‘Yes. Mum and Dad are willing to take in both John and me when we are released,’ Brian said in what he liked to consider a helping hand, but which his parents obviously had a different opinion about. 

‘We- yes. We are certainly willing,’ his father said, straightening his tie. ‘But, er, there are certain… uncertainties that will need to be clarified first.’

‘Of course,’ Nolan said in the most understanding of tones. ‘Of course. We have come to understand that, as far as we have been informed, you have no experience with caring for foster children - foster patients, in this case,’ Nolan said. Brian hated the word foster patient already. 

‘Exactly.’ Ruth shook her head vehemently, glad that Nolan understood they had reservations about the case now that everything was starting to get so real so quickly. ‘We have no prior experience with taking people in, and especially not young people.’

‘You’ve dealt with me for twenty-four years,’ Brian reminded them, but this unfortunately was not what they meant.

‘Of course it feels strange to let someone into your house at first - especially when it is someone you are not related to,’ Nolan admitted. ‘But experience leans that guardians and subjects, as they are commonly referred to, usually get into a good flow quickly, and can grow tight bonds.’

‘I see,’ Ruth said, obviously still doubting. Brian chewed on the inside of his cheek. 

‘You do not have to worry about finances either - as John is under twenty-one, one can appeal to the state for subvention. After he turns twenty-one, you can still get subvention for taking care of someone with mental health issues. We can help you fill out the application,’ Nolan said in what seemed like another attempt to convince Harold and Ruth not to come back on their promise to take John in. Brian appreciated it, but unfortunately his parents did not take the bait. 

‘Oh, the finances I’m not too worried about. But is there any sort of - aftercare after Queen Mary’s?’ Ruth asked. ‘To make sure John won’t… slip back into old habits?’ Brian was not entirely pleased about his mother using the word habits when referring to John’s depression and anti-social spells, but he was given no time to protest.

‘Naturally,’ Nolan assured her. ‘Queen Mary’s has an extensive programme, which consists of weekly meetups with either a patient’s psychiatrist before coming here, during their stay, or one that specifically works in our aftercare programme. Furthermore every ex-patient will also enroll in a programme to help them either find a job or go back to school, and help them build up their future.’

‘I would love to go back to college,’ John broke in shyly but confidently. ‘I want to finish my studies. I used to do electrical engineering at Chelsea College in London. It’s a- uh, College of Advanced Technology. Known as one of the best around the country,’ John said in what sounded to Brian like a helpless plead to make himself desirable to his parents. Brian felt a knot form in his stomach by merely listening to it - it was disheartening that his parents were being so distant and doubtful all of a sudden, especially right in John’s face. John, the person he loved with all his heart; the person who deserved the world and more, especially after continuously having been held down from it. The person for whom Brian hoped for a good ending to this entire mental health drama more than he did for himself or anyone else in the world. Seeing him being denied by his parents was one of the most painful things he had ever witnessed, and he had gone through quite some disheartening situations at Queen Mary’s.

Harold, either not seeing or ignoring his son’s deadly glares, nodded slowly. ‘Electrical engineering. A fine subject. You’ll never be out of work with a solid degree like that.’

‘Absolutely,’ Nolan agreed. ‘It will give him something to focus on - make sure he keeps himself busy. Studies show that people recovering from mental illness are three times more successful when they have a job or studies to focus on.’

‘I can also find a weekend job on top of that,’ John offered. ‘So you won’t have me hanging around the house, you know.’

‘Oh, that is not- not at all what we’re worried about, John,’ Harold said. Then, clearing his throat, he finally said the thing Brian had been fearing for the entire meeting. Putting his hand on that of his wife’s, he brought up to Nolan: ‘An issue I feel that my wife and I are currently facing, is that we are not… we are not mental health experts. We were not trained to deal with depression, and borderline, and-‘ he paused for a second as he looked at John, and eventually concluded his sentence with the words: -‘similar issues.’

‘Dad!’ Brian hissed at him, but this only made matters worse.

‘Your father is right, dear,’ his mother intervened. ‘We do not know how to deal with mental health issues. We don’t know John and his… his mental situation, or how to deal with it. You know what happened when you were at your worst…’

‘But he’s not at his worst anymore, and neither am I. John is being released because he’s doing so well,’ Brian said - which was not entirely the truth, but which he decided his parents did not need to know that it was either being let go of or getting locked up into long-stay facilities - ‘and I am the first person to qualify for a reassessment in years. Right, Nolan?’ Brian said, turning to his mentor sharply. ‘Right?’

‘Er, yes,’ Nolan said, clearly taken aback somewhat by Brian’s sudden fierceness. ‘You are the first in years to qualify, and John is doing well enough to leave Queen Mary’s.’ Again, this was only technically the truth, but Brian was grateful to his mentor for helping both John and Him. Nolan probably realised just as well as he did that this was the best chance John had to make a head start and not to end up in some shabby rehabilitation home and programme focussed on substance abusers and victims of domestic violence rather than on his antisocial personality disorder, and have his life spiral down even further than it had before. 

‘See? There will be no problem, Dad. I promise,’ Brian said with as much confidence he could muster. 

‘I am sure that John will behave well, and that chances of problems arising will be slim,’ his father tried to hush him. ‘But his - what was it, asocial personality?’

‘Antisocial personality disorder,’ Brian grumbled.

‘His antisocial personality - I fear it works just like your depression and borderline. Things can go well for a while, but when you had fallbacks, we could do absolutely nothing to help you. You were either unattainable, or overly emotional, or unreasonably angry and depressed - and that was just borderline, as to say so. What if John ends up in one of his antisocial spells? What are we supposed to do with that?’

‘You will be given guidance prior to taking John in, mister May,’ Nolan tried, but Brian was not as calm as his mentor was.

‘Then you leave him be! He’ll manage, and he’ll come back to himself in due time! Being antisocial in essence just means having moments of not wanting to interact with anyone and wanting to be left alone - a whole lot easier than dealing with my troubles, let me tell you.’

‘Brian…’ John called his name carefully. 

‘We understand, dear,’ Ruth said. ‘But we know you - we know what to expect of you.’

‘Yes, you knew what to expect,’ Brian said dryly. ‘That’s why you sent me away to Queen Mary’s, right? Because you knew exactly how to handle me.’

‘Brian.’ His name was called again, but this time in a more threatening fashion, coming from his father. ‘You’re our child - we’ve known you all your life. We do not know John, do not know his illness, his family, his background, his life story…’ 

‘So that’s a reason not to take him in and help him? Because you can’t verify that his parents are a decent middle-class couple with a husband working nine-to-five-hours at a company of national importance, and a happy housewife who has dinner ready at precisely six o’clock each day?’

‘Of course not,’ Harold objected. ‘You’re being ridiculous now.’

‘No, you’re being ridiculous!’ Brian said. He could hear Nolan telling him not to talk to his parents like that, but could not move himself to care about what anyone thought of him telling his parents some home truths. ‘You promised to help John, to take him in and give him a chance! And if you care to know his background so much - John came from a perfectly fine family, including nine-to-five job holder and happy housewife, until his parents lost a son, his sister was left severely disabled after an accident, and within the same year, his father died. Are you happy now?’

Brian could hear John take in a sharp breath of air beside him, and somewhere deep inside, he felt bad for having told half of history so casually to his parents for the sake of making a case against their hesitation to take someone they didn’t know under their wing. However, his frustration and determination to fulfil John’s promise of letting him move in with his family and building a stable background where he would be loved, accepted, part of a larger community, left him unable o do much more than put his hand on John’s shoulder and staring at his parents with cold eyes.

Harold was the first to break the silence when he coughed and shifted in his chair. Turning to Nolan, he said: ‘Gentlemen, could you give us a moment? A word between my wife and me and our son?’

‘Most certainly,’ said Nolan, who seemed almost eager to remove himself and John from the battlefield the discussion had turned into. ‘John and I will be just around the door. Call us when you need us again - because, and I don’t want to put pressure on anyone, but the papers will have to be signed today. Both to strengthen Brian’s case for his reassessment, and for John - because if he cannot stay with your family, our staff will have to arrange a place for him in a communal home.’

Brian could feel John’s eyes turning to him, wild and panicky, and he had to count to three before allowing himself to look at John out of fear that he might either start crying or start yelling if he did so right away. He was hurt, frustrated, angry, humiliated, betrayed - all of those both on his own account but mostly on that of John, who he had promised that he’d be allowed to live with his family upon being released from Queen Mary’s. His parents had promised him so, after all. They had been inviting and understanding and tolerant when speaking of the matter mere days ago, but now that things were starting to get real, they seemed to be getting cold feet. It made Brian feel sick and disgusted - it made him feel ashamed of being their son. 

‘It’s okay,’ he gritted when he eventually gathered the self-control to calmly look John in the eyes. ‘I’ll fix this, I promise.’

The legs of Nolan’s chair scraped along the floor when he stood up. ‘You coming, John? I think the May family needs some time to discuss.’

John looked at Brian with a sense of desperation, but nodded stiffly and stood up also. Brian put his hand on John’s briefly in passing, but John did not look up; he simply followed Nolan towards the exit of the room, leaving Brian with a taste of bitterness in his mouth and the feeling of his cold, thin fingers on his own. 

Brian found himself curling the fingers of his right hand into a fist, and tensed them until the knuckles grew white and the back of his hand pale and veiny. He stared at it in a determined mission to avoid any sort of contact with his parents until the heavy iron door of the visiting hall fell shut behind John and Nolan. 

His father was the first to talk between the three of them. ‘Look, Brian, we understand that you’re angry, but we need some time to process everything we’ve been told today,’ Harold said. ‘It’s not nothing to take in someone new, and to be responsible for them and live with them under the same roof for the upcoming God knows how long.’ Brian knew his father was looking straight at him as he spoke, but he refused to look back or acknowledge his presence in any other way.

‘Besides, what do we know about his condition? What if his anti… antisocial behaviour comes up again when he lives with us? Or worse, perhaps, if his trauma comes up?’ Despite himself, Brian looked up to face his mother as she mentioned the word trauma. He immediately regretted it as it seemed to give her the idea that she had made a point she ought to elaborate. ‘Everything we heard today about his father’s death, his sister’s disability, living with his aunt and uncle until they sent him away… It’s a lot to carry. Both for him and for us.’

Brian leaned back in his chair when his mother had finished her part of the monologue. So that’s what they were afraid of - that John would bring his trauma, his troubles, his history, into their lives. That having to live with someone who’d gone through a rough childhood would be hard on them, and not on the person who actually had to pick up his life again after having taken such a terrible start to it. It hardly surprised Brian to hear that his parents, two painfully average lower-middle-class citizens leading a painfully average life in their painfully average semi-detached suburban three bedroom-house, were opposed to take someone in from a less fortunate background out of fear that it would inconvenience their perfectly shallow little lives. It was shallow and embarrassing, and Brian did not have the words to properly tell his parents what he thought about their attitude. 

‘So that’s what you want, then?’ he eventually ended up saying after having chewed the inside of his cheek raw. ‘To break your promise and have John be sent off to a bloody communal home? My best friend, with whom I’ve spent the past half a year here? An anxious twenty-year-old with a traumatic family background and the remains of a depression, living with a bunch of crackheads in a filthy communal home in East End London?’

‘We never promised-’ his father calmly intervened, but he was interrupted just as quickly as he had taken the floor. 

‘But you did!’ Brian said, voice louder now. ‘You said you’d take both of us in, or him first and then me if I wouldn’t be released after this fucking trial, and allow us to build up a life again until we could stand on our own two feet! You promised!’ He was close to tears now - tears of anger and frustration and sheer humiliation that these liars called themselves his parents. The two people across the table shared a look that Brian couldn’t quite make out with his blurry tearstained view, but he knew they realised he was not going to take this breach of trust sitting down. 

‘I know, Brian,’ his father eventually said. ‘I know we did that. But that was before we knew the circumstances.’

Brian huffed out a laugh despite himself. ‘Circumstances? I told you about John, and his antisocial personality disorder, and that his sister was disabled, his father was dead, and that he used to live with his aunt and uncle before being sent here! You knew that all along, half of this even before there was even talk of either him or me being released. And now you’re changing your mind because of it? I’m calling bullshit.’

‘Brian!’

The person addressed ignored his mother’s admonitory calling of his name. ‘It’s bullshit. You’re just using it against John because you’re too lame to help him. To help us! I thought you cared about me!’ Brian realised that especially this last sentence was a petty low shot, but he was willing to steep down to whatever level it took to either convince, threaten, or sabotage his parents into letting John come home with him as they had promised him. 

‘It’s not that easy, Brian. It’s just- it’s very hard to take someone you’ve only known from stories, with a troubled background, into your house and just see what happens,’ Harold said. ‘Your mother and I have had a very rough time while you were away. We don’t know if we could handle having someone else in our house right now. Besides you, of course,’ was added quickly - something Brian didn’t know made matters better or worse. 

‘Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s been very hard on you,’ Brian said cynically, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘It must have been very hard, sitting around at home living your normal life while we tried to survive at Queen Mary’s. Saw people drugging themselves down at the daily. Fights in the canteen and people ending up at the infirmary with broken bones. Someone knocked John to the floor and tried to stab my eye out. Someone was murdered while we were in there, Goddamnit, and you talk about having had a hard time because you didn’t have someone to share boring stories about your nine to five job or the coffee visit to the neighbours with during dinnertime!’ Brian realised he was shouting now, and saw the guard stepping a few steps closer to their table from the corner of his eyes. He wondered if Nolan and John could hear him from the other side, but eventually decided that the iron walls and doors probably had been designed so as to not let through any noise. He did not particularly care so much about Nolan or the guards outside the visiting hall overhearing him, but he’d rather not upset John by having him hear his lack of emotional control in the given situation.

‘They tried- your eye? Someone was murdered?’

Brian should have known that breaking the news of the recent gang wars, the almost daily injuries, and Jimmy’s death-bordering-on-murder to his parents would not be something they’d take lightly. They of course expected their son to be safe at Queen Mary’s; this had been the entire reason they had sent him there rather than keeping him at home to see where his mental problems would take him. However, as he was in the mood to shock and make a statement rather than to comfort his parents about his safety at Queen Mary’s, he raised his voice again.

‘Yes, that’s the place you sent me off to! That’s the place I’ll have to stay in for even longer if they won’t let me go. That’s where’s John’s been in for two years, and the place you’ll send him off to again if you let him be taken into a fucking council house full of drug addicts and criminals and other people he shouldn’t have to deal with! Because unlike me,’ Brian breathed with an index finger prodding into his own chest, ‘unlike me, he doesn’t have a backup plan, or family to take him in! He’ll be left to the government, or a resocialisation programme for criminals and other freaks he doesn’t belong to, or simply to- to the streets!’ Brian could hear his own voice faltering and eventually breaking, so he cut himself off before real cracks would appear in either his voice or his iron facial expression. He knew that Nolan had spoken of a rehabilitation plan hosted by Queen Mary’s, but what this really meant was that people who did not have any family, were disowned by them, or did not want to return to them, were sent to join resocialisation programmes that hardly ever tailored to people recovering from mental illness. They often ended up addicted to drugs, in prison for dealing or robbery, or worse than that. It made his heart ache to even think of the possibility that John might be exposed to scenes like those if he would not be given a proper foundation upon leaving Queen Mary’s - a foundation it seemed that, for the lack of connections and resources of his own, only Brian’s family could provide at the moment. 

‘Oh, darling…’ 

A tissue, produced from his mother’s handbag, was pushed over to his side of the table. Brian hadn’t previously noticed that he had been crying, but moving the back of his hand over his right cheek once proved that he indeed had been doing to. He grabbed the tissue and pressed it against his eyes in an attempt to smother his tears - without much luck, that was. They kept coming and coming and wouldn’t stop, and Brian had no other choice than to give in to them,

‘Brian, my darling...’ The familiar voice of his mother was soft and soothing, but it did not give him any comfort - and neither did the words she spoke, even though Brian knew they were meant to bring him peace of mind. ‘We’ll find a way, okay? I promise we’ll find a way.’

‘What if I was in his place?’ Brian then asked, crumpling the soaked tissue into a ball in his hand. ‘If you- you couldn’t take care of me because you w-were occupied or dead, wouldn’t you want someone else to take me in to recover?’ he asked, now looking directly at his parents with eyes blurred with tears. ‘Or would you rather have me discarded to the streets and venture for- for myself? Would you?’ 

‘We wouldn’t,’ his father said. ‘Of course we wouldn’t. We’ll work this out, Brian,’ he said, but the words didn’t quite land on Brian, who was so far gone into the image of John being expulsed from any sort of society and having to roam the streets at night to find a place to sleep, that the words of his parents didn’t reach him any longer.

‘John is so sweet and good-natured and… and he deserves better than this. So much better than this. Please, you have- you have to help him!’ Sobs now properly overtook Brian’s body, and he rested his face on his hands on the table top. Sounds of chairs scratching the floor and heels clicking on the tiles approached, and then there was an arm around his shoulders and a hand stroking his hair and indistinguishable voices soothing him. It was as if he was five years old again and had screamed for his parents with all of his might after waking up from a dreadful nightmare. He was unsure whether it was a comfort or plain sadness that his parents still came running towards him to soothe him, but it at least felt good to have them at his side again instead of just having them look at him from a distance and staring at him with that weird, empty glance, trying to figure out what on earth was going on in his mind. 

‘It’s okay; everything will be okay.’ His mother stroked his cheek, and Brian thought he felt her press a kiss against his unruly hair. ‘We’re gonna help John. He’s- we’re going to take him in.’

We’re going to take him in. Brian looked up at his mother through teary eyes when these words, the ones that had once been promised and then denied him again, were spoken. Like a magic spell, he was drawn to them, and through a choked sob he whispered: ‘Really?’

His mother exchanged glanced with his dad first, but then pulled away her glance from that of her husband and nodded. ‘Really. We made a promise, after all.’

Brian felt a wave of relief flooding through his veins; one that allowed the muscles throughout his entire body to unclench and his mind to untangle. ‘Thank- thank you,’ he managed to squeak out. His mother smiled a sad smile - one not so much of happiness but one of acceptance - and stepped away from Brian. His father followed her example.

‘Come, dry your tears and come down to yourself,’ she said while handing him another tissue. Surprisingly enough, it was actually feasible for Brian to carry out these instructions now that he had been comforted about the fate of his partner. He wiped his face clean of tears, and by the time he was able to stifle most of the last remaining sobs, he could look his parents in the eyes again.

‘So you promise you’ll let John in? And you… won’t come back on it again?’ Brian asked, just to be sure. After all, he had been let down once before, and he did not know if he could take it to have all of his hopes shatter just like that again.

‘We promise for real this time,’ his father answered without skipping a beat, which Brian took as a good sign. ‘Your mother and I are just overwhelmed, is all. Within a week we got to hear that you would be going for a reassessment, that you wanted to have your new best friend move in with us because he can’t go home, then all these people called us and we received forms to fill out through the mail concerning our responsibilities when you’d be released and all the people and institutes we’d have to be in touch with still… So we just…. Went with it all hoping to be able to talk things over today, but we arrive in a storm of more papers and receptionists and mentors telling us to sign more documents, and then there’s John with this- excuse my languages but… problematic background, and I think we just- didn’t know how to handle it anymore.’

‘But then you should have said so. You should have told Nolan and us you needed more explanation or more time or more guidance, instead of taking ten steps back and breaking your promise to John and me. I haven’t seen him so- so hurt in a long time,’ Brian said. His saliva felt heavy and tough when he swallowed. ‘I told you how nervous John was to meet you over the phone just the other day. I spent a week to convince him to even come along to this meeting; he was too afraid to say or do something that would make you reject him. And then you go and… attack him and push him away for the reasons he can help least? His trauma following the death of his father, and the accident of his sister? His having to live with family because his mum couldn’t take care of him anymore in the depth of his depression? That was- that was plain low, dad. And you too, mum. Really, really low.’

It was only when Brian had uttered this entire soliloquy that he realised when he had said - and he immediately regretted it, despite having meant every single word of it. He knew his parents were not going to take kindly to being lectured by him about what they should and what they shouldn’t do. However, just as he expected to be told off for reprimanding his parents for behaving the way they did, the glance of his father’s face softened.

‘You are right. We were wrong to treat John like that,’ Harold said. Not seeming to know what he was to say afterward, he turned to his wife for support.

‘We will say sorry to John in a minute. I hope we can make him feel welcome still,’ Ruth told Brian, who nodded slowly, thankfully, at his parents.

‘Thank you,’ he whispered. ‘That means a lot to the both of us.’

‘It’s just… I know it’s no excuse, and I know that Queen Mary’s must have been a lot harder for you than it was for us,’ his father acknowledged. ‘But I think I speak for both your mum and myself when I say that I’ve been lying awake during the last few nights, wondering if this is really what you want.’

Brian frowned. ‘Whether what is what I want?’

‘This… all of this. To leave Queen Mary’s before your time’s due,’ his dad said.

‘My time is due,’ Brian said with some insistence. ‘I go where John goes, and he goes where I go.’

‘I know,’ his father said. ‘I know- and that’s what I’ve been worried about. That you’re not thinking about your own sanity and well-being, but about John’s only. You understand me?’

‘I do, but-’

‘Doctor Sumner worked hard to give you a spot here at Queen Mary’s, and despite the… circumstances we’ve heard about, we know that trained people do all they can,’ his mother interrupted. ‘Are you sure you want to put all of that aside?’

‘Absolutely positive,’ Brian answered. ‘I’d put everything aside for John - and not just because I… care about him so much, but because I know John is the best help I could possibly have.’

‘But what about your therapy, then?’ his mum asked.

‘He is a better help to me than any of the therapists I’ve spoken to so far, and any therapist I will ever meet in my life,’ Brian said. His father opened his mouth as to say something, but Brian held up his hand to summon him to be quiet. To his own surprise, it seemed to work. ‘John supports me through everything in a way not a single medical professional could ever do. He is always there for me, always tries to cheer me up and cheer me on with everything I do. He’s my rock in a way that no one else could ever be. He’s been my real help at Queen Mary’s, and the real reason why I’m in a much better place now.’ 

By the time Brian had finished this monologue, he noticed his parents really had fallen quiet, and simply blinked at him as to take in all they had just been told. It was at this point also that he realised he was a little out of breath, and, upon placing his hand on his cheek, he found that it was warm and glowing. My God, I must look like an idiot right now, Brian thought to himself. Fortunately for him, though, this was not the message his parents had taken away from the scene he had put himself in.

‘You really care about him, don’t you?’ There was a small smile on his mother’s face as she asked this.

‘Yes,’ Brian sighed. ‘More than about anything or anyone in the world.’

‘Well… It really seems like the only way to help you right now is to help John,’ his father remarked, which Brian realised summarised the current state of affairs pretty well. ‘So that’s what we’re going to do, then.’

