There was nothing in the vast green lawn to warn of the dangers of the building it led up to. Lush and fragrant, it undulated calmly between the carefully landscaped trees around the smooth drive that led up to the classic brick facade of the estate. The government car moved so slowly that for a moment Terrance thought he must have been trapped in a jar of his grandmother's molasses. Or at least, so it seemed; after a moment he realized the facility was so large that it was still further away than he'd imagined possible. From here, the bars over every window weren't visible, but the oppressive silence that hung over the luxuriously-appointed car was more than enough to warn Terrance of what waited for him ahead.
Since he'd been discharged – honorably, with no mention of his little meltdown after his kill count had hit three digits – there had been barely a word of explanation out of anyone. Just the simple order, through the chain of command that was his life and his oath, and then he was on a plane back home, shuffled from one anonymous agent to another, until he was sitting here between two motionless figures in suits and dark sunglasses. It was like something out of Men in Black, but he knew there were no aliens involved. Just terrorist cells and homemade rounds that were just as capable of tearing through his bones as were the mass-produced bullets he was issued. That was his life. That had been almost every waking moment for the last four years. But now he was en route to the Greenfinch Institute for State Research, and not a damn person would tell him what that meant, or why he was here, or in fact answer a single question he could break through his training long enough to ask. The imposing beauty of the building they were pulling up to was not encouraging in the least, and as he took in the subtle details of the fenced-in gardens and the solid iron grate over each and every window, a sick feeling settled firmly into the pit of his stomach.
This was more than a hospital or a rehab facility for SEAL members who'd just had a few too many deaths on their conscience. No, this was a prison, cleverly disguised as an upscale looney bin, and no matter how comfortable a military man was with following orders, that didn't mean he had to complacently submit to being dubbed insane. On top of that, he wasn't in the service anymore. And this was how he was repaid? This was like being incarcerated without committing a crime, and as the faceless suits frog-marched him out of the car and up to the massive double doors of the institution, he heard a cell door slam shut in the back of his mind with a loud clang.
*****
three months later: Monday, group therapy
“This is a waste of time,” Indy groaned, leaning back in his chair and letting his long legs stretch over the colorless tiles. “Can we take our rage out by smashing pumpkins again? That was actually pretty fun.”
“Not today, Indy,” Dr. Erika admonished, trying to rein them in. Maybe there was something in the summer air, but today it seemed impossible to keep them on track.
“You stole my pumpkin, Indiana,” Ginny accused sharply. “You stole it, and you carved a horrible face into it, and put a light in it and left it in my room and it gave me nightmares until it rotted and then the smell gave me MORE nightmares!”
“Ginny, you're so full of shit I don't know how your eyes aren't brown.” The young man snorted derisively, and turned to glance back at their psychiatrist. “Doc, can't we go outside today?”
“Not today, Indy. Ginny, we know that didn't happen, and you do, too. What makes you feel like you need to say things like that?” Desperately trying to keep them to the therapy part of group therapy, Erika nevertheless felt like she was losing control of them. Usually they were a handful alone and a hectic mess together, but the last few days it had been especially awful. Between Terrance's reluctance to accept his need for therapy and Ryan's recent reaction to the new medication, in addition to Ginny's trouble-stirring habits and Indy's caustic attitude... well, it was getting pretty difficult to keep them in hand. She was pretty close to just letting them run around in the gardens for awhile, if it would get them to behave. If only.
“Because she's a hateful little cunt,” Indy snorted, prompting a shriek of rage from Ginny and a bark of laughter from Terrance. Ryan was amused enough to lift his head, but it was all Erika could do not to throw something at them.
“Indiana! Please! Ginny, sit down. Ryan, did you want to help us with our question today? What do we all think we can do right now to help ourselves reach our goals more effectively?”
None of them heard her. Ginny was on her feet, gesticulating wildly at Indy while they argued with each other. Ryan had subsided back into dreamland, and was gazing off into the distance with no comprehension of them. And Terrance was watching the other three and laughing. Maybe that could be a step for the day for him. Maybe if he could laugh at the other crazy people, he'd feel a little more secure in his own sanity. ...Or something like that.
Slumping back in her chair, Erika pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. Today's session was definitely a bust. Maybe the individual sessions tomorrow would go better than this.
*****
Tuesday, individual sessions
“I told you, I don't belong here.” The belligerent set to his jaw told Erika that he was going to give her extra trouble today. So far, Terrance had been one of her most complicated and stressful patients. His file hadn't even begun to prepare her for what he had put her through – and it was only their third month together.