Even though this decision had already been secured beforehand, it still made a wave of relief flow through Brian’s veins now that it was reinstigated. They were going to allow John to come live with them; John would have a place to go to; and, sooner or later, depending on the outcome of the reassessment, Brian would be there to live with John and his family again. They’d be together, just the two of them, without any of the disorder and the violence and the overall chaos of Queen Mary’s that currently formed the framework of all they did and said, and they would be happy.

‘We will do that exactly,’ Ruth confirmed, then, turning to her husband, she said: ‘Why don’t you go and fetch John and Nolan, dear, and let me have a second to talk to my boy alone.’ Despite the innocent smile on her face, Brian knew that his mother had something on her mind. His father must have realised this too, for his glance lingered between his wife and his son for a little too long to be just casual, but he then nodded and took his leave either way. 

Ruth waited until her husband was out of earshot, and then turned around to face her son again. 

‘Brian?’ She leant in a bit closer to him, as she would do when she had something serious or confidential to share with him.

‘Yes, mum?’ Brian said, hoping she would not notice how tight his voice sounded already.

‘About John… He’s not just your roommate, or your friend, now is he? He’s more than that.’

Oh, Lord. That was a lot quicker and a lot more to the point than Brian had expected it to be. Of course, he had foreseen the likeliness of his parents expecting something sooner or later once they’d live under the same roof with his parents. He’d thought of the possibility of his mum wondering out loud why they insisted on sleeping in the same room, or his dad remarking that they never left each other’s side. The way they would look at each other, smile at each other, sit a bit too close whenever they got the chance - he had thought of what to say when such matters would be raised. He had not, however, prepared himself for something as straightforward as this question, and in the heat of the moment, he did not trust himself to lie and tell a more socially acceptable answer. Besides, his mother looked at him with such a kind and comforting expression on her face that Brian was positive he could have discarded of a body on her behalf if she would have asked him.

Therefore, he nodded nearly invisibly in response. ‘He is. He’s… We are… everything to each other,’ Brian whispered. ‘I just… need him like I’ve never needed anyone before.’ A smile broke through on his face, but no matter how badly he would have liked for it to have been one of happiness or pride, it would be incorrect to say so. It was a long-hidden feeling of insecurity towards the future, of what people would think of them - of embarrassment and a feeling of failure. Not for loving John, but for breaking the illusion his parents had had of him for so long. An illusion he had had of himself for so long - one that never might have come to the surface if it hadn’t been for John and him crossing paths. Meeting John had changed the entire road of life he had always had in sight for himself, and the realisation that moulding his life around John and what they were together was going to be a reality, in all of its good and bad points, suddenly struck him. Tears filled his eyes, and when his mother did not respond to any he had said and simply looked at him, he shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for?’ she asked gently.

‘For- not being what you thought I was,’ he managed. ‘For not coming home with a girl.’

‘Darling…’ Brian knew that voice, and he could feel his mother’s hand reaching out to place itself on top of his own hand before she even completed the action, as a matter of speaking. ‘I don’t care who or what you come home with - whether they’re male or female, or Catholic or Anglican, or black or white or purple with yellow dots. What I care for is that you come home as you, alive and well, unlike - unlike some of the stories you hear sometimes,’ she said, leaving Brian unsure if she meant stories from mental health clinics in general, or the ones he had witnessed and shared with her. ‘I want you to come home happy again, and I can tell that he makes you happy.’

‘He does,’ Brian smiled despite himself. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been.’

‘I know, and that’s what matters to us,’ his mum said. ‘Listen, Brian. Your dad and I wanted for you to come home happy again - that’s what we sent you to Queen Mary’s for. The first few nights after we’d taken you here I could do nothing but crying and praying that sending you here would make you feel better, happier, regardless of how this happiness came about. And God must have heard my prayers.’

‘John is a gift from above,’ Brian smiled. ‘He makes me happier than I’ve ever been, or ever could have imagined being.’

‘That’s settled then.’

‘Really?’ Brian asked, not having thought his mother would be so quick to deal with the fact that her only son came home with a guy. ‘But what about- you, or dad, or grandma, or the rest of the family? Especially dad. He’s- he’s always talked about how he can’t wait till my wedding day, and to see his grandchildren…’

‘I know. He’ll have to readjust his expectations, then,’ his mother shrugged. ‘This isn’t about him or me or anyone else apart from John and you.’

‘Thank you,’ Brian smiled broadly at the recognition he had not ever even hoped to get from his family so soon. Then, a less pleasant thought dawned upon him. ‘Mum, will you tell him?’

His mother did not need any context to know what and who he meant. ‘Do you want me to tell him?’

Brian thought for a second. On the one hand it felt liberating to tell the truth, to tell his parents where he and John really stood – but on the other hand, after already having told them more than he had already planned to do and without John’s permission, he decided against the plan in the end. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to discuss it with John. It’s not something that concerns me only, you know.’

‘Of course. It’s not just you on your own anymore from now off,’ his mother said with a small smile. ‘It’s going to be you and your better half.’ Brian felt himself glow at the mentioning of these words. John really was his better half – and his mother was accepting of the position John played in his life. Maybe things were finally looking up for him. 

Things definitely seemed like they were heading in the right direction when the iron door burst open to reveal John, who skipped his way through the visiting room on his mission to find Brian. Brian heard and saw him coming from what seemed to him like miles away – he pushed his chair backward with more force than necessary, almost tripped over his mother’s bag, but did not let this stop himself from dashing towards John and catching his boyfriend into his embrace hallway down the room. When he squeezed John into a hug – and was similarly squeezed into one by John from the other side of things – his partner’s body felt warm and vibrant and alive; so much more alive than Brian had seen him in ages, or perhaps ever before. The grip of John’s fingers on the back of his grey uniform shirt was tight, like he wanted to avoid ever being separated from him in his life; as if Brian was going to allow anyone to come between the pair of them when John looked at him with the most appreciative and loving eyes he had ever been looked at with.

‘They’ll let me in,’ John squeaked in a voice squeezed with happiness and relief. ‘I’ll be allowed to stay and- and live with your family and- and with you.’ The arms around his back moved on to be placed above his shoulders, and Brian could not oppress the urge to put his own hands below John’s armpits and lift him off the floor for a spin. John squealed at first and then laughed, and when his feet were safely planted back on the floor, he threw his body against Brian’s so tightly that it took all of Brian’s strength to not lift up his chin and kiss him right there and then in the middle of the visiting room. He contained himself, though, and made a mental note to shower John in a thousand kisses once they’d get back to their room; a room which they might, with a bit of luck, exchange for Brian’s real bedroom, inside his real house before too long. 

‘Of course they will. I told you they were going to love you,’ Brian replied with the biggest smile. A side glance towards his smiling mother revealed that she really did approve of this statement of his.

Harold and Nolan caught up with them, and Nolan, obviously content and relieved with the turn-out of the meeting, was quick to produce the required paperwork that needed to be signed. Brian held his breath until the moment his father had put his signature on both the file ruling that he’d take his own son back in and on the file ensuring John would be placed under their care also. It was then that he knew there was going to be no return, a thought that made mellow happiness spread through his body as he rested his hand on John’s shoulder when his boyfriend signed the paperwork with a shaky but determined hand.

The formalities then having been taken care of and the time planned for the meeting being almost up, Nolan started shaking hands and speaking of next steps to be taken – financial compensation and guidance for family of what was clumsily referred to as ‘the mentally afflicted’ and other matters Brian could not find himself caring for at the time being. All he cared about was that they were one step closer to completing their plan of escaping Queen Mary’s before the place would turn either one or the both of them out of their minds, or possibly worse. 

Brian stepped forward to hug his dad and kiss his mum as a form of goodbye, and received some more words of comfort – that they would be there for his trial in a few weeks, and that John really would be welcome in their house regardless of how matters turned out for Brian. If Brian remained somewhat skeptical to that point, the last traces of doubt left his mind when he saw John willingly letting himself be captured in an embrace by both of his parents and receiving words of welcome, comfort, and encouragement. John managed little more than a series of ‘thank yous’ and ‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am’,  but Brian could tell by the radiant look in his eyes when he broke away from his family-to-be that he was finally, after all this time, gathering some hope for the future – for their future.

‘We’ll see you soon, Brian. And you too, John. We’re looking forward to it,’ Brian’s mother said when Nolan turned to lead his patients out of the same door they had come from an hour ago. John turned around once more to flash them a smile, and give them a wave; Brian followed his example, then placed his hand on John’s back and guided him through the door.

‘Phew. That was a wild ride,’ said Nolan, who pretended to wipe the sweat off his forehead. The iron door fell shut behind him, and he started moving towards the exit at the other side of the hall. Brian and John followed close behind. ‘For a moment I was afraid that – you know…’ They all knew what it was that Nolan was referring to, but no one was particularly keep on speaking the words out loud. ‘But I’m glad they turned around, Brian. That whatever you said worked, and that John won’t have to worry anymore.’ John smiled for a bit, but Brian could tell it wasn’t genuine. 

‘What’s wrong? Aren’t you relieved?’

‘I am,’ John confirmed. ‘But I still worry. What if you don’t get out, or if your parents change their minds on me…’

‘They won’t,’ Brian said before the thought could properly settle in John’s mind. ‘They’re not going to change their minds. And as for me – I’m gonna give it all I’ve got during the final hearing or whatever they call that. And if that’s not enough, I’ll… I’ll find a way to be out of here as soon as possible, honey. I’ll show the best of behaviour and cooperation they’ve ever seen in the history of this place, or try another reassessment. I’ll find a way to leave, I promise.’ John looked skeptical still, but luckily Nolan came to Brian’s rescue. 

‘You won’t have to open a second reassessment. Jasper and Sarah and others are all on your side of the case – and with such strong support and all the effort and dedication you’ve shown in filling out the paperwork, attending sessions with the new psych, keeping up your mental diary your diary, and your exemplary behaviour at Queen Mary’s, there’s not a single objection I think they can make against your case. I can see no grounded reason for them to turn your appeal down.’

‘See?’ Brian said to John, pretending to be not in the least surprised by this claim of Nolan’s that his admission was almost a fact already. ‘Nothing to worry about.’

‘But Doctor Sumner will be there,’ John muttered. ‘He’ll find a way to let you stay.’

Having arrived at the other side of the hallway, Nolan held open the door for them; but Brian halted his step the second John brought up the name of Doctor Sumner.

‘Sorry, who are we speaking of?’ Nolan asked innocently. Brian was sure he must have read the name of his former psychiatrist in one of the papers concerning the trial, but how could Nolan know the evil intentions of the man behind the name?

‘Thank you, Nolan. We’ll see you in a bit,’ Brian said with what he knew for a fact was the fakest smile he’d ever produced. He could tell his mentor was confused by their sudden secretiveness, but – God bless him – he nodded politely and disappeared through the door. Brian waited until the door fell shut again before he looked John in the face.

‘You know Doctor Sumner is going to be there,’ John stated, more firmly this time.

‘I know,’ Brian gritted. ‘I just hoped you had forgotten about him.’

John snorted. ‘As if.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ Brian sighed. The truth of the matter was that Doctor Sumner had also crossed his mind more than just incidentally lately. Ever since Nolan had informed him of the fact that one was to be judged by a panel of three psychiatrists, one of which would be one’s former psychiatrist or another mental health expert who could testify to one’s character and mental illness, he had feared the possibility of Doctor Sumner disapproving of his being released out of fear he would speak up about the injustice his former psych had pulled him through. He had repressed these fears as much as he could, however, and had hoped that John would have forgotten about Doctor Sumner completely. It seemed like there was no such luck for him though; the handful of times he had brought up the nightmare of a psych during trips to Queen Mary’s garden had obviously stuck in John’s mind, and he himself remained unsure of his destiny with Doctor Sumner playing a role in it.

‘Look. I know the situation is hardly ideal, but Nolan is probably right. Sumner has no valid grounds to restrain me to Queen Mary’s without revealing his fear that he used me for his experiments to get his breakthrough in the medical world or whatever. And if he doesn’t remember so, I might just have to remind him of it.’

John’s ears seemed to prick up at the hint of such a bold thing to do. ‘You’re thinking of doing that?’

Brian, not wanting to admit that he devised this plan literally a split second ago, turned to open the door and let his lover pass through it. ‘Perhaps. If he leaves me no choice – if he’s the one to make me stay I guess I might have to bring it up. It’s not like I’ll have anything to lose in that case anyway,’ Brian grinned. ‘But I’m sure it won’t come to that point – as Nolan said, the judges have no valid grounds to keep me here for, so they’ll probably let me go. And if Sumner is the only one who disagrees… Well, I’ll just say it’s suspicious and ask him if there’s anything from our shared past that might hold him back, and leave the ball in his goal from that point.’

‘Stone cold but clever,’ John snickered. ‘You know, when you first got here, I never thought you’d have it in you to be like that.’

‘Your talents must have rubbed off on me,’ Brian shrugged.

‘My talents were not the only things that rubbed off on you.’

‘John!’ Brian called out in surprise, turning to the side to see his grinning lover catch up with him. ‘Cheeky! You did not get that from me!’

‘No, that must have been Freddie’s doing,’ John contemplated. ‘Having lived with him for a year or so has taken its toll on me.’

Brian stopped for a second. ‘Has it really been that long for Freddie?’

John nodded. ‘Same for Roger - he arrived only a month or so later, if not less. It’s kind of surreal when you think about it.’

‘It’s so weird - day to day life here passes so slowly, and yet in the grand scheme of things-’

‘May.’

Brian halted his sentence when he heard his last name being called out quite loudly in the otherwise empty seeming main hallway. It was early in the afternoon, and with no mealtimes, therapy groups, or other activities running - and a ban on residing in the canteen outside of meal hours out of a fear for fights and confrontation - there was little more than the occasional lone patient passing by.

‘Did you also hear…’ he turned to John, but was not given the time to await an answer.

‘Yes, you there. Brian.’

Brian could now no longer deny the presence of someone calling out for him, but it came as quite a shock to find that the source of the sound was no one other than Drew. Drew, the bully and murderer of Jimmy; the one who had threatened to cut his eye out, who had belittled and teased and pushed Freddie and Roger on multiple accounts, who had knocked John over and given him the biggest black eye Brian had ever witnessed - that Drew was now leaning against the matte glass wall of the canteen, with his arms crossed over his chest, a - strictly forbidden - toothpick between his lips, and for some reason a ground for calling Brian to him.

Brian could see John take a step back behind him, but then step forward again in what seemed like an attempt to show Drew that he was not going to back away. It made little impression on either one of them, for they all knew that despite the tough attitude John tried to keep up, and despite having stood up to Drew and having embarrassed him in front of all of his followers and enemies not too long ago, John did not feel comfortable around him. Hell, no one at Queen Mary’s felt comfortable around the brute of a guy; he was violent, unthinking, remorseless, and had shown on multiple occasions that he was capable of releasing the entire institution into chaos by planting his fists into the face of someone from the other side of things. Luckily he was on his own right now, but Brian nevertheless felt awkward and unsafe around him. Moreover, he could tell that John was feeling unsafe - and whatever Drew wanted from him, was not something he was going to burden John with. 

‘I’ll deal with this,’ he mumbled to the man standing beside him. ‘You can go to our room if you want to - I’ll catch up.’

‘No,’ John answered softly yet resolutely. ‘I’m not leaving you here.’ 

Brian was unsure whether he should be grateful for Jon’s determination to stay at his side or worried that whatever Drew wanted to get back at him for would now be shared with John also. But, like always seemed to be the case when anything happened for which he would like to be given time to think about and ponder the consequences, he was given absolutely no more than a split second before he had to act and speak up.

‘Brian May,’ Drew repeated his name. The look on his face was intense, as if he was trying to figure out Brian’s blood type with the help of nothing with his eyes. He remained exactly where he was and made no attempts at moving closer, as he was usually prone to do when trying to intimidate someone, but Brian still was not comfortable.

‘Drew Myers.’ Brian hoped the shiver in his voice wasn’t too audible - and that the last name he had picked up in the canteen a while back actually belonged to Drew. Drew at any rate did not comment on it being incorrect - in fact, he made no derogatory comments or showed otherwise unpleasant behaviour at all. 

‘Heard you’re going for a reassessment in a week,’ he said coolly. The little wooden toothpick between his lips switched to the other side of his mouth.

For a second Brian wanted to ask him how he got to possess this piece of information, but he realised soon enough that the news of the only successful attempt at leaving Queen Mary’s early must have spread like wildfire among its patients and staff. ‘You heard right,’ he therefore said just as coolly. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he crossed them in front of him in the same fashion as Drew did - which, he realised, must not have looked as cool on him and his 6’3, 130 pound body as it did on Drew’s be it somewhat shorter but a lot broader and more muscular one. Fortunately for him, Drew did not seem intended on calling him out today.

‘I’ll cross my thumbs for you. Hope you’ll get through.’

Brian was caught by surprise by this unexpectedly kind comment. He could feel John turning to look at him, but in his moment of surprise he could not unlock his eyes from Drew’s face. ‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ Drew said without a hint of doubt. ‘You deserve better than this.’

‘Er, thanks,’ Brian uttered after having shared a short glance with John despite it all. ‘We’re, eh, hoping to leave and pick up our lives again.’ He did not know why he said this, why he tried to make conversation with someone who had basically threatened to take their lives on multiple accounts, and who had done worse besides that. But Drew didn’t show a sign of violence or malice now; he seemed calm and reasonable and perhaps even civil, and Brian found himself unable to treat Drew the exact same way in his place. 

‘As you should,’ Drew nodded. ‘You never did seem to belong here, you know. Neither did you, John.’ His hands unfolded to give a quick little point at John, who swallowed a little painfully but remained constant otherwise as Drew’s attention turned to him. ‘Way too good for a place like this. You two are better than the whole bunch of us together.’

Brian had never expected Drew to say something so kind to them.

He had also never expected that Drew saying something kind to them would simultaneously be the last thing they’d ever hear him say. A mere three days after their unexpected meetup, Drew was stabbed between the ribs with a kitchen knife one of his newly admitted rivals had acquired during a secret trip to the staff kitchen and dining room. Nolan and Derek had given CPR, an ambulance had been called, but Drew had, as the story went, been pronounced dead upon his arrival at the hospital.  

Another life wasted. 

All Brian could do was hope his case would indeed be approved, or else he feared that the name of the person he loved most in the entire world might soon also have to be added to the list of victims Queen Mary’s Psychiatric Institution had produced. 

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed - feel free to send me PMs or messages or anons about your opinions and suggestions for The Clinic, or just to come talk for a bit. I love and appreciate you all! <3

[eternityunicorn]

The Doppelgänger: Part One

Author: eternityunicorn 

Genre: Romance/Mystery/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC, Joel Goran x OC

Warnings: Violance, Smut

Summary: An unexpected and rather unusual patient arrives at Hope Zion; a woman with white hair and sapphire eyes that were aged much older than one who looked so young. Everyone is fascinated by this strange person, but none more so that Dr. Joel Goran. The woman looks at Joel as if she knows him, but he knows he doesn’t. Just who is she and why does she look at him like that? And who is Elijah?

NOTE: OC is from my up and coming novel series!

AUTHOR’S NOTE: So, I’ve been rewatching bits of Saving Hope (Seasons 1-3) and this little gem came to mind from that. I don’t know how long it will be, but I couldn’t resist writing this AU crossover, because Daniel Gillies...hello? I hope you enjoy it!

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It was another busy night at Hope Zion Hospital. The ER was especially full this particular midnight as twenty people came through the doors, all having been severely injured. Some had bad cuts, others had broken bones, and others still had a combination of the two. It was a completely chaotic scene, but none of the medics or police officers could explain to the doctors what had happened to these people. Some said it was an explosion, others said a terror attack. Yet, the patients themselves said it was the attack of demons; grotesque creatures that were made of nightmares.

That was complete and total nonsense. Demons weren’t real. 

Dr. Joel Goran was one of the many doctors that had been called down to the ER to assist in the influx of injured. He had heard the shocked ramblings of the insane echoing about in the chaos, and they were easy for him to ignore as delusions caused by the trauma they had experienced. However, many of the injured would point to a particular bed in Emergency as they were retelling of what had happened out there in the night. 

Joel had to admit he was curious - and drawn to the bed in question. Perhaps whomever was in that bed could solve some of the mystery as to what the hell had been going on in the world that night? 

Upon approach, the pair of highly trained nurses tending to the bed’s occupant were staring at each other in puzzlement, shrugging and looking about as if they didn’t know what to do. They were saying how there had been deep lacerations and bruising all over the patient’s body, but now they were completely gone without a trace.

Joel thought he had heard wrong and moved in to assess the patient, only to be struck with wonder by what he found there. She was beautiful, in an ethereal and otherworldly sort of way. A young woman of about eighteen years of age, with a nearly snow white complexion and hair, which cascaded downward in a seemingly never ending waterfall all around her. Her lips were plush and rose pink, but he couldn’t see her eyes as they were closed. Even so, he had never seen such a lovely creature before in his life. It felt like a touch of divinity, but that was nonsense. She was simply an unusually gorgeous woman, small and innocent looking.

The nurses were right too. There was evidence upon the strange woman’s person that indicated there had been wounds upon her flesh - yet, they were gone. Dried blood stains covered her porcelain skin and the odd pirate-like clothes she wore. Otherwise, her body was completely unmarred of actual injury. 

What the hell?

Joel was completely flabbergasted by what he saw. It was impossible. He grabbed the chart at the end of the bed to look over it, to reassure himself that he wasn’t crazy, that the woman had been brought in wounded. Upon close inspection of the paperwork, it was made obvious that he wasn’t going mad after all. She had been seriously wounded, more so than the others that had been brought in.

That can’t be. Wounds don’t heal themselves that quickly, especially not ones of the extensiveness she had suffered. 

Suddenly, the strange lady stirred and groaned softly, before her eyes flew open. She gasped and sat up quickly, unaware of where she was. She had a wildness to her, almost animalistic in nature as she looked about her. She flew from the bed in her madness and began tearing herself from the machines the ER staff had hooked her up to, just as she pushed away those whom had come to restrain her with easy before they could even reach her.

It appeared to Joel that she hadn’t even touched the assistants and the security officers that had tried to get near her, in order to subdue her. It was as though she had used psychic powers, but that wasn’t possible. Superpowers were a myth, a fantasy of comic books and movies.

In the middle of the madness, the wild lady gave pause when her eyes fell upon Joel, whom by this point was in a mix of curiosity and fear. Her eyes stole his breath away. They were sapphire in color, a deep blue with a wisdom that was ancient swirling about in their depths - an unusual trait for someone whom appeared so young, barely legal even. Yet, underneath all that, they looked to him with recognition and...love.

“Elijah?” She said, her voice naturally soft-spoken. “Elijah!”

Immediately, the woman was rushing toward him and throwing her arms around him, once she had reached him. She kissed his lips sweetly, but with an intense passion as well. It sent the orthopedic surgeon reeling. He didn’t know what to do, as he had never had a stranger just throw themselves at him nor kiss him so...lovingly. Furthermore, it felt familiar, her mouth upon his; though he couldn’t explain the reason.

Joel’s body reacted before his stunned brain could. His arm was wrapped around her shoulders and his mouth reciprocated eagerly, if not with a bit of uncertainty - as if he shouldn’t be kissing her at all. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself. It was all instinct. 

Then he remembered himself and quickly pulled away, holding the woman out at arms length with an awkward grin as he licked his lower lip. He could taste her there. It was intoxicatingly sweet and it took everything in him to resist kissing her again.

The divine lady frowned and blinked rapidly at him in return. Her head tilted to the side with her curiosity as she realized that he was not this Elijah person she had mistook him for. “You are not Elijah, but a doppelgänger,” she said mysteriously, her soft voice light and angelic sounding. “The resemblance is more than uncanny. It is so alike that you two could be the same person.”

Joel didn’t know what to make of her or her statement. Though he was growing curiouser about her and this man she spoke of. A doppelgänger is what she had called him, but that was absurd. Just how much of a resemblance could he possibly share with this Elijah guy? 

“Ah, I’m Dr. Joel Goran,” he introduced himself. “I’m a -.”

“You’re a hotshot orthopedic surgeon, one of the best in your field,” interjected the striking woman. Then her eyes narrowed at him as she rapidly observed, “You’re accent is not like Elijah’s, but your voice! How strange that I can hear his in it. New Zealand is where you are from originally. You have commitment issues as you are always looking for something better and tend to get bored easy. Because of this, you also cannot commit in the romantic sense either, having cheated more times than I care to relay. Despite these flaws, however, you are a good man - a good man who makes poor life choices, in his relationships especially.”

Joel was taken aback by her statement, wondering how she even knew any of that about him. Had she been to Hope Zion before? Heard these things about him from a hospital employee? 

That couldn’t be right. Anyone who looked like her would have surely been talked about by...well everyone. She was strange and old, despite her youth; an oddity that wouldn’t have been kept secret from the gossips of the hospital, had she been a previous patient or visitor.

So then how?

“I would tell you exactly how, but you are not open minded to the possibility of the supernatural,” she said, as if answering his thoughts. “Therefore, I will simply say that my name is Eternity and no, I haven’t been here to your hospital before. In fact, I shouldn’t be here now. Alas, I must wait for my love to find me and therefore, you are stuck with me, sir doctor.”

Joel smiled and narrowed his eyes at this woman’s strangeness. “Well, is he here? The man you’re waiting for?” He asked, gesturing around them casually.

“No, I cannot sense his life force here, but I do know he isn’t far,” she answered with a concentrated frown. Then it seemed she stopped talking to him directly and had begun speaking more to herself, “No doubt he got left behind on the battlefield. Perhaps he had his neck snapped and is still recovering.” She gave a contemplative look before she relaxed and shrugged, “Ah well, he will find me soon enough.”

Nothing this lady said made any sense whatsoever. Battlefield? Snapped neck? Just who was this person or the person she was supposedly waiting for? Nobody got up from a snapped neck. Yet that was entirely what she was implying, that this man who looked like him was going to get up from his fatal neck injury as if it had never happened. She was so nonchalant about it too. 

Yes, this Eternity was beautiful and otherworldly - a curiosity - but she was also completely insane! Joel began to wonder if he should be calling in a psychiatrist to deal with this lady erratic and nonsensical behavior. However, something about her gave him pause. So he didn’t immediately act on his instinct to call them mental health ward.

“Forgive me,” said Eternity gently, disrupting his chaotic thoughts. “I did not mean to disturb you, Dr. Goran. I was merely thinking out loud.”

“Right,” he replied, still debating the whole psych evaluation thing for her. “So, you’re not injured. Therefore, there’s no reason for you to remain here in the ER.”

At that, the pale woman smirked slyly, “Isn’t there though?”

With that, Eternity backed away with her hands clasped behind her in a mischievous sort of way. She went over to one of the other occupied beds, one with a young man whom was suffering from three huge lacerations across his chest. Zach and a medical assistant were trying to stop the bleeding, but were having a hell of a time doing so. 

Eternity moved in beside Zach, whom paused to look at the strange woman that had just walked up to his side. The ER doctor looked at Joel with confusion, who shrugged in return, just as the lady placed her unprotected hand upon the wounds of the patient. 

“Uh, Miss? You shouldn’t -.” Zach began, only to be rendered silent by what he witnessed happen next. 

In fact, both doctors watched as the strange woman’s hand began to hum and glow a light blue color. Then they witnessed a miracle, as the poor man’s wounds healed immediately beneath her touch. The only evidence of injury was where his shirt had been cut and stained with his own blood.

Joel and Zach both looked at Eternity with awed disbelief, as if neither of them could believe what they had just witnessed. The same looks crossed the faces of the trauma team too. It was obvious from the tram’s mirroring expressions that neither Joel or Zach had been seeing things, if  everyone had seen the same thing. 

It meant he wasn’t going crazy at least, Joel thought with some relief.

Then just as the orthopedic surgeon was about to question the supernaturally gifted woman, she winked at him and proceeded to dance around the ER, healing all the injured in whatever terror attack they had been caught up in. Every single sick and injured person had been completely healed by her touch. The busy Emergency Room was rendered silent by the miracle in a pause of disbelief, just before every patient erupted into applause and cheers and words of gratitude to the goddess that healed them.

Joel watched all this unfold, unable to do anything else. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, having a difficult time accepting it. Yet, objectively speaking, he knew his eyes were not lying; this white-haired beauty had just magically cured every patient!

That was impossible!

Yet, it had happened....

Before Joel could finally intercept her to finally get answers about what the hell was going on, the ethereal creature grinned at him one last time before she vanished in front of his very eyes. It didn’t take long before Joel realized that she took with her the memories of everyone in the Emergency Room of the miraculous healing, replacing them with false ones of the doctors doing the curing. 

Everyone, except for Dr. Joel Goran.

To Be Continued....

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

My Design Verse IIX

“I’m going to ask one last time - how the fuck did you lose my white whale?”

Jack Crawford’s voice boomed through the office, ricochetting off of the wood panneled walls surrounding them, muffling the tone and softening the blows of his words. He had been shouting for the last fifteen minutes, ever since he had arrived at the hospital from the awkward phonecall an hour earlier updating him of the events.

The anger of it washed over Will, leaving him unmarked and untouched, uninfluenced at all by the heat of the words or the accusations alike. Will’s mind was much more unpleasantly focussed at that time, down two floors in the basement holding cell, watching her escape from between his fingers all over again.

“There was an orderly-” The doctor attempted to answer the fury being thrown at him, though Will knew he would have been better off being silent and letting the storm blow through and out again. Instead Fredrick Chilton was cut off with an animalistic growl.

Jack Crawford rounded on the shorter psychiatrist, snarling as he waved a hand towards the grainy security footage on loop on the screen to the side of them all. Will found himself averting his gaze as the long, tan legs turned to stand up for the nth time since it had been recorded to move towards the window, looking out on the suddenly greyer streetscape. He could have sworn it was greener when he’d reached the hospital that morning, he could have sworn the sky still held a lick of blue behind the clouds, but there was no sign of it any more. He could almost see a slight darkness consuming the world outside, as if a dark shadowy mist was rolling in across the ground, creeping over the grass and pavement alike, swallowing the light that tried to reach to saturate the colours but getting consumed by the inky rippling surface instead, shadows crawling towards him, towards the window pane that separated him from it, a menacing darkness looming towards him like the darkness that would swallow the image of his angel within a few seconds leaving a black screen before the world would be missing her again. 

Blinking his eyes, the world righted - the sky was blue, the grass was green, and Jack’s voice was once again booming through the office without a sign he was going to slow down - around Will again, and he found himself rubbing a hand over his eyes and then down his face as the man’s words began to sink in.

“-fucking unknown employee that you can’t even find a fucking record of somehow disappeared with the most wanted female serial killer in this fucking goddamn country!”

“Jack,” He found himself speaking for the first time since the other man had entered the office, voice rough but quiet compared to the power of both other men’s contributions to the interrogation thus far. “We are all aware the gravity of the situation.”

“Are you, are you all?” The FBI agent rounded upon him, though Will found he could not turn from the window again lest the shadows return and steal all of the light once and for all. He could see out the corner of his eye the darkness threatening, wobbling and wriggling, as if awaiting the moment he would look away to come back out and swallow him whole this time. He could feel it watching him as much as he watched it. Jack moved towards him, and he barely flinched at the meaty palm that clasped down on his shoulder. “And what exactly were you doing here today, Will? We already did out investigation with Hannibal and Alana-”

“Their findings were incorrect.”

“Their… their findings were incorrect? The trained professionals were incorrect?”

“She’s not a serial killer, Jack.” Will replied, arms crossed and leaning forward to press his forehead against the jarring cold of the glass before him. Perhaps the cold would draw away the phantoms taunting his mind, the little voices whispering to him that he knew what happened, he saw what took her, he knew it was all real, he knew he should stay. away. from. her... His voice was a soft growl as he spoke, jaw clenching slightly as he paused for the voices to fade away before continuing despite what he was sure would be the infuriated look on the other man’s face. “She’s barely even a murderer. A killer? Yes. A torturer? Yes. But a murderer or serial killer is not right for her. She doesn’t.. kill indiscriminantly. There aren’t set patterns of persons she targets. She can barely even be tied to half the charges you’ve attributed to her.” His eyes focus on the singular tree he remembers seeing the underside of the branches of from his own cell, eyes focussing upon the twisting gnarled form of it. There had been no leaves upon it’s surface when he had been institutionalized there, but now was brimming with green folliage and shivering under the wind’s force. “You have her in two, three, four and even five locations at the same time with your case, Jack. You have her murdering cattle in Missouri while flaying a woman alive in Seattle, while decapitating a trio in New York and burning a house down in Dallas. Shine a light on your findings, Jack, shine a light on the reality that no woman, even one as complex, intruiging and unnatural as Joanna Harvelle can do all that.”

The room was silent, or at least it would be if not for the voices Will could hear in his ears, as both other men appeared to pause at his words. Freeze and stand silently reviewing and judging him. He could feel their eyes on the back of his shoulders, and in the reflection of the glass he could see both sets looking at him - concern, rage and distrust in one that he remembered from the last time he was in this hospital, considering and judgement in the other’s. Will could feel the change from self-righteous indignation from the doctor into an almost knowing smugness, but that was not Will’s concern. Jack’s rage was much more pressing than Chilton’s suspicons.

“I don’t care about what the case shows, I care that that psychopath managed to escape this facility and no one can tell me how the fuck she managed it! Other than by seducing some fake fucking Orderly. Right after an unapproved visit by a FBI liason without anyone knowing of it!”

“I wanted to speak with her. See her. Since I did not get the opportunity back at the bureau.” Will snapped back sharply at the other man’s words, the whispered voices egging him on to snap, snarl, tear, to tell the truth, let them see you’re crazy too, to confess to his feelings, to helping her, to letting her escape over and over, to wanting to crawl into the madness with her so they would lock him up safe and sound far, far away from her. They sounded so like his thoughts, maddened and swirling as he thought back how close he had been just barely two hours earlier to the bewitcher, to his lure that he could have bit down and given in to being dragged from the water and into the gasping air from the sweet, sticky darkness of her. “Alana was being toyed with, she is too forgiving, too trusting, too weak to handle dealing with such a force. And Hannibal… Hannibal was dismissed the moment he entered, you know that Jack. And yet…” Will’s fist tightened agains the window sill, head turning to pin Jack with the same cold, calculating look he felt so familiar, so at home in, ever since the hospital and his eyes were opened. The right side of his lip curled up, a dark smile that matched the dark one flickering on the screen as the woman’s arms wrapped around the neck of the unknown man before the screen flashed back to black. “You wouldn’t let me try, Jack, you wasted your best tool for the job.”

He could see the rage subsiding slightly from the other man’s face, the firey fury dying down as the fuel slowly seeped away. The video continued to roll behind him, as perplexing as it was the first time on it’s hundredth roll. Jack Crawford’s face was so easy to read now, now that Will could see the cold calculating man hidden beneath the facade of care and attentiveness. Where he had entered the room a furious bonfire of rage, he now has burned down, tired so tired, from the loss of his Bela and his Moby Dick finally died out. Will could see the deep set tiredness that had swallowed the once powerful man into the empty husk he had walked around as since Miriam Lass’ discovery the previous year and the dead end’s ever since with his current prize search. Catching Joanna, capturing the bloody angel and clipping her wings, had emboldened the man some but now it was gone away again. Will’s fingers twitched, as if he could feel her slipping through his own the same as she had his superior’s.

“You are still not cleared for that work, Will.”

“Just because you still haven’t caught the Ripper. Still haven’t followed what I’ve told you-”

“Will, if you please.” The silent man’s voice cut over Will’s slowly building tirade, catching both men’s attention back to the awkwardly shifting doctor. Fredrick’s hand was clenching and unclenching nervously around the head of his cane at their stares, but appeared to be unaffected otherwise. He gestured his other hand towards the door where two security men were standing. “Jack, my men are your men, and no one has entered the cell since the disappearance. These fine gentlement will escort you to the security room where all of our cameras and recorded footage will be at your disposal.”

There was a long pause, drawn out and cold in the air between them, before the FBI agent’s shoulders slipped slightly, hands fisting into clubs before the man shot another look towards him. “I will need to speak with you after. The both of you.”

“Of course, anything to assist with recovering the woman, Jack.” Chilton’s voice was calm and collected as always, hand straightening his tie clip slightly as his men moved back from the door to allow Jack’s passage. At a nod of his head, the last guard pulled the door closed behind them.

“Of course, anything to assist Jack,” Will parroted, the curl of his lip back in place. He was rewarded with a snarl from the usually professional man as Chilton’s hands grasped tightly to the top of his cane for a moment, before releasing it into a gentle hold again. “Are you going to give him access to-”

“Your speaking with Miss Harvelle?” The other interrupted, voice clearly dripping with amusement as he sank back down into his leather desk chair. The theatrics of it, cane resting against the arm rest of the Chesterfield desk chair, dark red toned leather and elogated design dwarfing the doctor but adding to his power if Will were the man he had been before he entered the facility as a patient and walked away a changed man. The dark haired doctor smiled saccharinely at him. “You want to know if I watched your… interview with her, and if I will be providing the footage to Jack Crawford.”

Will gritted his teeth, hands clenching at his side as he could hear the voices whispering to lash out or to lie again as you always do about her and as his eyes diverted towards the now black screen filled with the ghost of himself - eyes dark and heavy with fury unlike the kind that had filled the room before, mouth pressed tightly together to hold back the snarl, the darker version he wished he could display to the world without fear. Blinking, he turned his gaze back to the other man, the cruel face staring back at him from the corner of his eye. “Yes, I want to know if you plan on providing that to Jack.”

“I am sure it would be of interest to Jack, that I am sure of.” Chilton’s voice sounded rough, tight as if trying to hold back any slip of emotion, any sign of what he was thinking. Will’s eyes narrowed slightly, the twist of his lip dropping into a thinly pressed line as he raised a hand to readjust his glasses. The doctor likewise appeared to fiddle with the top of his cane, long fingers curling and stroking the cold metal pensively as he chose his words carefully. “I must say, Will, I was not aware you had any involvement in her case-”

“I didn’t. I only worked on her profile, as we discussed.”

“Ah yes, her profile. You did seem to want to…work on her profile from the looks of the feed before our conversation was so abruptly concluded before.” Will could feel the doctor’s eyes drilling into him from across the desk as he himself paced slowly, prowling as if a predator awaiting his chance to spring forth and attack. Each pass of the display monitor - it’s power off now that Jack had left - reflecting the sinister snarl he wished he could pull off each time Will drew close to it at the other man’s observation and probing words. “Tell me, Will, do you have a curiosity or is it just lust I saw? I mean, the woman is beautiful and you have lost the lovely Alana Bloom to Hannibal from what I’ve heard.”

That got the snarl out of him. The dark face in the monitor matching the one on his own face as Will turned to the desk, hands planted firmly as he leant forward, staring fiercly across at the now silent man. He could feel his jaw clenching, the darkness seeping into him as if the armour he used to separate himself from the him that invisioned torturing Hannibal, murdering the stag and feasting on it’s flesh, of strangling the Wendigo and drawing it’s last breath from it had been chinked and a weakness found. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you were curious about her, but I see now that perhaps there is something more to that.” The knowing smirk was back in place after it had momentarially faltered, showing Chilton’s hand as much as his hand had shown it tightly gripping the leather of his arm rests and recoiling slightly back into the chair away from Will’s fury. He was scared of him, he could use that. Chilton appeared to shrug it off, the smirk blooming back after a moment and his fingers appearing forcedly relaxed. “It is curious that you asked to visit her. As Jack and yourself confirmed, you never spoke while she was at the Agency and yet… It seems you were already acquainted with her, weren’t you Will. Interesting that you shared such fascinating conversation for two people who have never met before.”

Gritting his teeth and letting out a slight rush of air, Will retracted his hands, ne raising to resit his glasses frames while the other tucked into his front pocket. He could hear the ghostly version of himself on the screen, or was it one of the other voices, hissing at him to silence the other man. To refuse to answer him. To do what Hannibal would do to someone so close to finding him out. Clenching his fist in his pocket, Will bit down the desire with the bite of his tongue before asking quietly again, “I want to know if you plan on providing that to Jack.”

“You don’t care if I watched it?”

“Should I?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps that tape has already mysteriously disappeared from the office before Jack even left this room.” The psychiatrist’s face slipped from the sickening smile into a more professional frown, brows creased as if trying to read Will’s mind - the open book it had been when boiling to death no longer. As if trying to disect him alive, and draw out what secrets hid within his skull so tightly held and hidden away from the light of his probing search. As if trying to burrow deep within Will to find out just what it was that Will really wanted from this conversation. “Does that answer satisfy you, Will?”

Will wished he knew himself. He wished he knew what he wanted to keep hidden, what he wanted to be known, what he wanted to shout from the rooftops and dig deep within the earth and bury like his dogs would a bone. He knew all the answers were one and the same though, but that he could not let it fall from his lips lest the other options disappear from him forever. 

The one thing he knew above all else was that he needed to escape the bars of the cage deep within himself, the bars of the frightened man he was when he was drawn into Jack’s macbre world and the webbing of the spiders web he had flown into chasing Hannibal before so that he could maybe, possibly, inevitably dive into the jet black darkness of the water after his lure instead.

—

It was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. He could not have woken up and this could not be reality.

Those were the only thoughts that managed to run through his head as Fredrick Chilton followed the bloody trail through his house from where he had awoken, splattered and smeared in bloody residue, along the foyer and hallway into the kitchen and dining space to the two mutilated corpses.

There was no way this was true. He could not have found himself wrapped up in the bloody remains of two FBI agents posed and displayed in such gruesome ways. His marble counter top would never be the same again. That thought felt out of place to the horror that surrounded him, but truly he bemoaned the likelihood that his counter would always have a slightly red hue no matter how much bleach was added. That was Calcutta marble, it would cost a fortune to replace.

Fredrick’s mouth twisted as he moved around the front of the counter, taking in the delicate bow around the lap of the agent on the island, fashioned out of intestines so clearly decoration and wrapping the case up against him so tightly, so cleanly, so precisely for Jack Crawford the moment anyone entered the building. So theatrical that Fredrick couldn’t help but appreciate the Ripper’s work - a beautiful touch in an otherwise foul display.

As much as the Chesapeake Ripper had set Will Graham free months and months ago, the Ripper had now trapped him instead.

Moving past the body splayed on the table - a reconstruction of the Wound Man in perfect display, knives and implements spaced perfectly, the angles like a deformed hedgehog and face turned up in a frozen spectre of the last painful moments of the man’s life - the psychiatrist could hear the echo of the Ripper’s voice in his mind as he looked down at the body. “When you wake up, your only choice will be to run…”

And run he did.

The door was battered and worn, a perfect representation for the owner as Fredrick found himself approaching the opening front door to the sound of barking from within the little white house. It was such a picturesque place, so apart and isolated from the rest of society that the doctor in him would have loved to have known of this place when he had the owner within his grasp. Clearly this would have been a perfect metaphor for the man himself - separated from the rest of society through the cold barren land of emotive empathy and madness.

The look on the other man’s face as the door was opened fully, Fredrick knew that the somewhat mad man was probably uncertain what his appearance - suit jacket over his bloody shirt and blood smeared across his face - meant. Or rather, any other man would find it uncertain, Will Graham would know exactly what it would mean.

“May I use your shower, please?” His words were calm, belittled however by the slight wobble of his legs and the shake of his hand as the crowd of dogs surrounded him. The knowing smile from the empathetic man calmed his fraught nerves slightly as Will Graham stepped back and waved a hand, welcoming him into the house.

The almost dribble of the water pressure made him sad, it was nothing on the beautiful rainwater shower head he was so used to, nor was the faded old shower curtain that wrapped the shower-tub anything on the elaborate steam shower stall of glass and marble. He would have done anything to be back in his own shower to wash away the tight knots in his shoulders, but that would not be happening again any time soon. He could hear that dark little voice in the back of his mind as the red rinsed off down the drain, you’ll never get home again, you’re going to be on the run forever, you’re lavish lifestyle is gone from here on out.

Hannibal had been polite enough to prepare his suitcases for him with a suitable array of clothes, stylish yet comfortable, appropriate for the man Fredrick was and who he had to be in hiding. Nobody could ever accuse the man of impoliteness nor a lack of taste. The thought got a dark chuckle out of him at that.

Shrugging the woolen sweater over his head and tugging the shirt collar clear over top, Fredrick found himself fighting down the twinge of panic and hysteria all over again as he entered the dining space to find Will Graham watching him - those piercing eyes focussing entirely upon him alongside the attentive looks of the man’s canine family.

“I have the same profile as Hannibal Lecter.” He found himself pacing, the nervous energy of his mind whirring over his situation overflowing to the nervous movements as he walked back and forth. Anything to stop looking at the almost sardonic look upon Will Graham’s face, a knowing smugness and humor to him as much as the offkilter man could display. “Same medical and psychology background. We are both doctors of note in our fields.” Fredrick continued rambling, hands clenching tightly across the top of his cane - head jerking at the cut off noise of amusement from the other man, before he was distracted again from the frustration at the man’s bemusement by the hyped thoughts swirling through his head. That this was going to be the end of his life and if the FBI, if Jack, caught a hold of him it would be done. “Of course it would be me. Hannibal was never going to kill me. I’m his patsy.” Fredrick basically spat the word out, snarl on his lips as he smacked the worn wooden floors with the end of his cane to a resounding crack. He cared little to the spectacle he was making any more, there were more important things than maintaining calm and collected to be thought of. “I have to leave the country. I’m leaving the country.”

“If you run, you will look guilty.” The words were quiet, almost gentle, but there was a dark current underlying the other man’s tone, though it wasn’t worth his attention right now.

Fredrick let out a bark of laughter, harsh and cruel, as he turned to point a finger at the other man. “ You didn’t run and you looked plenty guilty.” Snarling, the psychiatrist clasped his other hand around the top of the chair he had his coat laid over, knuckles almost white from the tightness of his grip. “Abel Gideon was half-eaten in my guest room. I have corpses on my property, you just threw up an ear.”

“There’s an APB on you right now. They’ve canceled your credit cards, they’re tracing your phone.”

“I have cash and I tossed my phone.” He grit his teeth at the almost accusing tone from the other that he hadn’t already thought of that. That Fredrick Chilton was a fool who did not understand how to react to investigators showing up on his door and subsequently dead in his home. Will may not have respected him as a psychiatrist or a professional, but he would damn well make him appreciate his intelligence. “Jack Crawford thinks I killed two agents – three agents. You know what tends to happen to people who do that?” His brow raised across at the other man’s impassive face, knuckles cracking quietly as he dropped both hands to his sids. “Shoot on sight.”

There was a long pause before Will spoke again. “I’m going to prove that Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper.” The look in his eye would have paused Fredrick before, if he had seen the darkness deep in those eyes last year while Will Graham was tucked carefully behind metal bars and in the faded grey jumpsuit - there was no way that he would have ever believed that the man was innocent of murdering a young woman and eating her corpse. Now however, he had more pressing issues.

“I know you will.” The doctor remarked back, folding his hands over eachother before reaching out for his coat, gripping the black, grey and red peacoat tightly in his hands. The scratchy material not the best quality of his coats from his old wardrobe, but Hannibal was clearly well versed enough in disappearing to know how. Fredrick wished he could have had his black trench coat instead, but this was what he would live with now. “And when you do, I will read about it from a secure location and reintroduce myself to society at that time.”

As Will appeared to open his mouth to respond, the pair both froze at the sound of wheels on gravel, the rumble of an engine and the starting of barking by the dogs in the other room. Someone had arrived. Someone was pulling into the driveway behind Fredrick’s car. Someone had been notified.

“What did you do?” He practically hissed the words out, hand ducking into the pocket of his coat and retracting again, barrel of the handgun he’d woken up with held in his hand and pointed straight across at the wary looking other man.

“I called Jack Crawford.”

“No.. No no no…”

Backing towards the open window, leaning his head to the side to look through the curtain he could see the black Agency issue car pulled in behind his own. He could feel himself muttering curses under his breath when the creak of the other man’s chair as Will made to stand up. The gun was back on the other man’s face, tracking him as the other stood up and began towards the front door. “No! Stay there!”

“You’re not a killer Fredrick.”

They both knew the statement to be truth. That between the two of them, only one had the ability to draw a weapon and fire it too compared to just drawing it. That only the unstable one of them could stomach pulling the trigger.

As Will stood and moved towards the front door, the blood pulsed in his ears, thudding like a drum as the quiet whisper came over the pulsing noise that -run, run run run - and he followed its advice straight out the back door and towards the winter covered woods.

The trees were barren and bare, the snow crisp under foot crunching like cracks over the icy cold wind. He could see his breath in front of his face as he ran and stumbled through the undergrowth, his fingers were sore and reddening the further he went, breathing harsh and ragged as he pushed further. The sound of footfalls behind him and Jack Crawford screaming after him just spurred him on further, deeper and deeper into the white dead woods as he was trailed behind.

Slipping and sliding as he reached a ridge, trying to drag his way up the side of the embankment to get above and away from his stalker, Fredrick’s eyes were wide and wild as he realised his frozen fingers could not grasp the tree roots, gnarled and hard, and he pulled and scrambled. “God…God help me.” His words were harsh, a prayer out as if something might be out there that could hear him. As if his words would have any chance of being answered. As if he had the last moments to escape.

His hand scrabbled one last time as he looked over his shoulder, seeing the furious and cold FBI agent approaching - close enough that in a few seconds he would have a clean shot at the fleeing doctor - when he felt something warm wrap around his wrist and pull him upwards harshly. The tug was enough. His feet managed to find purchase and throwing his other hand up to grasp the wrist of the hand holding his own, Fredrick lurched upwards and over the crest.

Panting as he threw himself flat upon the ground, snow burning his eyes and nose and lips but the separation from the gunshot that rung out behind him. Saved. He’d been saved. Rolling onto his back, he blinked away the white crystals on his lashes to see the bright blonde hair as the woman sat upright, rifle locked and held outright towards where the agent was stood, staring up at the pair of them.

“You!”

“Yes, me, Mr. Crawford.” The voice was harsh and yet sounded like the sweetest sound Fredrick had ever heard. There was no way Jack would go after him when the woman was present. This was his chance to escape, to flee and get away while the armed pair faced off. “Sorry to say, but you’re after the wrong person yet again, you fuck. And I’ve got you in my lines so… I’ma give you a chance to leave uninjured. One chance to leave without a gunshot.”

The crack of a gun rang through the forrest as Fredrick rolled again to the side, scrambling back away from the crest behind the thick trunk of the tree he’d tried to reach, staring across at the woman who’d not even flinched at the sound. There was blood blossoming across her shoulder where the bullet had hit, but she stayed firm letting out a breath.

Three more shots fired, all from her towards the other. And the groans that followed let Fredrick know that at least one had found their mark. If not all three if her case file was accurate at all.

“Sorry Crawford.” Her voice was almost as cold as the wind itself as Joanna Harvelle flung herself over the crest of the icy river bank. Crawling up the tree trunk and leaning his head around the wide berth of it, Fredrick watched as the woman approached the agent, now kneeling on the ground - blood visible dripping from his arm and the puddle beneath his feet suggesting that she had hit at least one of his legs as well. She kicked a foot out, the gun in the agent’s injured hand flung wide into the snow before she too was thrown into the snow by the other man.

It was a flurry of movement from there. Fredrick had trouble following who landed which blow, who was winning and who was losing, who’s blood spread across the snow or who’s groan it was as the pair tussled. He kept looking between the struggle and the woods before him as if he could escape before a victor was found.

And then it happened. The fifth gunshot and the heavy thud of a body onto the ground echoed in the quiet space before Fredrick heard it.

“You can either keep tryin’ to catch us, or you can keep applyin’ pressure to that neck wound and make it home to your wife.” Joanna���s words were quiet but carried on the wind as she stepped back from the other man, laid bare on the ground and hand pressed tightly to his throat. “Your choice, but I know what I’d pick.”

She didn’t wait for an answer, and Fredrick’s eyes blew wide again, scrambling away from the tree and moving a few feet back from the riverbank as the deadly woman approached, climbing up the distance smoother and with none of the struggle he himself had had trying to climb the bank face. Her blonde hair stood out from under the brown knitted beanie on her head, and she looked more suitably dressed for the cold winterscape than he himself was. Her boots were worn but thick compared to his dress shoes. She would have him in a moment, he knew, and he’d be yet again on death’s door by an ex-patient and he found his breath increasing sharply as her angular face approached, blood dripping from a cut in her eyebrow and from what seemed to be a hit to her nose.

He struggled to move back, feet tripping over the thick roots behind him blindly. This was going to be it. His prayers for saving was answered by a cruel and capricious god that simply wanted him to see his exit from the world to be as horrible as it could possibly be. Maybe he’d be decapitated, or perhaps it would be through fire, a gunshot to the heart or his heart carved out of his chest. It could be any of them, and as he watched her approach, Fredrick let out a quiet sigh, closing his eyes tightly as he tried to prepare.

Next second she was past him, trudging along in the snow. He felt nothing, there was no cuts, no knives, no gunshots and no fire, nothing to him but the cold breeze of the wind.

“Wha-”

“So, are you comin’ Mr. Chilton? It’s goin’ to get real cold out here soon enough and Crawford’s already crawlin’ his way back to Will’s.”

“Uh..” He blinked in confusion, watching as the murderess began her stalk through the woods, following what he could see must have been her tracks towards him before. Returning wherever she came from, wherever she had been hiding. “What?”

“Come on, Chilton. What’d you think I was here for? To kill you?” The woman huffed, pausing in her strides and turning to look back at him again, hands firmly planted on her rounded hips. Joanna Harvelle raised an eyebrow at him, jerking her head towards the cold forest. “Unless you wanna get the death penalty for Hannibal’s crimes…”

That made up his mind, feet following after her into the cold woods. It wasn’t the smartest idea, it wasn’t clearly the best idea, but at least she knew where she was going even if he didn’t any more.

“How… How did you know I was here?” The doctor asked quietly, making his way along behind her, “What are you even here for?”

“Was in the area recently. Heard over scanners about some Ripper activity in the area and then saw your ‘rrival at Will’s.” Joanna huffed, trudging her way forward and holding out a hand to help him down a steep embankment before sliding down herself. The jeans soaked more, dark patches on the back of her thighs spreading, but she still was better dressed than himself for the weather with the thick olive jacket somehow reminiscent of the empath’s own from Fredrick’s memory and the thick grey scarf along with the jeans and boots. The blonde brushed her hands off on the dark jeans. “You boys talked pretty loudly and I took off back when you I saw the agency car coming.”

“But why help me?”

“Figured I owed you are fuckin’ up your little hospital’s reputation. Plus, you believe Will ‘bout Hannibal right? Can’t let him slither away without righteous punishment this time.”

Her words seemed odd to him, that she somehow was so aware of the claims of the other man and so seemingly dedicated to the entrapment and destruction of a fellow killer. That she was in the area recently and was seemingly watching Will Graham's house to notice his arrival also seemed unusual. Clearly the woman was as fascinated by the man as he was her, and he wished yet again he could have heard such things from her back when their positions had been reversed.

“I did not realise serial killers were so invested in the outcomes of one another’s work.”

“I’d have to be a serial killer for that theory to hold up. Now c'mon we’re almost there.”

As the pair trudged through the snow banks, Fredrick could feel the path give way and the tree roots space out more and more as they approached the roadway near Will’s house on the other side of the woods, a light blue Camaro pulled to the side of the road and the blonde’s smile was as unsettling as the last time he saw it as she gestured him towards the passenger seat.

A passenger was what he was now, a passenger to his own life and a passenger to whatever bloody madness had swept around his life since Hannibal covered his mouth with the chloroform soaked cloth - sinking into the leather, he finally gave in to the madness with a sigh. Nothing could be as bad as being eaten by Hannibal and the FBI alike.

—

The sun slanted through the windows, the warm golden glow of the sunset catching the dancing dust motes in the air of the waiting room. Will rarely found himself having to wait since he had begun returning to the other’s care after his hospital stay. It had taken a long time before Will had decided it was better to keep his enemies closer than he had, that Hannibal’s friendship was something he was better possessing than not. That Hannibal’s attention could be dangerous if it was not properly focussed. Dealing with Randall had been just that - dangerous - and that had been after returning. Since then though, Will had felt the dark stag forming inside himself to fight and buck against Hannibal’s formed darkness, had seen the two dark figures prowling around one another, feathers and ink pouring behind them as they circled the pair.

From the corner of his eye, he could see the door open to Hannibal’s office finally, a beautiful yet closed woman emerging with the doctor’s hand on her back.

“I will look forward to seeing you next Thursday, Margot.” Hannibal’s voice was whisper soft and like roughened silk, expecting it to be smooth but a hidden rawness beneath it. His eyes caught Will’s momentarially, as he nodded to his next patient before returning into his office.

“Yes, perhaps you will.”

It was the woman’s quiet response that caught Will’s attention as she appeared to shrug her coat on. It was the same he had crossed paths with a handful of times previously and had been greeted with her visiting him the previous month to discuss Hannibal’s treatment process. Sometimes she would smile at him, or he would nod to her, or they would just not acknowledge the other’s presence - the impact of whoever’s session heavy like a cloud over that party. Today it seemed was a smile, the tiny twist of her lips as she adjusted her coat would have been stunning to anyone else.

“Good evening Will, looking forward to our witty friend’s company?”

“You could say that.” Will found himself replying, shrugging his own worn olive jacket off and tucking it under an arm as he feigned a smile back at her. “How goes determining if Hannibal is the correct person to handle your... private carnage?”

“So far, he tells me what I wish to hear. Perhaps that is wrong to enjoy but-”

“-we all like to hear what we desire is not so disasterous after all?”

“Very astute.” Margot’s response came with another small smile, the almost laughing tone to her voice sounds wrong to his ear - laughter not frequent around him unless it is the one that haunts him, and this woman’s does not sound the same at all. Not as beautiful, not as raw and genuine. Too closed, too forced yet clearly not, too polished and prepared to be drawn upon when needed. She continued talking over his thoughts, the twist of her red lips still in that small, secretive look. “Perhaps I will see you again before too long.”

“I am sure you will.”

The pair brushed past one another, the brief conversation much the same as the few other chance meetings but over within a minute and behind him, out of his mind, as soon as he shuts the door behind himself entering Hannibal’s sanctum.

The doctor himself was already near the small wine cabinet, pouring each of them a glass of wine as had become a custom for them - even if most nights Will would not touch his, and Hannibal’s would remain untouched aside from the first sip before the end of the session. If they were meeting over Hannibal’s table, the glasses would be refilled twice over before the night was concluded, but this was the other half of Hannibal’s performance art. The half that required more focus on the words, the flow and the beat of their dance, rather than the focus upon swallowing the taste of flesh that Will was slowly growing accustomed to.

“Good evening Will.”

“Hannibal.”

There’s a long, stagnant beat between them after the greeting - Hannibal’s thoughtful look as he took the one and only sip of the deep red for the night, a sangiovese that night from Montaclino, and Will’s silent patience awaiting that evening, awaiting the doctor’s determination for that evening’s conversation topic.

As he sat his glass down on the side table, Hannibal relaxed back with the smooth flow he did all things into his chair, hands on either arm rest. There was a pace before he finally spoke again, “We have discussed before the dangerous games you have began engaging in, have we not?”

“At quite a length I would say.”

“And yet I find that the discussion is not over yet.”

“The discussion or the topic?” Will found himself closing his eyes rather than staring down the other man this time. It had been a savage time the last time they spoke of this - after the deconstruction and reconstruction of Randall Teir. It had been the start of his unfurling and right during the madness of missing. Hannibal Lecter had been a balm, a replacement to the gap left by her disappearance, and Will may not have felt remorse at that time but now he wondered what she would think of his actions, his presentation skills, his muted flair for the effect that he could never come near either man nor woman’s skills for. “From what I recall, we concluded that one kill did not a serial killer make.”

“That is not the dangerous game for tonight.” Hannibal’s voice would have been soothing to others, to Will it felt like a scapel being dragged across his mind, cutting and cutting until it opened up and shown what secrets were within. “Jack Crawford expressed a concern regarding the number of dangerous persons that appear to have taken an interest in you lately.”

“Ah.” Will opened his eyes to the ceiling, he knew this was a conversation overdue by a week or so since Chilton and Joanna alike escaped into the woods. Jack had staggered his way back to his house, the trail of blood stark against the crisp white snow covering the ground as Will had called in for help and assisted with holding pressure to the gunshot wound through the side of the man’s neck. It was a precision shot. One that the doctor’s had all crowded about exclaiming could have very well killed him had he released the pressure at all or the wound mere milimetres further across his neck. A dangerous game - being intwined with a dangerous woman and the suspected Chesapeake Ripper. “That game.”

“Perhaps there is an argument to be made that those with alternative pathologies are simply attracted to your presence. You do seem to collect more than simply your stray animals.”

“That would require those dangerous individuals to have alternative pathologies to begin with.”

“You believe they do not?”

Will let out a bark of a laugh, shifting in his position to return his gaze to the other man’s. Hannibal’s face was almost as cold and unreadable as blank glass, but he knew how to see him now. They had been doing this dance for so long, Will could see even if he could not understand. The other was unprepared for his responses - or at least for half of his meaning. That both men knew Fredrick Chilton was innocent for the crimes laid against his name, guilty only of being arrogant and incompentent, was not the surprising part to the doctor.

That Will Graham was defending and reflecting upon the woman so favourably was what had caught the psychiatrist unprepared. Having watched the interaction of the two so many weeks ago when the blonde woman had thoroughly insulted and rebuked Hannibal completely, it didn’t surprise Will that such a notion of her being something worthy of reflection other than disdain had not crossed the other man’s mind. Hannibal had not seen what Will had, had only seen the very surface of her and took her deeper contextual comments and claims as farce. After seeing the tapes in Chilton’s office, the dark haired man knew thaat there was nothing farcical about her.

“A tilted perspective is still a perspective, and may well see the world straight on just as easily as we could see it at a tilt - it is all down to the positioning. If I told you that the sky was red, and at one point of the day you would agree with me.”

“That is still an alternative position, Will.”

“But is it dangerous?”

“Perhaps not to some,” The doctor appeared to pause over the words, mulling the train of thought over in his mind as each man surveyed the other. Will could feel the slice, his grey matter being spread apart by the scalpel before being held open for the other’s inspection by the retractor, as if if he dug deep enough, Hannibal may be able to find the piece he was so desperately after. “Though danger is subjective as well. Some would say being the treating physician to a man who craves for your death is dangerous.”

“Some would say being the patient to a friend could be.”

Hannibal’s eyes focussed in, lips pursed slightly catching the dying sunlight where they were wettened. Will felt his eyes drawn to them, unsure exactly what had caught the other man’s focus so but determined not to be drawn into the intoxicating stare down that he knew may well be coming. The other’s words were rough and tight, sharply edged like a knife as he questioned him, “You long for friendship with danger?”

Will froze at the question. He could feel the meaning behind it, the intent of it and the coiling draw into the darkness Hannibal intended for it to mean, but he could not acknowledge that as his eyes drew away from the other man’s face as the sight of movement behind his chair.

The flutter of white fabric in a breeze that did not exist in the darkened room, the pad of a bare footprint as she approached the other. He could see her, pale white in the fading light through the heavy draped windows, as she made her way behind Hannibal - fingers wrapping out and closing tightly around the other’s throat, blood soaked hands wrapping around the tight muscle of the doctor’s neck, her fingernails coated in dirt and grime that would never be allowed to marr the other man in any other situation. His bloody angel was dripping, her hair wet this day as if from melted snow - he wished he could have seen her and not just her aftermath this time, the little flecks of white dusting and crowning her like the wild goddess she was and her cheeks flushed pink from where the cold had bitten at her and lost - and her hands and dress slicked with the blood he knew to be Jack’s blood this time, not just the nameless faceless victims she’d leave in her path.

Rather than continue to choke the other, she left her marks in his mind - red lines and dark dirt patches wrapped tightly above the crisp white shirt collar of the well put together man. Will found himself stiffening, jaw clenched and throat swallowing dryly as the apparition moved around the other man’s chair, and her feet padded heavily across to him bloody footprints following along behind her on the dark wood floors. His fingers clenched into the arms of his seat, restraining from reaching, grasping, pulling and yearning for her as she approached him. His tongue flickered out against his will across his lip as his angel reached him, bloody fingers trailing from his forehead down to chin tilting his head up to her as she sank onto the seat across him. ‘Do you long for my friendship?’ He heard the words, nails digging into the leather of his chair as she leant down to his ear, blonde hair filling his vision and through which he could see the stagman staring across at them, eyes wide and white, devouring the spectacle. Her lips were on his cheek and her hands in his hair. ‘Do you ache for danger?’ The stagman appeared to rise, hand outstretched as he moved towards them, fingers barely from his angel-

“Will? Will, did you hear me?”

“What?”

“I asked, do you long for friendship with danger, Will? You froze.” Hannibal was closer now, standing where the stagman had been, hand outstretched as if to shake him, and Will couldn’t help the resentment that he had stolen away the moment and the scent of her from the vision. “What were you seeing?”

Will’s lips twisted into a smile, the dark reflective smile he had begun growing to know so intimately, as he shook his head at Hannibal’s concerned look, waving his hand away.

“What were you seeing, Will?” Hannibal insisted again, voice sharp and demanding an answer.

“Danger. I was seeing danger.”

---

[imabanditostuff]

Dinner with candles for two

It was a nice summer evening. That time of the day when the sun almost sat down, painting the sky in varieties of orange, red, pink and even purple colors. Lanterns started to turn on. The heat of the day was gone and the streets were filled with fresh cool air.

Emily was walking to the restaurant, where she had a dinner planned. She was a young girl, in her mid-twenty, beautiful. Some said that she had such a pretty face on a pretty neck. Emily was aware of her beauty; she used to turn heads when she entered the room. But she wasn’t just about the look. You can’t make people like you by just having a pretty face. She knew that. Emily wasn’t one of those mean girls with perfect appearance; she also was kind, generous, loving, intelligent and witty.

The girl was slowly walking with the wind in her, a bit curly hair. And as she walked closer to the restaurant, Paris was changing. The night was falling on the city but, instead of sinking in the dark, Paris was lighting up.

Emily entered “Cafe de la Paix”. She came in with a breath of wind. Confidently walking towards the table where he was already waiting for her. His name was Harold, but Emily often called him Harry. He was an Englishman, couple years older than Emily; tall, well built, good looking fellow. He had eyes that you could drown in. He had a deep voice; it was a pleasure to listen to him, even if he’d talk some nonsense. Harry was smart, kind-hearted and had a good sense of humor.

Emily and Harold were old friends. They had known each other for about 6 years. They met in London. Emily came there to study at the college, and Harry was a senior there. The two were going to the same drama club. Harry was one of the musicians, playing the drums. Emily got there to act. They got acquainted during the first week of rehearsing a new play. And soon enough become good friends.

After Harry’s graduation they were still hanging out together for a year, but then he left London because of his new work. But Harold and Emily were still keeping in touch with each other.

The girl came to the table and finally met a friend of hers, which she hadn’t seen for four years. He got up to hug her:

“Good evening, Harold”, she said with a touch of a smile on her lips.

“Hello, mate”, he said with his strong English accent.

They sat down. Their dinner was in a small, cozy café. Little round tables were just enough for two. A dim light was softened their faces.

“So, same lips red, same eyes blue, same white shirt, you haven’t changed at all”, said Harry smiling.

“Is it a bad thing?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

They were talking like they’ve never been apart from each other. Like all those years didn’t exist. They were talking about all sort of things, refreshing their moments together, telling stories they hadn’t told before. The waiter came and interrupted their conversation. Old friends made an order and afterward, have forgotten the previous topic; they shared a moment of silence. But it wasn’t that kind of awkward silence when no one knows what to say when you can cut the tension with a knife. No, it was the complete opposite. It was a comfortable silence, the one which you can share with your closest friends or significant other.

“So what have you been up to lately?” Emily asked suddenly.

“Oh, well, I’ve quit my job”, casually answered Harry.

“Wait, what?”

“Yes, I quit a few weeks ago.”

“But why?” asked Emily with sadness in her voice.

“I didn’t like it, I’ve got sick of it, I didn’t like what I was doing and I, probably, burnt down. So I decided to follow my dream, at the end of the day you should have high hopes for a living, right?”, he said with a grin.

“Ok, I perfectly understand you. And what is your high hope? What are you going to do?” softly asked Emily.

“I’ve decided to risk it all and make music. Do you remember that I was a drummer?”

“Yeah, of course, I do. I’m really happy for you, you’re gonna make it, I’ll support you”, she said with a wide, warm smile.

As Emily and Harry were talking about everything in the world, about changing jobs and cities, about holidays, babies, history, newspapers, museums, grandmothers, marriage, movies, spiders, English accents, Spain, France, Italy, walnuts and the color orange. They concluded that algebra angered them, opera sickened them, Charlie Chaplin was a fake and flowers were for pansies. Candle on their table was burning out, and darkness was enfolding them.

Suddenly Emily asked: “Have you ever thought what if all your life is just imagination?”

“Sorry? What do you mean?” asked Harold.

“I mean, what if your whole life is just in your head? What if you created everything that you know, and nothing really exists?” Emily explained passionately.

“So, you’re saying that I don’t exist and you’ve just created me in your head?”

“Yeah, basically. Is it weird?”

“Oh, yes, it’s bizarre”, he thought about something for a moment and then asked her – “but why you think so? Don’t get me wrong, as a piece of your mind (he said with a touch of sarcasm in his voice), I just want to understand it.”

“Our reality is subjective, we all seeing it in our own ways and we can’t prove with complete certainty, that we see everything that surrounds us, and we also can’t prove that everything that we see is really out there. Our mind and perception are tricky, they can fool us, and they do. So how can I be fully confident about something in this world?” Emily clarified.

“Ok, I see your point. But how can you created so much stuff, and what about things that you don’t know but they exist, have you thought about that?”

“Yes, I have”, she sharply answered.

“And what are your thoughts on it?”

“Well, what if things that I know nothing about are just not there?”

“That what I thought”, he laughed.

“Ok, ok, laugh if you want. But sometimes I think about it a lot, and I’m not sure if it’s all real” Emily said it softly and confused.

“Hey, don’t be so concerned. I believe you. Have you created this world to feel some control?” Harry asked with interest, but he sounded a bit like a psychiatrist.

“No, I don’t know. I can’t destroy it if I want, if that what you mean.” The girl quietly answered.

“Ok, I’m just trying to understand”, he said it with that annoying, calm tone of psychiatrist again.

“Well, all I’m saying is that I sometimes think about it, maybe too much, and yes, maybe I sometimes don’t sure if everything is real, but it’s okay, it’s not a big deal. I’m fine.” Said Emily defensively. “I was just wondering if you had some similar thoughts. And you hadn’t, now I know, let’s change the topic, shall we?” said the girl, and smiled.

“Well, then we gotta get away from here”, suggested Harry. He got up and gave her a hand in the way like he was inviting her on the biggest adventure in their lives. Emily gladly took his invite, and they left the restaurant.

The two walked out on the streets of Paris. Sun had already sat down and it was dark. So the city of lights was in its full glory. All street lights were lightened up and gave a nice warm atmosphere. The buildings were highlighted with pleasant yellow light. Small outdoors cafés were full of people, that were talking, seemed to be, in all the languages of the world. Soft, light jazz was flowing through the street. As they kept walking the saw it, the biggest, brightest spot, it illuminated everything around, it was one of the most recognizable views on the planet, it was the symbol, the sign, the light itself, it was The Eiffel Tower. Paris is luminous. And The Eiffel Tower was the most beautiful, the brightest part of all lights in the city.

“Stunning view, right?” asked Emily.

“Yes, it is magnificent.” quietly said Harry.

“Come on, we need to get closer.” Said Emily, grabbed his hand and run.

They came to the tower, sat on the grass right in front of it and enjoyed the view, without saying a word. They were almost alone there. A few couples here and there and that’s all. Despite being in the city of love this moment wasn’t romantic

for them. It was the moment of calmness, safeness, happiness. They were living in that exact moment, at that exact minute, enjoying every second of it. The couple sat on the middle of the field for about two hours. Talking about everything and sitting in silence, then remembering about something they kept talking. And most importantly they were having a time of their lives.

“It’s getting late, I probably should take off now”, said Emily, looking on her watch.

“Yeah, you’re right, I’ll catch a cab for you”, suggested Harry.

“A cab? We aren’t in London, there are no cabs here” replied Emily laughing.

“Oh, right, but you get what I mean.”

They got up and walked to the road, slowly, because they didn’t want to say goodbye. But soon enough Harry caught the taxi.

“How long do you plan to stay in Paris?” asked Emily looking right in Harry’s eyes.

“I dunno”, he said quickly, “but even if we won’t meet again in Paris, we can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here,” Harry said it and hugged Emily, tightly. “Goodbye.”

“See ya!” smiling said Emily and sat into the taxi.

She was tired so she started to fall asleep; suddenly girl saw a bright white light, and everything stopped.

Emily woke up in a hospital room. When she opened her eyes for a couple of seconds it was too bright to see. The girl looked around; she was alone in that room. She wasn’t in pain, she had no bruises or scratches, she was fine. A nurse came in and when she saw Emily, she was shocked.

“Hey, hello, what’s wrong with me? Why am I here?” asked Emily in a raspy voice, her throat was dry.

“Oh my god, you’re awake”, the nurse said in surprise and went out.

“Yeah, great, thanks for your answer, it was helpful”, said Emily quietly.

After a minute a man came in. He was tall, gray hair touched his temples, thin glasses were sliding off his nose, he was wearing a white medical gown.

“Hello Emily, it’s nice to see that you’re awake”, he said with a New York accent, “I’m your doctor Mr. Richardson”

“Hello”, said Emily, “my doctor? But why, what is wrong with me?”

“You don’t remember?” he asked.

“No, I don’t, I wouldn’t ask you if I knew”, she said. Her voice sounded annoyed and confused and still raspy.

“You were in a coma”, sharply said doctor.

“What? Is it a joke, am I being pranked or something?” almost screaming said Emily.

“No, you aren’t pranked, you were in a coma for almost two years”, said doctor calmly.

“Oh my god, what am I in a movie or something. It’s insane!”

“What the last thing that you remember?” asked Dr. Richardson.

“Umm… I… I was in Paris?... Yeah, I was in Paris with Harry, we said goodbye, I sat in a taxi and then a bright light and I woke up here”, slowly and quietly.

“Emily you never were in Europe and in Paris.”

“In Europe? Wait where am I then?”

“In New York City, born and raised here”, he answered.

“Okay, well it's interesting”, Emily mumbled.

“I’ll be right back”, said the doctor and left the room.

“Okay.” She got up, sat on the edge of the bed, put her elbows on her knees and rested her face in her hands. “It isn’t real, it isn’t real, it isn’t real…” she was swaying back and forth and mumbling it over and over again. She stopped for a minute and had something like a moment of clarity, “I was right, I was right, I knew something was wrong, I did make it all up, it was just my mind, I was right” she also mumbled it, but now she was more confident.

“Alright, we need to do some tests with you, and then if everything okay you’re free to go after a couple of days”, Dr. Richardson walked in and informed Emily.

“Okay, I’m ready”, she replied obediently.

After a week in the hospital, she was free. The girl was fine physically, but not mentally. Emily walked out of the hospital in lower Manhattan. It was the begging of September; City still had that hot summerlike weather, fall hadn’t begun yet. It was a bit windy and the wind reminded everyone that summer had gone to its end. Emily was wearing the same white shirt, black skinny jeans, and black chelsea boots. Her long, a bit curly, fair hair was tangling in the wind and then was gracefully fluttering in the wind. She walked through the concrete jungle of the New York City. Buildings were so tall that you couldn’t see it top if you put your head up. The sun was shining brightly and the skyscrapers, made from glass, were catching the sunlight and reflecting it, returning the light even brighter than it was before. Streets were very loud, there are sirens all around and people were buzzing around, it was the voice of the City. After an hour and a half of walking, Emily got to Central Park. It was much quieter and less crowded there. She walked through, still green, parkways into the depth of the park. She was wandering through the park alleys, not noticing anyone. Enjoying the silence she was thinking and mumbling something.

“I was right, all that time… it wasn’t real, I made it up. It isn’t real, is it? How can I prove it?” girl was whispering it to herself, “What if it’s just a prison in my mind? No, I’m not crazy!” she said the last sentence much louder, like if she was persuading herself. “But now I can’t tell if this is real, I don’t know! Now I am not sure about reality, what if it’s another mind trick played by my wicked brain?” her voice was trembling, she was confused and scared.

“Harry? Is he even real? Or he was right when he said that he’s just a piece of my mind. He said “we should meet again somewhere far away from there”, yeah, we should.” Saying it her voice calmed a little bit and she felt certainty at least for a short moment. Her thoughts were interrupted, someone bumped into her.

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” said the man who bumped into her. Emily didn’t raise her head; the first thing that she heard was deep voice and strong English accent. When she looked up, she saw a young, good looking fellow, it was Harry. “Please say something, are you okay?” his voice sounded worried.

“Yeah, I’m fine”, Emily replied, she was shocked.

“Okay then, sorry again. Take care!” Said Harry and kept running.

“Harry?” She said out loud, and just kept walking, but he turned around when heard his name. “It was him, isn’t he? Now I am not sure… What if I’m still sleeping? I’m not sure if all of it is real.”

And are you?

[redditnosleep]

This Guy Didn’t Stop Laughing For 10 Years

by NYSSA_ASSYN

He ate while laughing. He defecated while laughing. He actually slept, though fitfully, awaking every hour or so—laughing.

For a few of my coworkers, he was the only fun part of their day, but he terrified me.

This was probably because I was the new guy, the green psych tech who still thought he could make a difference. Apparently most psych techs (psychiatric technicians) lose their compassion barometer after a while, and eventually a patient who spends every waking moment laughing is no longer disturbing because he seems harmless.

He terrified me also because, for some inexplicable reason, there was something familiar about him.

To this day, my family still doesn’t understand exactly what my role as a psych tech was. It’s simple: keep crazy people from killing themselves or others. But what did I do all day on the job? Well, sometimes I sat in a chair watching some insane person lie on a bed in a small white room, and if they became agitated, I would lock the door. Sometimes I’d lead “art hour” and we’d paint, or make papier-mâché (no scissors allowed, of course). Sometimes I’d turn on a yoga video for “exercise hour”, and sometimes I pinned psychotic maniacs down so my coworkers could apply the restraints and the nurse would inject 2mg of lorazepam right in their gluteus.

I never got used to it, I kept caring, and that’s why I only lasted a year. The laughing man laughed me right out of that acute psych ward.

Allow me to explain this: there isn’t much that is funny about mental illness, and I don’t mean to be insensitive or flippant about psychosis, about how it can rip the individual and their families apart. But to my fellow psych techs, many of them at least, it was all that these patients were: psychos. Crazies. Maniacs.

I tried to see them as people—they are people—and their illness isn’t the only thing that defines them, but in the acute psych ward, their illness is in full swing, and it’s the only side that psych techs like me saw of them. They were mostly bipolar patients in the height of their manic phase, or schizophrenics having a mental break.

The laughing guy, I’ll call him Aaron, was a schizophrenic in his early 50s, with an atypical form of “catatonia”. Most catatonic schizophrenics will sit motionless, staring off for days without eating or sleeping. I recall one patient there who would stand in the middle of a room, maintaining an impossible pose for several days. When his catatonia subsided, this patient explained that during those frozen moments, he fully believed that if he moved, the world would end. But as in Aaron’s case, (his psychiatrist explained it to me) some catatonics don’t remain motionless, but have repetitive, purposeless motions or actions, and Aaron’s catatonic expression was laughing non-stop.

Aaron had been in and out of the psych ward for years, alternating between the state mental hospital and the local hospital, for there were some “legal” stipulations that didn’t allow him to stay in a long-term facility. (Later I found out it was because no facility could handle his laughing for more than a few months at a time.)

When I started my job, Aaron had already been in this psych ward for over three months, but, according to some of the seasoned psych techs, he had been laughing like this for 10 years.

Like I mentioned, most psych techs found him amusing, and more than once I saw a tech putting his arm around Aaron, laughing with him, mocking the way his high-pitched, almost screeching laugh nervously drowned out any conversation in the room. But Aaron took no notice to them when they did this. His eyes looked straight through anyone who faced him, and he kept pacing in place when a tech tried to hold him, like there was some motor inside him that never shut off.

He paced all day like this, and to get him to eat, I’d have to pace with him, placing bits of food in his mouth as we went. We scheduled bathroom breaks for him every hour so we didn’t have to change his clothes, and this worked 50% of the time. All the while, he laughed his piercing frantic laugh.

It grated on me. Only after a week of being there, I dreaded going up those elevators, greeted by his incessant laugh as I entered that dismal psych ward.

Aaron wasn’t the most frightening patient I had there that year—oh the stories I could tell—but perhaps the strangest, maybe even the most tragic, certainly the most personal. I understood that most catatonics had progressive worsening schizophrenia until they just shut off, but it killed me to know why this guy just started laughing and no one knew why.

Before I quit, I asked nearly everyone about his story and no one knew...until I met Dr. Greenwald, an ancient psychiatrist who hadn’t worked at the psych ward in years. I heard stories of this doctor, and from what I gathered, he was a kind, highly-esteemed man who loved what he did, who didn’t judge these tormented patients. Dr. Greenwald was probably my strongest inspiration to become a physician myself, and to this day, I remember the compassion he showed patients. The older nurses loved him, and when they found out that he was taking a break from his private outpatient practice to round occasionally in the acute psych ward, they were all thrilled.

Meeting Dr. Greenwald actually exceeded my expectations, and I admired how he valued every interaction, genuinely caring about each person in front of him—even lowly psych techs like me.

One night, a few weeks before I quit, I saw Dr. Greenwald exiting Aaron’s room after his evaluation, and I had the feeling he would have answers about Aaron, answers about how he came to be the way he was.

Graciously, he told me. As I’ve mentioned in a previous post, there are many things I’ve seen in my career in medicine that don’t make a lot of sense, so many things that bother me until this day. Aaron’s case is yet another case in point. I’ll never forget his story:

The first time Dr. Greenwald met Aaron in the hospital, he recognized a few things: Aaron was a good-natured, caring guy who, not surprisingly, loved to laugh and make others laugh. Dr. Greenwald remembered him capturing audiences, telling the most hilarious stories that would have the whole room in fits. He hadn’t had an easy life, but he weathered his burdens well, easily laughing at life ironies, both big and small.

Dr. Greenwald was unaware of any previous psychiatric history, though Aaron had married a beautiful women who suffered from life-long depression and anxiety. Because Aaron had such a strong desire to care for troubled people, these feelings drew him to his wife. Aaron wanted to fix her, and through it all, he fell in love with her. She quickly became pregnant after they married, and in time gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Her mental illness worsened after the birth, thought to be postpartum depression, and Aaron became nearly obsessed with the study of psychology.

Despite his efforts to fix her, she deteriorated, developing postpartum psychosis, and she began hearing voices telling her to do violent things. Everything changed when Aaron found out his wife had killed his infant son. She hadn’t smothered or drowned him, but had eaten him. Upon hearing this, Aaron started laughing and never stopped.

After Dr. Greenwald finished the story, I sat there speechless though not in silence, as Aaron’s shrill laugh emanated from his hospital room. Dr. Greenwald sat there with me, and I caught a glimpse of emotion on his face.

“Isn’t it odd,” I finally said, “That he broke completely all of the sudden? I thought most catatonics have a long history of schizophrenia or something.” I felt like an idiot as soon as my words left my mouth. Certainly Aaron had some mental disorder to have been a patient of Dr. Greenwald’s.

Dr. Greenwald smiled at me like a loving grandfather. “Somethings are too much for a human mind to handle.”

I guessed that something so tragic could make just about anybody snap.

“What was his diagnosis when you met him, sir?” I asked.

He looked at me puzzled, “What do you mean?”

“When you met him, what were you treating him for?”

“Son, he wasn’t my patient,” he paused. “Aaron was a psych tech here. I worked with him for years. I was here the day his wife was brought in, strapped to a stretcher, that baby’s blood covering her face and clothes. She was completely psychotic, uncontrollable. Aaron was working here that day.”

I gaped at him, my mouth open, and all I managed to squeak out was a bewildered “What?”

Dr. Greenwald sighed heavily. “I imagine that Aaron knew he was about to lose his mind then, and suddenly he became what he tried so hard to fix. The irony was, I guess, too much, so, he just had to laugh.”

Dr. Greenwald stood up and patted me on the shoulder. He had stayed much longer than he expected to, and I slowly stood up watching him walk away. As he exited the secured door, he turned to me and said,

“Strangely, you remind me of him—before he, you know, started laughing. You care a lot about these people, I can tell. They’re lucky to have you.”

Mortified, it suddenly washed over me, the realization nearly drowning me: there was something so intimate and familiar about Aaron. And I could never explain it to even myself how I saw a piece of me in that lifeless shell of a man, that laughing insane man.

I had no response for Dr. Greenwald in that moment, but bursting from my lungs came a terrifying—totally involuntary—laugh.

I turned in my resignation notice that same day.

[soldierswar]

Melancholia - Chapter 8

          Trigger Warning: Mentions of pregnancy “complications”. 

      I was in a state of blind anger, confusion, sadness. I didn’t know what to do, but one thing.

           “Scar, what’s going on?” James asked, watching me frantically shove my stuff in my bag. Not that I knew where I was going, or if I was actually going anywhere. I just knew that I had to be away from him. We couldn’t be together anymore, and no matter how much I loved him, I had to let him go.

           “Scarlette!” He exclaimed, making me snap my head up towards his direction. It was only then that I realized that tears were streaming down my eyes uncontrollably.

           “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

           I didn’t want to tell him anything. I just wanted to leave, and never see him again. I didn’t know what to tell him in the first place. The truth? A part of it? Or a complete lie, like telling him that I just didn’t love him anymore. At this point, speaking a lie seemed as though it would be less painful.

           “I have to go. I just…I have to leave now. We’re done.” I mumbled, resuming my packing.

           Suddenly, I felt a cold metal hand grab me by the wrist, and force me to look up at him. He then placed his hands on each of my shoulders as a calming mechanism.

           “What’s going on?”

…

Psychiatrist Notes

Day 32

           As much as there was a progression in the subject’s abilities to perform, there has been a steady deterioration in her ability to listen to instruction if not her own will. She does not act the same way as before. She only speaks a few words when spoken to, moves when necessary and has a certain ‘glazed over’, or blank expression on her face. As of today, she has slept a cumulative amount of time od 25 hours in the last 32 days. During sleeping hours, she sits upright and stares at the wall across from her, seemingly unbothered by the lack of sleep.

The subject continues to not show any signs of recognition, nor shows any concern for any events or people that were significant to her life before her alterations. Although she does not have a sincere recollection, she responds significantly better to familiar faces such as Alexander Pierce. She is currently not permitted to see any other familiar faces.

           Two days previous to today, my colleagues tested how well she could work with The Winter Soldier again. Although the serums given to her haven’t changed her physiologically, but have changed her more psychologically, she is proving herself to be a much more competent match to him every day.

           As interactions went on, Ms. Dalton had certain mannerisms around the soldier that she had not displayed with anyone else. As he sat down restrained in his chair, she walked around him in circles while maintaining eye contact, as though establishing dominance. Although they have been training together, not one word has been exchanged between the two yet.

           My colleagues and I fear what will happen within the next few weeks. She attempts to be more independent and continues to realize just how powerful she is. The electroshock chair may be in use very soon for her. Unfortunately, it is very unclear what the electric shocks will do to the alterations do to her brain. We are unsure if all of the work done on her will be completely reversed and we’ll have to start from the beginning, or if only the desired response will come to be.

           There will be following updates in 1 weeks’ time.  

Dr. Tim Harrison

Neuropsychology

…

           I let him finish reading the one note that I had managed to swipe before leaving the interrogation room earlier today. When he finished reading it, he sighed and set it down.

           “You never knew any-”

           “James, I told you that I can’t have kids, right?”  I interrupted.

           He nodded.

           “I don’t see what that has to do with the printed-out doctors note that you just showed me.”

           I brought my hand up so that I could finish.

           “What I didn’t tell you was why I can’t, and it’s because at some point…I was pregnant.”

           He moved closer, despite my hesitations and put his hand on my back, signaling me to sit down on the bed next to my half-packed suitcase. I could tell that he wanted to listen to what I was saying but wondered how it was all relevant.

           “In the unit that I was in with Hydra, they pretty much owned us. I recognize that now. So, there was no going off and getting married, leaving, or having kids. In fact, if you did get pregnant they wouldn’t let you keep it.”

           My sweaty palms began to shake even more violently, and I couldn’t look at James. But he took my hands into his. His eyes were bursting with sympathy, and his body language as soft and kind as ever. He was such a good man that wanted to listen, and to understand despite the fact that he walked in on me frantically packing my bags, and going on about how we were done a few minutes ago.

           “So, when Adam and I found out that I was pregnant…” I swallowed, holding back tears.

“We had decided to make up a plan to leave before it became obvious that I was carrying his child. We were going to hide out in different parts of Europe for a while, and eventually settle down in Iceland where he was from, near his mom. You know, be a little family.”

           I needed a moment to catch my breath. This was the first time that I was really opening up to someone about it, besides it having been thrown in my face an hour ago with files.

           “Anyways…They must have found out somehow, because a week before we had planned our escape, Adam was killed on a mission. They made it look like someone on the opposing side did it, but as I had suspected, and what was confirmed to me over an hour ago, they had planned to kill him while we were on a mission together. He, um…He died in my arms with 6 gunshot wounds to his abdomen and chest.”  

           The memory was so vivid as if it had happened a week ago.

           “I woke up 6 weeks later in a hospital bed being told that I was in a coma after the ‘accident’ that killed Adam. My boyfriend was dead, my baby was gone, and a few weeks later when I snuck in and hacked into my medical files I realized that they ‘fixed’ me. Some new procedure they tried out on me.”

           I gave him a second to process everything that I had just told him. It was such a significant part of my life, that for the entire time that we knew each other, I had kept a secret.

           “But I just found out…There’s a lot more to the story than I thought there was.”

           He shook his head in disbelief, not taking my hands away from his, but occasionally squeezing them in reassurance.

           “Turns out that there was no coma,” I said in a cynically celebratory type of way.

           “I was brainwashed essentially. They tried to make me…Better at what I was. With fewer inhibitions, I’d get stronger without them actually changing my body. I’d kill without hesitation, and have no fear of anything or anyone.”

           “And that’s where we met each other again.” He sighed, as though he had just had a revelation.

           I took a moment and paused, taking in what he had just said. Wondering if I wasn’t just going crazy.

           “What did you just say?” I asked.

           “Listen, I-”

           “You remembered, didn’t you?” I gasped, standing up ripping myself out of his grasp.

           “Scarlette,”

           “James!” I cried.

           “Listen,” He said.

           “You swore we only met once before. I had dreams about you, but I thought that might have been all it was. You were so different in those memories compared to how you are now, and before. It didn’t add up until now.”

           I felt like I was going to be sick. He remembered a time and kept it from me from all this time, without even a hint to me that maybe there had been another time. Not even an outward question of confirming that we had only met or worked together one time. I couldn’t tell if I was angry, scared, or just ready to die.

           “I... I need a minute.” I stuttered before swiftly making my way out of the door. I didn’t have time for any protests, or him running after me, I just needed air.

Tagged: @a-heart-attack-ow @sexysamsungl @fantasticimpaladoctor @carryonmyswansong @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

[nykolliboo]

The Rise of Wilford Warfstache Chapter Two

All that blood...

I had returned from the infirmary not long after my first meeting with Warfstache, and all I could do was stare at the stains. Two misshapen, rusty colored circles now invaded the already dingy green carpet of my office. I stood for a long time immersed in them, calculating whether or not to even bother calling the janitorial staff.

My eyes moved to my once pristine, white doctor's jacket. It, too, had been tainted with large, scarlet blotches. I dismissed the idea of taking it to the cleaners. It was more expensive than just purchasing another. I took a moment to chuckle at myself for worrying about something so frivilous when a man nearly died in my office.

Our resident nurses immediately alerted the City Regional Medical Center the moment we took Philip in. His lung had been punctured; he required emergency medical care. Had I been more observant, perhaps the whole thing could have been prevented. I couldn't even find the words to apologize to him. While I didn't know him well, I still felt responsible for any fellow staff that came to harm at the hands of a patient.

Of course, we all knew what we were signing up for when we signed up for this profession. I just couldn't stop seeing all that blood.

I was snapped out of my daze when a hand touched my shoulder. I jolted in place, clutching my bloody coat to my chest. I turned to see the concerned eyes of my boss, Director Malkinson.

"Are you all right, Miriam?" he asked, his voice soft. That was unusual. Normally he was all business, very straight forward and even a bit cocky. He wasn't usually so compassionate sounding.

"A bit shaken, but I'll manage." I answered, dropping the hand holding my coat to my side. It was as if I were trying to hide it from him, ashamed of what had transpired. "May we talk?" he asked. Though, his tone seemed to phrase it as if it were a demand rather than a question.

I watched him slowly step to the chair facing my desk. His amber eyes flitted toward the spots on the floor behind it. His furry, grey brows rose in a brief expression of alarm before he shook his head and sat to face me. He motioned for me to sit, but for one reason or another, I chose to remain standing.

"I understand your first meeting with the Colonel was a bit rough. I can see that quite clearly now." he said, his typical business-like tone returning.

"Yes..." I replied, trying my best to keep my focus on his weathered face rather than the rest of the room. "Traumatic onset psychosis is my immediate suspicion. I've prescribed the appropriate medication. I'm...meeting with him again tomorrow morning."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Malkinson immediately replied. "Surely, you should give it a couple of days. See how the medication treats him, give YOURSELF a couple of days to recollect yourself. It isn't every day a patient nearly kills a man. Bruises? Sure. A few scuffs here and there? It's just another day at work. But to stab a man in the chest, and without warning? These cases, though it may be hard to believe for those outside of our walls, are very rare. I'm well aware of how jarring they can be."

"This case," I started, trying my best not to sound too defensive. "Is mine to undertake. I have always appreciated your advice, Director. However, in Warfstache's case, I think immediate intervention is the most apt route to take."

Director Malkinson's nostrils flared. I could see his bushy, white mustache twitch in disagreement. He ran a hand over his glossy head and stood, rounding my desk to stand in front of me.

"Look," he began, gruffly. "I know how you are about these more complicated head cases. However, this one needs to be handled delicately."

"We handle everyone in a delicate manner. We're psychiatrists." I clapped back, pursing my lips at him.

"THIS case..." he pressed. "Is a bit different. Regardless of the rarity of violence, regardless even of the familiar strains of psychopathy...this is one that is sensitive both publicly as well as intimately."

I felt my brow crinkle in confusion. The expression on his face seemed...suspiciously cold. He seemed to sense my befuddlement and reached over to shut my door and lock it. He spoke again, his voice lower and more tense.

"With the mayor missing, the murder case still open, and the Chief of Police breathing fire down the back of my neck, whatever we do with this man can directly affect us publicly. Normally, when we have criminal cases like this, the mayor is always lenient on the way we handle things. But with him out of the picture, unable to keep a hold on the Chief's leash, we are going to have a lot more cops snooping around our halls. This is bad for press. The man's trial is still forthcoming. If we show too little compassion, we are inhumane. If we show too much, we are consorting with a possible murderer in the eyes of the police force. We have to be careful."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...this case is all over the media. The front page is littered with that man's face, the murder, and the disappearances. They know he's here with us, they know that you and Dr. Hillmeyer will be testifying at the trial once they find evidence against him. This town's most beloved star has fallen, possibly to the hands of YOUR new patient. If we try too hard to help get him off with an insanity plea, the public will not be on our side. This is fragile...we need to think about the good of the hospital, the good of the rest of our patients. The Chief will be coming here within the week with results on the case...and depending on what those results are...we may just have to be a bit...What I'm saying is..."

It dawned on me...I knew exactly what he was trying to say.

"You're saying that you want us to ignore the illness plaguing this man. You want me to condemn him for a murder he may or may not have committed because you're too afraid of bad publicity." I sneered, backing away from him.

He gawked at me, taken aback at my reaction.

"Don't you want things to keep running smoothly?" he asked, a sickening glimmer of sweetness in his voice.

"What I want is to do my job and help this man in any way that I can. I took an oath, Director Malkinson. While I may not put my patients under the knife, any harm to the mind can be far greater than that of any injury."

"Tell THAT to Philip Davidson." Malkinson shot at me, a twinkle of twisted triumph in his eyes.

"What he did is the result of a horrific experience wherein he lost a childhood friend. The man is ill, and my intention is to do whatever I can to make him well again. If anything, it gives me even more gumption to get to the root of his problem and find a way to solve it. And that, Director, is what I WILL do. In doing so, I am not violating any of the guidelines of this hospital, so you can't throw me in front of the board for defying your orders."

I slammed my coat onto my desk, turned a heel and opened my office door. I held it against my shoulder tightly and roughly gestured with my other hand toward the hall.

"If you have nothing further to discuss with me, Director, I have some paperwork to do on Colonel Warfstache."

The finality in my tone clearly did not sit well with him. He glowered at me as he stomped toward the door. He stopped for a moment at the threshhold, glancing at me from the side with a sneer.

"You may not violate any of our set regulations, but if you jeapordize my hospital Dr. Antwood, I will find one reason or another to throw you at the feet of the board members to beg for their mercy." With that, he disappeared down the hall.

As soon as his feet left the precipice of my doorway, I thrust it shut and huffed as I slammed myself into my desk chair. I had never once in my life spoken to a superior like that. I had felt frustration toward them, even bitten my tongue a few times. But I had never once been so defiant. In a way, it felt pretty good.

Yet, underneath that small, sweet feeling of triumph, there laid a sense of foreboding and unease. Whatever I did from there forward would be looked at under a microscope. I knew that however I proceeded, I had to do it with caution. If not for me, then I would be cautious for the sake of the Colonel.

"Are you quite sure about this?"

My colleague, Dr. Yousef Hillmeyer, stood shuffling his feet and smacking a clipboard against his leg while he waited for me at the door to my office. His other hand occasionally lifted of its own accord to twist one of the tight, red curls that sat atop his head.

"After what happened with Philip Davidson, I'm not taking any chances." I replied, making sure that I had all of the necessary papers attached to my own clip board. I patted the pocket of my new coat, making sure I had an adequate amount of pens along with my tape recorder.

"But don't you think that having five people crammed into a padded cell will really make an impulsive man like that talk?" Yousef pressed. "It seems quite unnecessary."

My eyes trailed back to the now faded stains on my carpet. I didn't bother to call the janitor. I scrubbed the damn things myself. I'll admit, I'd grown paranoid that the custodial staff were spies for Malkinson after our talk the previous day. It was a rumor that had circulated around during my first year at the hospital. Before that day, I dismissed it. After that, I wasn't going to even allow myself to take that chance.

"I'm quite sure." I finally replied, standing up straight and motioning for Yousef to follow me.

Out in the hallway, three orderlies waited for us. As soon as we began walking down toward the elevators, they all followed us in line.

"Besides," I continued. "They won't be in the room with us. I instructed them to wait out in the hall. He's in a straight jacket, but I still want to make sure we have the man power appropriate for a possible situation."

I could almost hear Yousef's eyes rolling as we entered the elevator. I knew already that he was a strictly by the book, pompous little prick who didn't like things being done in an unorthodox way. I also knew that he was supposed to be speaking to Warfstache on his own that morning. However, being that he was the secondary doctor on this case, I called the shots. And, to be quite frank, I liked seeing him squirm a little bit with the frustration of not being able to be in full control.

I'm not saying he wasn't good at his job, but sometimes he needed a swift kick in the entitlement every now and again.

"Tell me again why you have to be there with me while I speak to him?" Yousef asked, clearly becoming more irritable.

"As the primary on this case, I want to be present during each of his sessions." I explained. "This is a delicate case, and I am working alongside the authorities to get more information. The faster we can piece things together, the faster we can create a more accurate diagnosis and then formulate an appropriate course of action."

Yousef merely gawked at me, his mouth hanging open as if it were waiting for his brain to send it an argument. He came up with nothing.

Once we reached the residential floor, I stepped out and quickly made my way down to 0628. As I approached, I slowed my steps and glanced through the tiny window at the top of the door. Each door in this hall, which was labeled the 'solitary wing', was a copy of the one before it. The numbers were barely visible as they were written in tiny font above each of the letterbox windows on each one. A foot or so below each window was a locked slot used for slipping in food or reading material. I always sort of wondered how those patients in straight jackets ate...

As I peered through the window, I could see Warfstache huddled against the corner behind his bed. He stared up at the one window in his room, the beam of light coming through it illuminating the left side of his face. He had a small smile gracing his lips as he stared. The hairs of his mustache twitched and fluttered with each deep breath he took and his shoulders shook every now and then as he adjusted himself. All things considered, he looked quite comfortable.

As the others approached behind me, I stepped aside so that one of the orderlies could unlock the door. Warfstache didn't move a muscle as we entered, he simply continued to peer up at the window. I gave a look to the orderlies, silently instructing them to keep guard and a weather ear while we stayed inside.

Yousef stood at the door, hugging the edge of his clipboard to his chest with his pent at the ready while I sat on the chair next to the bed. There was a moment of tense silence before I cleared my throat, getting Warfstache's attention.

He turned to me as if I'd been there for a while. He looked at me expectantly, as though I'd been talking to him already and he was waiting for me to continue.

"Good morning, Colonel. How are you feeling?" I said pleasantly, leaning forward over my own clipboard.

"Oh, I'm doing just fine, my dear." he answered in a booming, joyful gale.

"You seem to be doing a lot better than yesterday." I noted. Yousef scribbled away in the corner by the door, reminding me that he was there. "I'd like to introduce a colleague of mine." I continued, waving an arm toward Yousef.

Warfstache turned to him, his smile turning up further as he nodded in greetings. "Bully!" he exclaimed. "And who might you be, my boy?"

Yousef quickly rushed forward, his shoulders back and his head high, and stretched out a hand. "Dr. Hillmeyer, I will be one of the doctors caring for you here at our facility alongside Dr. Antwood."

"Fine, fine." Warfstache answered, staring blankly at Yousef's outstretched hand. "Frogive me, my boy. A bit TIED UP at the moment."

"Oh.." Yousef blushed and cleared his throat before slinking back to his corner.

Warfstache returned his gaze to me. "Not a bright one, is he?" he asked.

I could hear Yousef blubber in defense, but I simply smiled and tried my best to hide my internal laughter.

"Now," I began. "I wanted to discuss a few things with you. The first being rather boring. The next...well that's up to you." I calculated his face, he seemed to be whimsically distracted, despite keeping his attention on me. "First of all, I want to tell you that we will be meeting three times per week. We want to ensure that you're getting the best of care, and keep up with how you're doing under the circumstances. You'll also be given some medication to level out your moods and keep you feeling comfortable while you're here."

"Is that what they're calling it?" Warfstache huffed. "I've taken more of those ghastly pills in one day than I ever have in my life. Well...I don't see that I have much of a choice in the matter at the moment, so I suppose I'll do just as you say and 'take my medicine."

As he spoke those last words, his arms twitched forward. I couldn't help but note that, and he definitely took notice.

"Hard to speak with my hands when they're wrapped up." He chortled.

"Well, in any case, what you've taken seems to be doing well with you. You were in a bit of hysterics yesterday."

"Was I? I don't recall." His voice seemed whispy, almost as if the words were not his own. While he did seem to be doing better, there were moments like this where I could tell his mind was trying to fight to come forward against the mind that was controlled by the medication.

I took this as an opportunity to move forward. In this better state of mind, perhaps we could get to the bottom of things.

"Now then, if you don't mind I would like to ask you a couple of things about the recent events, starting with yesterday."

Warfstache's expression went from pleasantly amused to slightly almost ecstatic. "I told you I can't kill anyone, didn't I?"

I maintained my composure. "You nearly did, I'm afraid. My orderly was sent to City Regional Medical Center for emergency care. That is what I wanted to ask you about. Why is it that you're under the impression that you can't kill anyone?"

He smiled widely and sputtered with nervous laughter. "Wha? PSH...Fuh...I told you. It's all a lark! At the party, my friends claimed I'd killed Mark! Almost convinced me that I truly had! The District Attorney even got me to shoot him. The lad got up not moments afterwards. I don't know I suppose I'm incapable of bringing harm." His shoulders rose and fell with continuous shrugs during this explanation, at the end of which his mouth hung open in a wide smile and he just shook his head. As if to say 'I don't know, that's just how it is.'.

"Unfortunately, though," I replied, with caution. "Mark Fischbach is dead. As for the District Attorney, he is missing along with the others that were present that night."

"Oh, come now!" Warfstache spat, turning to Yousef with a look of utter disbelief. "You people can't be falling for it that easily! I mean, I will admit I'm as prone to gullibility as the next person! But, after hearing it from the horse's mouth, clearly you can't be serious in telling me that you don't see the proof in the pudding!"

"I'm afraid not. You're saying that the joke is still on?"

"Wh...Why, YES!" Warfstache boomed, laughing out loud.

"Is it your friends that are still carrying it out? Is it...Damien and Celine?"

These were the words that cracked the stone. Warfstache's demeanor suddenly began to droop once more and he went silent. His eyes scanned the floor for an answer, and when he couldn't find one he returned his gaze to me.

"It can't be them." He breathed.

"Why not?" I pressed.

"Um...maybe I could-.." Yousef tried to interrupt, but I held up a hand to silence him. I kept my eyes wide open, never letting my gaze leave Warfstache's. I had him starting to open up, I wasn't about to let Yousef ruin it.

"They're not coming out...I don't know why...not even a good 'ol 'April Fool!' to finish the punch line." Warfstache moaned. The despair underneath was beginning to come to the surface, I could feel that the reality of everything was beginning to come forth so that we could have our first little breakthrough.

"Tell me, Colonel, what happened that night?"

His breath hitched in his chest and I could see his eyes begin to gloss over. He leaned forward, beckoning me closer with a jerk of his neck. I leaned in to meet him, folding my arms over my knees. Just as we met in the middle, I could feel his hot breath on my face. His hair hung low over his brow, scraping against his eyelashes as he gave me a wide eyed stare.

"The Detective..." he answered at last.

"The Detective is missing as well, you'll do well to be careful what you say considering you're a suspect." Yousef remarked as he jotted down his notes on the session. I turned to glare at him, but he simply kept his eyes on his paper. Warfstache clearly heard what he'd said and his head swiveled to face him, his eyes widened in an expression of rage.

"Are you helping him!?" he bellowed at Yousef.

"Helping who?" I asked frantically, desperately trying to return his attention to me to no avail.

Warfstache rose from the bed, I quickly stood and placed my hands hard on his shoulders. I pressed down, trying to keep him seated on the bed. Yousef backed against the wall, his chest puffing outward in a false expression of authority, his pen still moving rapidly over the clipboard.

"ARE YOU HELPING HIM!? ARE YOU GIVING HIM INFORMATION ABOUT ME!? ABOUT CELINE!? WHAT ARE YOU HIDING!?" This sudden rage overtook Warfstache like a plague. His eyes wild with fury, growing by the second while Yousef foolishly continued to take his notes.

From outside, the orderlies took action and entered the room without warning. Warfstache's eyes darted from one to the other, like a wild animal cornered in a cage. He cried out and tried to dart push past me and them as they approached. The strength he exhibited created tension in my arms and shoulders as I helped the orderlies get him back onto the bed. It was clear then that this session was over.

"YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM ME, BOY!" He cried angrily over the shoulders of the orderlies as they held him down. Yousef left the room, his eyes scanning his notes while I lingered in the doorway watching.

"YOU HELPED HIM, DIDN'T YOU!? I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!? WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM!?"

His gaze stayed on the empty spot where Yousef stood, as if he still believed he was there. I shook my head, disappointed that this seemed to go nowhere. I made a note to give Yousef a piece of my mind for interrupting the focus. We were getting somewhere and he ruined it by lacking a single scrap of empathy. Regardless of how this session had gone, I at least gathered two things:

Damien and Celine, two of the missing guests, had a vast impact on what had once kept this man's mind together. And the Detective, or at least something to do with him, had been the thing to finally help in breaking it. -------------------------- Author’s Note: I can’t begin to thank all of those who read chapter one and gave it the love that they did. You guys sure know how to make a girl blush. I do plan to keep up with this story quite frequently. I have a lot of ideas for it and it gives me the rush I need to keep writing. Again, thank you guys so much! :D 

[dinafbrownil]

‘You’re Going to Release Him When He Was Hurting Himself?’

When Joe Prude called Rochester, New York, police to report his brother missing, he was struggling to understand why Daniel Prude had been released from the hospital hours earlier. Joe Prude described his brother’s suicidal behavior.

“He jumped 21 stairs down to my basement, headfirst,” Joe said in a video recorded by the responding officer’s body camera in the early hours of March 23. Joe’s wife, Valerie, described Daniel nearly jumping in front of a train on the tracks that run behind their house the previous day.

“The train missed him by this much,” Joe said, holding his thumb and pointer finger a few inches apart.

“When the doctor called me and told me that they released him, I’m saying, ‘How you going to sit here and tell me you’re going to release him when he was hurting himself? Come on. You weren’t sworn to do that,’” he said on the body camera footage.

At the point of this recorded conversation just after 3 a.m., Joe and Valerie Prude knew only that Daniel was missing, delusional and vulnerable. They didn’t know his next encounter with the police would be fatal.

Police would find Daniel minutes later ― naked, acting irrationally. Because he spat in the direction of officers and allegedly said he had the novel coronavirus, officers placed a white hood, called a “spit hood,” over his head. When he started trying to stand up, despite being restrained by handcuffs, an officer placed much of his body weight over Daniel’s head and pushed it into the pavement.

Daniel died a week later when his family took him off life support. The county medical examiner’s autopsy described his death as a homicide and listed the immediate cause of death as “complications of asphyxia in the setting of physical restraint.” The incident garnered widespread attention as another example of a Black man killed after an encounter with police.

Less attention has been paid to what happened to Daniel Prude in the preceding hours, when he was treated and released after a psychiatric assessment at Strong Memorial Hospital, run by the University of Rochester Medical Center.

Joe Prude called police at about 7 p.m. on March 22 because he needed help getting Daniel to the hospital. Daniel had been having problems with a PCP addiction, Joe told officers. Now he had begun telling Joe and Valerie that people were out to get him, and he wanted to die.

By about 11 p.m., Daniel was released from the hospital, according to Joe and police records. “He was calm as hell when he got back here,” Joe told police.

That didn’t last.

“He was fine for a little bit, then all of a sudden started acting crazy,” Joe said. He told police that Daniel asked him for a cigarette, and when he went to get one, Daniel took off running. He was barefoot, wearing only a tank top and long johns in 30-degree weather.

“He was gone. Track star status. Hauled ass like Carl Lewis,” Joe told

Around 3 a.m. the next day, four hours after his release from the hospital, emergency dispatchers started fielding calls about Daniel Prude. His brother reported him missing, and a tow truck driver spotted him, naked and bloodied, on West Main Street, police records show.

Police body camera footage shows that by 3:20 a.m., officer Mark Vaughn was pressing Daniel Prude’s head into the pavement.

While restrained, Prude stopped breathing. An ambulance crew resuscitated him, but he was in critical condition. His brain was damaged after being deprived of oxygen. He died a week later at Strong Memorial after being taken off life support.

The University of Rochester Medical Center said patient privacy laws bar it from discussing the specifics of Prude’s treatment and release, but, in general terms, spokesperson Chip Partner said, the hospital is bound by a New York state law that requires patients to be released within 24 hours unless they have a mental illness that is likely to result in serious harm to themselves or others and that requires immediate observation, care and hospital treatment.

The details of Prude’s encounters with law enforcement and the health care system offer a look into the practice of emergency psychiatry, and how, as in many branches of medicine in the U.S., mistakes in that field are disproportionately borne by Black people.

Medical decisions in a case like Daniel Prude’s are high-stakes, with little margin for error, said Dr. Ken Duckworth, chief medical officer of the National Alliance on Mental Illness.

“Emergency psychiatric assessment is very challenging, and the potential for catastrophic outcomes following your decision is very real,” he said.

The hospital where Prude died has faced scrutiny over its treatment of psychiatric patients and discharge procedures before.

In April 2018, federal inspectors found security officers at the hospital had used law enforcement restraint techniques against a pediatric psychiatry patient, breaking her arm and sending her to the emergency room.

Months later, inspectors found the hospital discharged a patient who was in the emergency room with a history of dementia and multiple medical problems despite a discrepancy in her address between her medical record and the information she gave hospital staff.

Two years earlier, inspectors found that hospital staff had placed patients in ankle and wrist restraints without an order to do so, and placed another patient in restraints without documenting when the restraints were released. Restraints are meant to be used only with a physician’s order, and federal rules require precise documentation of their use.

None of these incidents at Strong Memorial Hospital garnered media attention at the time they happened or at the time the reports were made public.

Strong spokesperson Partner said that immediately after the April 2018 inspection the hospital changed its public safety protocol to eliminate the use of law enforcement techniques to manage a violent patient unless that patient is being arrested.

He said updated staff training and discharge protocol after these incidents now mitigates the risk of discharging someone who was not ready to be released. “These protocols were well established in 2020 and had absolutely no bearing on the evaluation or treatment of Daniel Prude on March 22,” Partner said.

Prude’s case is unusual because the consequences of the decision by doctors to release him have played out so publicly, said Duckworth. Usually, emergency room psychiatrists never find out what happened to their patients.

“You make a very big decision, which usually has no known outcome. You put this person in the hospital, you go on to the next patient. You send this person home, you go on to the next patient,” he said.

Duckworth said he would not second-guess the actions of Prude’s hospital team in the moment, but with the benefit of hindsight, “there’s overwhelming evidence that he had a psychotic illness and was quite vulnerable,” he said. “He didn’t need to die.”

In a statement, URMC said its treatment of Prude was “medically appropriate and compassionate.”

Several oversight organizations are investigating.

The Joint Commission, which certifies hospitals to receive federal funding, said it’s reviewing Prude’s treatment at Strong. New York state’s Justice Center is investigating on behalf of the state Office of Mental Health.

The university medical center itself is still conducting an internal clinical review.

In response to questions from NPR and KHN about whether the hospital’s treatment of Prude could have been affected by his race, Partner said the medical center asked Dr. Altha Stewart, past president of the American Psychiatric Association, “to conduct a third-party independent review through her lens as a national expert on racism and bias in psychiatric care.”

In a separate interview before the request from URMC, she described how unconscious bias can cloud clinicians’ judgment and make it difficult for them to make the best possible decisions for their patients.

“It is very clear that in today’s health care system, bias is built in structurally,” Stewart said. “Seeing a tall, imposing Black man who is behaving aggressively puts in place a series of ideas and thoughts and assumptions that direct decision-making.”

Psychiatric disorders in Black patients are less likely to be taken seriously than in white patients, Stewart said. Unequal treatment starts early.

Black boys are viewed as adults more often than white boys of the same age, said Stewart, who is also the director of the Center for Health in Justice Involved Youth.

“So a Black child with a meltdown is described as aggressive, obstinate, oppositional,” she said, “as opposed to traumatized, depressed, anxious.”

Those expectations follow Black boys through adulthood and in the health care system, increasing the odds that doctors will view Black men as a lost cause and provide subpar care, Stewart said.

She stressed that she does not have any direct knowledge of deficiencies in the care of Daniel Prude, but she said that Black men, like Prude, are disproportionately likely to be misdiagnosed, mistreated and written off as a result of structural bias and unconscious racism.

A group of medical students at the University of Rochester wrote in an open letter that Daniel Prude was “sentenced to death by our failed healthcare system.”

“Not only do our current models of healthcare leave gaping holes for individuals such as Daniel to fall through, but they do so in manners which are fraught with racism,” the students wrote.

Partner, the medical center spokesperson, said the psychiatry department’s Office of Diversity, Inclusion, Culture and Equity will evaluate Daniel’s treatment for potential bias. He said the medical center “recognizes that we have a long way to go before we can confidently say that our policies and practices are universally culturally appropriate to the populations we serve.”

Both Stewart and Duckworth said reducing the role that police play in addressing mental health crises would increase the odds of survival for a person released too early from psychiatric care.

Federal inspection reports show that hospitals across the country have released patients who, like Prude, ended up in grave danger only shortly thereafter.

In March 2018, a patient with a history of schizophrenia, post-traumatic stress disorder and suicide attempts arrived at Russell County Hospital in Kentucky complaining of alcohol withdrawal, depression, anxiety and pain. An hour and a half later, the patient was discharged with instructions to “follow up with his/her primary care provider and take medications as prescribed.” Two hours later, the patient was back in the same hospital. A physician’s notes said the patient had drunk a bottle of Benadryl “in effort to kill self.”

In August 2018, federal inspectors found that UT Health East Texas Pittsburg Hospital discharged a patient who had verbalized a plan for suicide. The patient got a ride to his truck from the county sheriff. Later that day, the patient was found dead in the truck from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

Last summer at Stafford County Hospital in Kansas, a patient arrived in the emergency room saying she had drunk half a liter of vodka because she was upset and wanted to die. She told hospital staff that she started drinking that day after two years of sobriety and that she “did not feel safe to go home due to the presence of alcohol.” The hospital discharged her 11 minutes later.

Earlier this year, inspectors found that a patient with a history of psychosis went to the emergency room at Mercy Hospital in St. Louis and told staff she needed to get back on her medication. She was delusional, disoriented, homeless and unable to give her name. She was discharged with a voucher for cab fare but no follow-up appointments or services and no plan to ensure she got her medication.

A spokesperson for UT Health East Texas said the health system has since implemented a process for staff to more thoroughly document mental health concerns in patient records. Mercy Hospital in St. Louis said it takes the health and safety of each patient very seriously “regardless of race, ethnicity or ability to pay.”

Neither of the other hospitals responded to emails or calls seeking comment.

This story is part of a partnership that includes Side Effects Public Media, NPR and KHN.

Kaiser Health News (KHN) is a national health policy news service. It is an editorially independent program of the Henry J. Kaiser Family Foundation which is not affiliated with Kaiser Permanente.

USE OUR CONTENT

This story can be republished for free (details).

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/youre-going-to-release-him-when-he-was-hurting-himself/

[crystal-waterfalls]

My Suicide Story

For anyone who has been through similar shit or needs help/advice, I’m always here and I hope this story can, in some way, help you.

So it was about 3 in the morning as I was coming home from a friend’s apartment and it all started with a car accident right before Christmas that I don’t remember. I’ve had my car back for 2-3 weeks because I got into an accident prior to this one, and then it happened again before Christmas and I was so distraught I don’t even remember most of what happened. There was a man taking pictures of my car, the front of my car was smashed totally inward and all the airbags deployed. I just remember sitting there in my driver’s seat in absolute shock and awe that I finally totaled my car.

It felt like my entire life was crumbling, I felt like my parents would hate me, I felt that my friends would tease me to no end, I felt that I had failed miserably.  I just wanted it all to stop.

The cops came and took a report and I remember staring at the ground still upset and answering his questions as best I could. He had me call an Uber to take me home and I got home safe and literally took all my clothes off and just passed out in my bed instantly. 

I woke up the next day around 1-2pm and literally just sat in the gloom of my room feeling absolutely destroyed. My mind was racing, my heart pounding at the thought of what my parents would say to me the moment they found out. I didn’t want to deal with it, I didn’t want to be ridiculed. It was at that moment that I felt it would be easier to just....kill myself. I remembered that I had a knife in the drawer of my nightstand and I grabbed it, staring at it for a long while thinking of the power I was holding in my hand. After about 5 minutes of staring at the knife, I finally decided to make the cut. Granted, it was a very shitty knife with a dull blade so it definitely took me a few tries before I broke skin. The kind of drive I had to finish the job was a terrifying feeling. I literally was cutting my wrist with the most dull knife in my possession and the fact that I didn’t want to stop only proves how depressed I was. The part I think about the most is how dissociated I was in the moment. Not once did I cry, tear up, wince in pain, whimper, nothing. I felt no physical pain in the moment, only emotional and mental disgust with myself.

I kept at it for...a couple hours I believe? It was slow-going and I couldn’t stop. I went about an inch deep with this knife, fascinated with each layer of my body I was slicing through. I had a moment where I was more intrigued by the idea of what lay underneath my skin, than the fact that I wanted to die. Finally, after minutes that seemed to drag on forever, after watching this knife cut deeper and deeper into my skin, after seeing blood oozing out of my wrist, I stopped. I don’t know why. Finish the job, Sam. You already started it, why not just finish? Just finish one fucking thing in your life. But I can honestly say that I am glad I didn’t go through with it.

I stopped, wrapped some tissue around my wrist, and immediately texted my best friend, telling him what happened. He said he would be over soon and I just laid there staring at the wall until I fell asleep. I was asleep for about an hour when he finally showed up at my door. I went to let him in, said nothing, and went straight back to my room, showing him the damage. He held me and we said nothing for a few minutes. Then I decided to tell my mom. She was watching TV when I sat down next to her and she asked “what’s up?” and I lost it. Tears just pouring down my face, I showed her what I’d done and she was shocked (obviously). As she gently held my arm, examining my cut, I told her the events of the previous night. She mentioned that, no matter what, my life is more important than a hunk of metal; that can be replaced, I can’t. She suggested my friend take me to urgent care to get stitches. Upon arrival, I sat in silence until they called my name and lied about how it happened, saying I was opening a box and the box cutter did the damage. She saw right through me and asked if I harmed myself because, if I did, she only wanted to get me the help I needed. Again, I started tearing up and couldn’t speak. She saw it on my face and proceeded to give me a piece of paper that I would take to the nearest hospital to have me admitted.

I was put on a 51-50 hold which lasted 72 hours and basically meant that I was a danger to myself and possibly others and didn’t have a choice on whether I wanted to stay or not. This was incredibly stressful because I knew the money my parents would have to shell out to help pay for this and the stress it was putting my friends and family through.

The next 72 hours would be the longest weekend of my entire life.

I started out at a general hospital and was transferred to a mental hospital the next day where they took my phone to sever my contact with the outside world. I had 3 phone numbers memorized that I could call using the phone in the unit I was in. They inspected every inch of my body and asked me so many questions. I was analyzed by psychiatrists every day to see if my mental state was getting any better, I was surrounded by older people in much more severe mental states than myself, I had no privacy, was on a schedule set forth by the hospital, and was forced to participate in group every day. It was 3 days, but those 3 days each felt like a year. Finding ways to occupy your time when you’re used to having electronics as a distraction is difficult. I decided that I would participate in group activities like art or game time just to keep myself busy. This was beneficial in that I discovered that coloring with some music playing in the background really helps me relax. The man I roomed with suggested I walk up & down the hall after every meal to, 1) help time pass and 2) to help the food digest so I’m not just laying down after every meal. Doing this helped me realize that I thoroughly enjoy walking without a destination. I felt I was going crazy being in there, which is ironic because being there was supposed to help me feel sane. 

Finally, on the 3rd day, I was anticipating the arrival of my parents that evening to take me home. After all my discharge paperwork and being prescribed antidepressants, I was escorted to where my parents waited and I hugged my mom so tightly like I’ve never hugged her before. I was ELATED to finally be going home to some normalcy. Granted, nothing would be the same after this incident, but I was just glad to be going home. Oh, and it also helped that I was able to get my phone back, too. Thankfully, my parents took me to In N Out as a “congrats on feeling better” meal; which I’m glad they did because the hospital food wasn’t all that great.

Since then, my friends have all been much better about showing me they appreciate me, and my mom checks on me every few days to make sure I’m still doing okay (which I greatly appreciate because I never thought I could come to her with any problems). One of the best parts of getting out was my mom buying me a necklace with a little pendant that says “To my son, never forget that I love you. Life is filled with hard times and good times, learn from everything you can. Be the man I know you can be. Love Mom.” I wear it every day as a reminder that my mom will always have my back and be there to support me even when I feel she may not. 

And now, I’m doing much better. I have my bad days and I have my good days, as most people do, but I don’t have any more thoughts of suicide or harming myself. The antidepressant I’m taking helps me and talking to my friends helps me a lot. I know this is long & if anyone reads all the way through, thank you for taking time out of your day to read a little insight on my life. If this helps at least one person, then I will be forever grateful. If nobody reads this, then that’s okay too. I’ll be leaving this here as a reminder to myself that I can get through it.

It gets better.

[philsdrill]

Chapter 23: Doughnuts

Fic Summary: “Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.

Genre: a lot of fluff, recovery, really fucking domestic, waiter!Phil

Warnings: eating disorders, anorexia, bulimia, hospitals, panic attacks, references to past abuse, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, a lot of awkwardness, small amounts of smut. This is potentially triggering so for your own sake, please think twice about reading if anything this might affect you.

Disclaimer: I don’t have personal experience with eating disorders, but have done some research. If I have anything about them wrong, feel free to send me an ask and I’ll sort it out.

Word Count (for this part): 6.5k

[Uploads will be approximately every couple of weeks! (hopefully)]

A/N: This chapter has been almost ready for a few days but I kept forgetting to proofread it, so finally here it is. A little disclaimer: there’s a few mentions of medications in this chapter, and despite a bit of research I’m not an expert on them, so Dan’s medications and the way he takes them may not be quite accurate. I’ve tried my best but I’m an about-to-be design student, not a doctor.

MASTERPOST

<= Previous Chapter

Dan’s POV:

It had been the best part of a week since Adam left us and headed home, and we’d kept in touch with both him and Ethan. They both seemed to be doing okay, which was more than could be said for me.

I’d been able to get a lot of rest over the last few days, really just sleeping away the time while Phil was out at work, but still I felt like I hadn’t slept properly in weeks. I’d been sleeping fine up until a few days ago, but of recent, I’d been plagued by confusing dreams and nightmares.

Waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, having a panic attack, was not ideal, but the last few nights seemed to have featured these disturbances. Phil was clearly worried about me; he did his best to help me through it at the time, but I couldn’t hide how it was making me feel.

As I sat, eating my lunch, I thought back to last nights dream. It hadn’t really been a nightmare, more a mess of confusing and disorientating thoughts. Images of falling into the middles of giant doughnuts, being consumed into a nothingness, drowning in a pool of my own tears. A tall brown-haired lady with no face shouting at me, pushing me down, trying to drown me. I’d awoken struggling to breathe, Phil shaking me and trying to pull me out of it. It took a couple of minutes before I realised the dream had been a dream, and I felt confused for a while afterwards.

“Dan,” Phil said, reaching his hand across and clamping it on my shoulder, “Dan, you in there?”

“Sorry,” I said, shuddering in realisation that I’d completely spaced out, “I was thinking about the dream again.”

“You need to talk about that at your appointment,” Phil reminded me gently, “See if they can tell you what’s happening or at least give you some advice to make it stop.”

“Yeah I will,” I nodded, my anxiety about my therapist appointment this afternoon increasing even more.

“Are you going to be okay by yourself?” Phil asked, clearly sensing that this wasn't going to be the easiest appointment for me.

“Yeah I’ll be fine,” I insisted, knowing that I would be once I got there.

My therapist was lovely, and although talking about my problems was a little scary, I could manage without Phil. It was someone to talk to independant from Phil, and the professional help really did help. Even just telling her things came as a bit of a relief, because she knew all about the problems I was facing.

I said goodbye to Phil at the door, him pulling me into a hug and giving me a goodbye kiss. I felt he maybe drew it out slightly longer than usual, but I wasn’t complaining. I took a bus to the therapist’s place. Despite being able to take Phil’s car if I wanted, there wasn’t really much parking around the place and the buses worked well.

I arrived with about ten minutes to spare before my appointment, giving me time to sit in the waiting room and relax. It turned out my therapist was free, as five minutes before the appointment was due to start, she popped her head out of her room.

“Oh, Dan; you can just come through if you want,” she said, smiling.

I got up from my seat in the waiting room, making my way to her office and settling in my usual seat. The consultation corner of her office was quite informal, a couple of comfy seats around a low coffee table. She had her desk and laptop at the other side of the room, separating that side of things from the relaxed consultations she wanted to have with her patients.

She disappeared briefly, probably to get my file from the storage room, then sat next to me around the little table.

“How’re you doing, Dan?” she asked me, getting the conversation started before we got onto anything serious.

“Alright,” I told her, “Like I could be better; I’ve got a few things that are bothering me, but I’m okay.”

“Okay,” she nodded, “We’ll get to those, we’ll start with the usual questions. Are you still getting on well with your eating?”

“Yup,” I said, nodding,, “I think I’m doing okay. Phil’s happy enough. He still thinks I could do to eat a bit more, but I’m a healthy weight and everything.”

“And are you happy enough about it?” she asked, curiously.

“Yeah, I think so,” I told her, “Like I still have moments where I feel less good, but I feel better in general.”

“How is your relationship with Phil doing? Do you still find he’s a bit overbearing with how he keeps an eye on you?” she asked.

“It’s good,” I told her, “I’m fine with it now. I think I’ve gained more of his trust now that I’m doing better, so he doesn’t need to watch over me so much. Also now… I’ve had to take on the role of being the stronger one in the relationship a couple of times recently. Phil’s been diagnosed as lactose intolerant and I’ve had to look after him when he’s been sick, encourage him to eat when he’s not really feeling like it. I think I’ve gained more of an understanding.”

“Yeah, so you’ve kind of found yourself in his shoes recently,” she nodded, “I know the situation’s not ideal, but I can see the understanding you’d get from that.”

She paused, picking up my file from the table and making a couple of notes, “Okay, now… your anxiety. We have you on antidepressants and you have beta-blockers to take during the panic or anxiety attacks; how are you getting on with them?”

“Good… I think,” I said, taking my time while I thought about how to explain what I’d been going through. “The antidepressants have me feeling less anxious throughout the day in general, and the beta-blockers have been absolute life savers, like I don’t know how I would get through an attack without them.”

“How frequently would you say you’re having panic attacks now?” she asked.

“Maybe about once or twice a week?” I said, hesitantly, after thinking about it for a minute, “But they’ve been a bit different recently.”

“Can you explain what you mean by different?” she asked, her tone somewhere between curious and concerned.

“Well my… uhh…,” I hesitated, deciding on what to call my relationship to Martyn, ”... my brother-in-law accidentally brushed my stomach and that seemed to start off a panic attack. I took my medication and calmed down a bit but then when I tried to talk about it and explain to him and his soulmate why I had panic attacks, I started having some kind of flashback of my ex where all I could see was her face and all I could hear was her voice and I didn’t really come out of it until one of them got Phil.”

She nodded, making some notes in my file, “Any other examples you feel you can tell me about?”

“Last week Phil and I were looking at our finances and trying to sort a couple of things out and let’s just say our financial situation isn’t the best because I’m an unemployed uni dropout and he works part time,” I explained, “And it stresses me out that we’re eating into savings and I’m doing nothing about it. We started arguing about me wanting to get a job and I hadn’t really noticed, until Phil asked me where my anxiety tablets were, that I was having an anxiety attack. I took them, but everything was really weird and fuzzy for a while and I didn’t really feel like I was there.”

“Okay, so flashbacks and dissociation,” she nodded, making a couple more notes, “Do you experience any trouble sleeping, or nightmares for example?”

“Actually, yeah, these last few days I’ve been having confusing dreams - nightmares I guess - about my ex,” I told her, feeling a little nervous recalling them, “I’ve woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, having a panic attack.”

Nodding, she scribbled something else down in her notes, “Can you tell me what happened in the dream? Don’t worry about it if you can’t.”

I started to recall it for a second or two and felt sick at the thought.

I shook my head, “Sorry, I’d rather not at the moment.”

“Okay, Dan,” she nodded, laying the file and her pen down, “I’m not going to formally diagnose this yet, but it sounds like you could have post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Could you explain?” I asked, a little scared as it wasn’t something I knew much about.

The psychiatrist started to explain the symptoms of post traumatic stress disorder (or PTSD to give it it’s acronym) and how these linked to how I’d been feeling recently. She informed me that it was a type of anxiety disorder, so it had probably been grouped together with my other anxiety under the term of ‘general anxiety’ until now.

I forced myself to take a couple of deep breaths and not get worked up about it. Nothing had changed, apart from maybe knowing another detail about my problems.

“I’m going to ask you to come and see me a bit more often,” she said, pulling me away from my thoughts, “I’m going to suggest you book an appointment in for next week and then the week after, but it's up to you.”

“Okay,” I nodded, knowing it would be best to do what she suggested, “I’ll do that.”

She continued to tell me a little more about the disorder, making her way across the office to her desk to grab an information leaflet about it. As she moved things aside to find the leaflets, a flash of dark green caught my attention. She lifted a folder from on top of this green box, but my attention seemed glued to the box.

Doughnuts. It was a box of doughnuts.

The alarm bells started ringing my head and my heart started to beat a little faster. It made me feel stupid, but doughnuts had to be my biggest trigger. In a way, they’d led to everything. I tried to keep myself together, but my mind was already racing to that fateful box of doughnuts I’d eaten almost a year ago.

I was handed the leaflet that my therapist had at last found, “I’d like you to read through this with Phil and make sure he knows what’s going on.”

I agreed and  mumbled a thanks, but I couldn’t really focus.

Not here. This couldn’t happen here.

I knew I needed out of here. I wanted to be with Phil at home, back in our cosy flat and the safety of his arms.

“I need to go home,” I told my therapist, pulling my phone out my pocket and texting Phil.

Can u come and get me - like asap

I kept it brief, knowing Phil wouldn’t question it. He’d be here soon and then everything would be better.

“Dan what’s wrong?” she asked, getting on my level by returning to her earlier seat.

I shook my head. She was a psychiatrist. She could figure out what was wrong if she needed to know.

“Dan, do you need to take your beta-blockers?” she prompted, clearly recognising I was having a panic attack.

I nodded. I was getting there slowly, but hadn’t quite got round to getting them out yet. I lifted my jacket onto my lap and opened up my pockets to find which one I’d put them in. I thought I’d checked all of my pockets, but I must’ve missed one as I didn’t find them the first time. I searched through my pockets again and that was when the realisation hit me.

I didn’t have them. What did I do?

I felt the tears welling in my eyes and ignored the concerned queries of my therapist, only mumbling to her that I’d left them at home. Knowing he was at home too, I texted Phil again.

cnu bring anxiety pills i fprgot

I knew my typing skills had failed me, but I decided it was a pretty decent attempt for the amount I was shaking. After my previous message, I could see that Phil had texted me back to ask if I was okay, but I didn’t need to reply. I’m sure the jumbled message about my anxiety meds would answer that.

Knowing Phil would be ten to fifteen minutes away, I tried to keep myself together while I waited. I focused myself on my breathing and answered a couple of my therapist's questions, telling her that Phil was on his way and that I really didn’t feel good.

“Dan, did I do something that triggered you?” she asked, her voice remaining calm and collected.

“No,” I should my head, my chest tightening as I tried to get the words out, “The doughnuts.”

In my blurry haze of consciousness, I couldn’t really remember whether I’d told her about nora’s doughnuts. I must’ve done!? Surely, but I couldn’t be sure.

The room before me seemed to vanish into a sugary haze, the memories of Nora’s harsh words drowning out those of my therapist trying to help me.

What the fuck, you fat imbecile. You ate my entire box of doughnuts - you were fat enough already, you worthless piece of flab! Do you not understand the meaning of my doughnuts? Get the fuck out of my life, that’s it, I never want to see you again!

As a once off, it could’ve been put down to a mood swing, but with a slap across the face and a couple of punches, that was really the final straw. She’d broken me so much already and I was too weak to even think about repairing things. I quickly fell to my worst after that; if I wasn’t good enough for her, surely I wasn’t good enough for anyone.

When Phil picked me up off the floor the night of my nameless date in his restaurant, that was the first light I’d seen in months. I tried to focus on the thought of Phil to try and bring me out of this flashback, the one fleck of brightness amongst all my dark thoughts. I gave up all hope on focusing on the present; I could vaguely see people moving around me, but there was too much going on in my head to take it in.

--

Phil’s POV:

When I got Dan’s text, asking me to come and get him asap, I hurried to get myself out as quickly as possible. I didn’t know what was happening, but I could tell from his message he needed me. I pulled on a pair of shoes, which happened to be Dan’s, but we were close enough in size that it wouldn’t matter too much.

I was grabbing my keys, about to head out the door, when I got his second text.

cnu bring anxiety pills i fprgot

I wasn’t one to swear, but at that moment I did, muttering a profanity under my breath. This wasn’t good; if he was looking for his tablets, then he was having a panic attack and if he didn’t have them, well then that was going to be a bad one.

It took me a couple of minutes to find them; they ended up being on Dan’s bedside table, as a result of the nightmare come panic attacks he’d been having recently. I zipped them into my coat pocket to make sure I didn’t lose them, then rushed out of the house and down to the car.

It was about a ten minute drive to the physciatrist practice; I’d taken Dan there once when there was a bus strike, so thankfully I knew where it was. What I didn’t know was my way around inside. I explained the situation to the receptionist, who was very helpful and took me to the room Dan would be in.

I knocked on the door first, but there were probably too many voices talking in there to hear. I pushed the door open and walked in, taking in the scene before me of three people huddled around Dan, who was sat on a chair in the corner, shaking profusely and seeming to ignore the three people who were trying to speak to him.

“I’m Phil, his soulmate,” I explained, making my way across the room and pushing into the little circle they had formed.

At that, they parted a little to let me closer to him. They were no formal introductions, but the lady closest to Dan, I presumed was his therapist, as she seemed to know what was going on.

“Empty doughnut box on my desk seemed to trigger him,” she explained to me, quietly, “Have you got his medication?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I’m going to try and talk to him, could one of you maybe get a glass of water and give us a little more space?”

Once the others had moved away, I was able to focus more on what was happening to Dan. He was seeing, but not really watching. His eyes were on me; he seemed to have noticed I was here but his thoughts must be elsewhere.

“Dan,” I said firmly, looking him in the eye, “Can you talk to me? Tell me, what did you have for breakfast this morning?”

I knew perfectly well that Dan had had a bowl of crunchy nut cornflakes and some tea, but I was trying to get a reaction out of him.

“Phil, help, N-Nora…” Dan stuttered.

“She’s not here,” I told him calmly, “I’m here and no one here is going to hurt you.”

I slowly reached out a hand towards Dan, but didn’t place it on him. I didn’t know exactly what was going on in his head, but if he was anywhere near the memory of Nora hitting him, I didn’t want to make things worse.

“Dan, can you take my hand?” I asked him, “I’ve got your medication and I’ll give you it in a minute; just need you to relax a little bit first.”

Dan slowly reached out his hand to meet mine, then suddenly he was shuffling over right next to me and trying to nuzzle his body into my arms. It was a sudden change in his demeanour, but it was a sign of things getting better. I loosely brought my arms around him and let him lean on me, feeling his shaking resounding through my body too.

It was at this moment that the lady I presumed to be Dan’s therapist, handed over a cup of water. I took it from her and retrieved Dan’s pills from my jacket pocket. I took out his dose and held out the pills and water to him.

“Dan, you need to take these,” I said softly, trying to stay as calm as I could for him.

Dan nodded, trying to calm his breathing for a couple of seconds to reply, “Don’t wanna… feel sick…”

“Only when you’re ready. Let’s take some deep breaths first, yeah,” I said, moving my hand onto his chest and working with him to try and slow his breathing a little.

A couple of minutes later, I offered Dan the tablets again. This time he took them, albeit a little hesitantly, and held them in his own hand. I passed him the cup of water, then moved around so I was supporting him a little more. He got them down okay, which was a relief. His gag reflex could be sensitive at times and he sometimes struggled with swallowing them. It was really now a case of waiting for them to take effect and doing my best to help in the meantime.

“You’re going to be okay,” I told him, continuing to hold him.

I kept an open posture, allowing Dan to climb onto my lap if that was what he wanted. I didn’t mind; I just wanted him to feel better. As I predicted, Dan did end up sitting between my legs, curled up tightly with his face buried in my chest.

“How’re you feeling?” I asked him, rubbing my hand up and down his back.

“Safer now. Still really shaky but…” Dan paused to take some deep breaths, “N breathing’s hard.”

Nodding, I took into account what Dan was saying and tried to help him with his breathing. I encouraged him to exhume his his face from the folds of my coat and sit up straight. Dan was no stranger to breathing exercises so all he needed was a little support and encouragement.

The extra people in the room had now disappeared and it was down to just the lady I presumed to be Dan’s therapist. She was watching me as I helped Dan, but made no effort to intervene. Hopefully that meant I was doing the right thing.

Eventually, Dan had his breathing more or less under control and he was no longer shaking quite so much.

“How d’you feel about heading home now?” I asked him, wanting to make sure he was ready first.

“Please,” he mumbled, “I just want my bed.”

“Okay,” I nodded, looking up to speak to his therapist to let her know we were about to go.

“I think he’s okay for us to head home now,” I said to her, “Is there anything he needs to do before he goes?”

“Yes, just let me explain to you first what I was talking to Dan about,” she said quickly, “Dan’s spoken to me about his recent panic attacks and nightmares or trouble sleeping, which I understand you know about?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“From what he told me, I was suspecting that post-traumatic stress disorder was forming a big part of his anxiety. From witnessing this episode, I think I can confirm that,” she explained, “I’m not going to spend ages telling you about it because Dan should get home, but he has a leaflet there about it and you can read up about it on the NHS website.”

“Okay, we’ll look into that,” I said, “Does he need to book another appointment?”

“Yes, I was telling him I’d like to see him weekly for a bit, but I think we’ll make the first appointment in a couple of days if he can make that?” she said, “I’m going to speak to his doctor about possibly increasing his dose of antidepressants.”

“Okay,” I nodded, taking a mental note of what she’d said to think about later, “And do we just do that at the reception?”

“Yes,” she said, cheerily, “Right, I’ll let you be on your way and Dan, apologies, I hope you feel better soon.”

Keeping my arm around Dan, we made our way out of the building, stopping at the reception desk to book his appointment on the way. I took the lead and did most of the talking for him, knowing that his emotional state was a bit too fragile for him to want to face it alone.

We made it home in ten minutes, Dan silently staring into space in the passenger seat next to me. It was only once we were home in our own space that he actually opened up a bit and spoke about how he was feeling. I followed him into our room and lay down with him on the bed, while he told me all what had happened, from his therapist telling him about PTSD to her looking for the folder of information leaflets and uncovering a doughnut box. His recollection of his panic attack come flashback was a bit less clear, but I could tell he’d lost almost all focus on what was going on in the room.

I was meant to be working the late shift at the restaurant that evening, but I didn’t feel like I could leave Dan after that. I called my manager and explained the situation, being very apologetic and asking whether someone would be able to take my shift.

Fortunately, he was in a good mood and he knew of someone who was looking for some extra shifts this week. Clearly, he had to call and see if this person was free, but he texted me back ten minutes later to let me know that all was good, they could take my shift.

I let Dan have some alone time whilst I made the two of us dinner. It was important that he had the peace to sort out his thoughts by himself. Yes, there were a lot of things I could help him through, but everyone needed some alone time, even from their soulmate.

After couscous stuffed red peppers with a light sauce, we spent some time together again. Dan wasn’t up to doing much, so we put on some anime and relaxed together. In a way I felt a bit lazy, as I should’ve been working but here I was sprawled on my sofa instead. However, Dan was more important to me than the restaurant I worked in. I could get a new job; I couldn’t get a new Dan.

About ten o’clock, when I could see tiredness starting to take a toll on Dan, I suggested we go for a bath together before heading to bed. Dan jumped at this offer, willingly untangling himself from me so I could get up to run the bath.

I asked Dan to bring fresh towels from the cupboard with him when he came, but also to take his time in coming through because it would take me ten minutes to get the bath filled. As the water ran in, I plopped in a bath bomb, watching as it slowly dissolved in front of me.

The bath bomb was still dissolving when Dan appeared with the towels. I took them from him to put on the radiator and let him watch the fizzing colours disperse into the water. Watching it dissolve was part of the fun and I didn’t want to deprive him of that.

When the bath bomb had fizzled out and the water was both the right temperature and depth, we stripped out of our clothes and hopped into the bath. I got in first, making space for Dan between my legs, where I could cuddle him to my heart’s content. We stayed in there until our toes started to shrivel up, me pressing kisses to Dan’s various body parts the whole time and generally trying to make him feel good.

Wrapped in fluffy towels, I invited Dan to come to the kitchen with me to make hot chocolate. It wasn’t really a necessity in our bedtime routine, but I had to admit it was nice to have a hot drink that was free from caffeine before going to bed.

We took our hot chocolates back to our bedroom and still wrapped in our fluffy towels, we sat down on the bed to drink them. Ten minutes later, we were pretty much dry, and now filled with warmth on the inside. We each found some pyjamas, as the night was to be a cold one, then went to brush our teeth together.

Once we were in bed, cosy amongst our duvets, I didn’t hesitate to find Dan and hold him close. Usually I would wait until he rolled over into my arms, but today I knew he needed it. The weight in my arms was something I was used to falling asleep with now, Dan’s warmth keeping my heart happy, and mine hopefully doing the same in return.

--

A couple of days later, Dan returned to see his therapist. For the first time ever, I accompanied him to the appointment, mainly as moral support. We both knew that this was a follow up about what happened the last time and may possibly result in a change to his medication. He was a little anxious about seeing his therapist again after the episode he had in her office just two days ago. When he expressed how he was feeling about going, I offered to come with him. I always offered, but until now, he hadn’t taken me up on it.

The appointment wasn’t very long; Dan’s therapist talked to him a little more about his anxiety and PTSD and agreed with him that he would start taking an increased dose of antidepressants to help him through it. She gave him a prescription for the new tablets, with the only difference being the increased strength. She had discussed with his doctor that this was the most sensible course of action for him. The antidepressants were already working for him; he just needed a stronger dose. It would be less of a shock to his body than trying him on something else entirely, and although there may be side effects, it was thought that these wouldn’t last much more than a week.

We left with the prescription and picked them up on the way home. The next day, Dan started on his double dose. At first, he seemed fairly normal, but by lunchtime on the second day, the side effects were starting to hit him.

It started as a headache, but by mid-afternoon he had his head in his hands and a bucket in his lap, complaining of feeling sick. There was nothing I could do other than make him tea and keep him company. I couldn’t get out of work that evening, but I got Dan to bed before I left and he was still sound asleep when I got home.

I took the next couple of nights off and stayed home with him, but his symptoms didn’t seem to change much. He complained of headaches and nausea and in general he was a bit spaced out, but it never seemed to escalate further than that. After seeing his symptoms weren’t getting worse I had faith that he would be okay by himself and decided to work another night, but this time I asked Louise over to keep an eye on him while I was gone as he wasn’t going to be asleep this time.

I must’ve been tempting fate with thinking he would be okay, because about an hour before the end of my shift, I got that all-too-familiar feeling of worry and I knew that Dan was throwing up. With it being about eleven o’clock on a weekday, I was down to only a couple of tables, so I rushed to see my manager to see if I could be excused. He was able to speak to a couple of my colleagues and agreed that they took on an extra table each. I thanked them, then grabbed my stuff and headed on my way.

I texted both Louise and Dan to say I was on my way home. They might very well have been too busy to pick it up, but it was worth a shot.

I unlocked our front door and was immediately saw Louise standing in the bathroom doorway. That must be where Dan was. I shut the door behind me, took off my jacket and called out a 'hello’.

Louise let me past without a word, allowing me to crouch down next to Dan as he hunched over the toilet.

“I'm here now,” I said softly, gently putting my arm around him.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbled, “For umm… making you need to come home.”

“It's fine,” I told him, “I was down to two tables so it was no problems for the others to take them on. You're more important.”

“You've been sick once, yeah?” I confirmed, “How're you feeling?”

“Shit,” Dan said, “Like I know there's more but I don't know if it's gonna come up or not. I feel like it might, but then I've been feeling sick for the past few days and it's never actually happened until now.”

“Okay,” I nodded, running my fingers through the damp hair on his forehead.

“Louise, what have you given him?” I asked, turning my head around to speak to her.

“Just water,” she said, “I didn't know what else he should take because it's the medication that's making him feel this way.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I explained, “I've been going with water and tea the last few days and I don't know if it really helps much.”

I turned back to Dan, “How about I go and make you some tea? D’you think that’ll help?”

“Don’t leave me,” he replied, looking up at me miserably.

“Okay,” I said, settling back on the floor next to him, “I wont.”

“I can make tea if you want?” Louise piped up from behind us.

“Dan?” I said, looking to him to see what he wanted, “D’you want some tea?”

Dan looked a bit unsure, but nodded anyway, “Okay.”

“Chamomile, yeah?” I confirmed with him.

Dan nodded again and I passed his decision onto Louise, “Okay, chamomile tea. The box of teabags is probably on the counter next to the kettle. If not, it's in the cupboard above the kettle. No milk or sugar or anything.”

Louise headed off to make the tea and I turned my full attention back to Dan, “How sick are you feeling? D’you want to take the bucket and head back to the living room? Or wander around for a bit?”

“Maybe go to the living room with it, yeah,” Dan replied, slowly lifting his head up from where it rest on the toilet seat.

“Okay, take your time,” I said, getting up myself, then offering him a hand up.

Once he was back on his feet, Dan clutched the bucket to his chest and we slowly walked through to the living room. He settled on the closest sofa and gently tugged the hem of my shirt for me to sit down next to him. I sat down next to him and put my arm around him, comfortingly.

“Louise’ll only be a minute with the tea,” I told him, as looking up, I could see into our kitchen where Louise was slowly stirring the teabag around with a spoon.

Sure enough, it couldn’t have been much more than thirty seconds later, when Louise came through with the steaming cup in her hand and passed it over to Dan. He held it for a couple of minutes, to let it cool down enough for him to drink, then slowly started sipping on the hot drink.

It didn’t seem to be making him feel any worse, but then he wasn’t always very vocal about it, “Let me know if you feel any worse, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dan nodded, then made a hesitant sound, “Actually, my head’s pretty sore again. Can I have more paracetamol yet?”

“Good point, yeah you can,” I said, getting up from the sofa to go and grab them from kitchen where he’d put them after dinner.

With the dregs of his tea, Dan swallowed his dose of the painkillers, then sank back into the sofa. He shut his eyes, which at first I presumed to be out of tiredness, but when he scrunched them up and brought a hand to his forehead, I realised it was out of pain.

“I think you need to get to bed,” I suggested, “You really don’t look too good.”

“Mmm,” Dan mumbled, sounding like he was agreeing with me.

“Right, how about you go and brush your teeth while I see Louise off?” I suggested.

Dan agreed, and with a little encouragement, I ushered him along to our room and into our en-suite. I left him alone to brush his teeth, while I showed Louise out. It took a couple of minutes, with her getting her stuff together and putting her coat on, a goodbye hug and then a few more things she’d forgotten to say, before she went out the door.

I was just opening the front door when Dan walked out of our room, only wearing his pyjama bottoms. He turned bright red as he realised Louise was still here and he was shirtless. Before he could run away, I put my arm out and pulled him into a hug, holding him close to my side so he could use me to cover himself up a little if he wanted.

I said my last goodbye to Louise with Dan glued to my side. It was only once I had shut the door that he stopped hiding himself behind me.

“I thought Louise would've gone already otherwise I wouldn't have come out shirtless,” Dan explained, “I took my other one off because I'd sicked on it a little and I couldn't be bothered finding a clean one.”

“It's alright,” I said, “I know you felt a bit self-conscious but you didn't need to be.”

“I know,” Dan nodded, “It's just instinct.”

Noticing Dan seemed a bit unsteady on his feet, almost like he was going to pass out, I put my arm back around him and guided him back into our room.

“Bed time for you,” I said, light-heartedly, “You look like you're going to pass out.”

“I feel a bit that way too,” Dan commented, letting me help him up into the bed.

Once Dan was laying down, settled with the duvet over him, I brought the bucket over next to the bed and put a glass of water on the bedside table.

“Right, water and a bucket there if you need either of them,” I told him, “But please wake me up if you're feeling bad. I'll join you in a couple of minutes.”

I left Dan to sleep and went and got myself ready for bed. When I returned he was already asleep, snoring softly with his face half-buried in the pillow. I got in next to him, and doing my best not to disturb him too much, I cuddled up next to him. I knew he would be cold with only being in pyjama bottoms and I knew he would appreciate it anyway.

--

Over the next few days, the side effects slowly died down and Dan started to feel a bit better. The antidepressants seemed to be doing their job better now, leaving him more or less anxiety free. He was sleeping better and having less random panic attacks. Emotionally, he still seemed a little spaced out, but I think that was preferable to the anxiety he’d been experiencing previously.

I was starting to see that he might be doing well enough to think about getting a job, but I would leave it until he mentioned it himself. I didn’t want to push things; he was the best he’d been in a while and that was progress.

Next Chapter => 

[thaissa1918]

Bloomingdale Police Department Misses Chance To Arrest Local Pyromaniac PART I & Part IIBloomingdale Police Department Misses Chance To Arrest Local Pyromaniac PART I Bloomingdale Police Department Misses Chance To Arrest Local Pyromaniac PART I 2 One summer a few years ago I was in my bedroom working on my computer when I noticed smoke and flames emanating from my living room gas (floor) heater. My web camera cam was running, situated in a position in which it continued taking photos / video stream of the exact area surrounding my front door which I naively left open at that particular time. I ran quickly out from my apartment attempting to save my own life prior to uncontrollable escalation of flames and gas explosion. I ran across the street calling the police from the liquor store reporting the incident. Two police cars initially responded to my call for help. The two officers having arrived at my house, asked a man present, and, acting as if he was attempting to arrest the fire/flames in the basement, whether the fire was completely out. The man responded “yes,” moving aside in my backyard standing there watching what might happen next. By now there were several police cars, two large fire trucks and a CDC/State Chemical truck surrounding my driveway present. Several officers were attempting to inspect the first floor and basement to ensure the fire was out and no more a threat. Several men proceeded to my basement area to confirm what this man told them “the fire was out.” I also wanted to be certain the fire was out and presenting no danger to my upstairs neighbors who were still sleeping at the time and still in the house on the second floor. Additionally, I was extremely concerned about a sizable explosion erupting from the basement gas pipes in which fire seemed to be originally targeted. I also had hundreds of books, very flameable in the basement as many persons knew, including the Passaic County HUD Building Inspector coming yearly to inspect for HUD. Upon entering the basement, the two police officers immediately ran out from the basement saying loudly, this fire is not out to the man wh had told them it was still present in the yard. They said, “you could of killed us...why did you tell us the fire was out, it isn’t out at all!” The police then called him some demeaning name, such as “fool.” They asked the fireman present to inspect the entire house and this time be certain the fire was out completely. There was a myriad of poison fumes also present in my house. The CDC officer told me it would be weeks before anyone could return to the house because of the fumes when I asked him when I could go back into my house. The officer also told me the paint was laden with asbestos and lead as well. This led me to request the Bloomingdale Building inspector test for the cancer causing chemicals as written in my previous article. I gave my statement to the police officer in Bloomingdale as what happened. I told the local police a long haired white man looking like a bum with torn jeans and messy straight hair, the same man telling them the fire was out, entered my apartment deliberatly setting this fire. I told them I accidentally captured this taking place and possess this evidence on my computer cam corder before the fire started showing him clearly entering my front door. He had set my house on fire purposely. The police blamed it on me and my so-called psychological illness forcing me the next day to be committed into Saint Mary’s Hospital, the psychiatric unit. Mr. Angel Roman (the Executive Director of Passaic County Housing Authority NJ-HUD), called the hospital to take me away from my house and into the unit. I had no choice but to remain there for a period of three weeks. Mr. Roman still blames me for starting the fire and at times brings it up when I speak to him in Paterson, NJ at my yearly HUD rental reviews. The suggestion that I, Jill Starr, would light my own house on fire because of illness is absolutely slanderous, libelous and an utterly outrageous claim! Kim Sandlacak, my landlord was also present the day they took me illegally to St. Mary’s hospital. Even though St. Mary’s called my many doctors, including my own psychiatrist which I had seen the night immediately prior the day the fire was set, and all my doctors said I was mentally fine, the hospital refused releasing me. More on this story shortly.Bloomingdale Police Department Misses Chance To Arrest Local Pyromaniac PART I Bloomingdale Police Department Misses Chance To Arrest Local Pyromaniac PART II 2 The local police will tell you that I had a towel covering the top of my heater in the living room; this is true. HOWEVER, IT HAD BEEN THERE FOR ONE WEEK TOTALLY WITHOUT INCIDENT. I HAD SHUT OFF THE MAIN VALVE TO THE GAS AND I ALSO SHUT OFF THE MAIN PILOT LIGHT BECAUSE I WAS WELL AWARE OF SUCH DANGERS. I DID NOT CAUSE THIS FIRE. Anyway, a few months back 2009 several Mexican friends caught a man fitting the same description setting garbage on fire in the Butler NJ street several times. I heard that this man was not arrested in Butler either. My friends reported to Butler police that he set Jill Starr’s house on fire and I have a photo of him (I did). Another police blunder which could still threaten the community since the man was never arrested and tried. J Starr Blog Catalog Blog Directory Bloomingdale Police Department Misses Chance To Arrest Local Pyromaniac PART II --------------------------------------------------------- BEFORE THE FIRE I HAD NUMEROUS INCIDENTS OF GAS LEAKS EMANATING FROM MY STOVE Before the fire was set, I had called PSE&G many times throughout the week prior because they just could NOT seem to find my mysterious gas leaks from my stove!