“You know we need to make sure you're okay to re-integrate back into society,” she said calmly, using her best soothe-the-loon voice. Today, it backfired. Snarling, the big man was on his feet in an instant; with a swipe of one meaty hand he cleared half of her desk. Papers fluttered to the floor in a moment of stark silence before his roar split the room.
“I served this fucking country! Four years, four! Three tours in Afghanistan! I was the best sniper in my unit, youngest promoted to lieutenant in thirty years of Marine history!” His heaving chest gave lie to the rage bubbling under his skin. Dark eyes flashed as he clenched his hands into fists. This was the point when she knew it would be most dangerous to show fear. Instead, she merely lifted an eyebrow at the angry young man.
“When you're done throwing a tantrum, I'd love to speak to the trained veteran I know is in there somewhere.” Her tone was only mildly disapproving, but it did the trick.
The change in him was visible. She watched the tension drain out of his shoulders, leaving him hunched over for long long, still moment. The look on his face was half-obscured by the thick dreadlocks that fell forward, but she could see the ripple of guilt that tore through him.
Sinking back into his chair, he let out a sigh of resignation. Erika was relieved, but she didn't let it show. He wasn't kidding about his training and abilities, and he was still hardened from the field. If he decided to lash out at her instead of her desk blotter, it would not end well for her. Too professional to cross her fingers, she simply waited.
“I'm sorry. You're right. I should be able to control myself. I just hate it here so much. I feel like I'm in a cage all the time.” He raked a hand over his hair, pushing it back over one broad shoulder. Reaching down, he scooped some of the papers off the floor to shuffle them back onto her desk. Years of study told her that he was using physical activity as an emotional shield, but she waited for him to set the pencil cup down anyway before she spoke.
“And that's why you need to be here, Terrance. The sooner we get you back on your feet, the sooner you can get back home. Now, are you ready to have today's discussion?” She didn't even wait for his nod. “Good. Then let's begin.”
*****
There was nothing Erika hated more than having a patient she couldn't help. She'd gotten into this line of work for just that reason, to help people and fix their problems, and it was more than a matter of pride to be good at it. And yet the boy staring at her with empty eyes from the plush chair opposite her desk had shot down her every attempt to help him, and after two years of working here at Greenfinch she'd finally resorted to trying him with some stronger anti-psychotic medications.
Ryan was young, just nineteen, but he'd been here longer than anyone else in the place, and every wall in the resident's ward showed some mark of his artistic inspiration, where violent flashes of inspiration often took him. Regularly, the images of his alternate reality came through his hands in any medium he could obtain; crayons were more valuable than gold to him. In his ten years here, several of the doctors had put him on steady diets of zombie-makers, but to Erika, those were not the right way to solve a person's problems. Pills only treated the symptom, not the disease, and while it had only been a week since she'd started Ryan on his new prescription, she knew that she would have to take him off of them.
The worst of it was that Ryan was more and more of a mess the longer he was on the meds, withdrawing further from the others and venturing out of his room less. His wild, spontaneous artworks slowed and then died out completely as the images in his mind began to fade. Sometimes, he would start crying silently at nothing, reduced to tears by another hole in his memory. The escape of his thoughts was being eroded by the drugs, until his fantasy world wasn't solid enough anymore to hold his weight. Every session with him broke Erika's heart a little more, but there was no way she was going to give up on him.
"Ryan, I've noticed that you seem to be having some difficulty adjusting to the new medication." Genuinely concerned, she settled into her chair, praying to a god she didn't believe in that today's meeting would go better for the poor child.
Huddling in on himself like a child, he clutched his knees to his chest, voice wobbling. "I can't get back. I'm stuck here and I can't get back. I need to go back."
"We've talked about this, Ryan. I know how terrible it is to think about what happened to you, but you can't just hide from it, sweetie, or you'll be trapped in your own head forever. And it seems like a nice escape now but you know as well as I do that it's not real." It was not exactly professional to address him so familiarly, but they'd known each other for awhile now, and after so long together it was one of the few things she knew she could do to help keep him at least a little calmer.
"It is real! This... this is what's fake. All of it. You're just trapping me here, keeping me from where I need to be! Why won't you just let me go back?" His narrow frame trembled with the anger building behind his soft brown eyes, composed of heat and rage and, under that, the cold fear that she might be right.
"Where you need to be? Do you really think that you need to create such an elaborate alternate reality? You're strong enough to handle the real world, you know." Tipping her head, she set her clipboard on the desk. This was so textbook Ryan that she already knew there would be nothing new to take notes on – and if he got too much more upset, she'd have to stop a few punches.
"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! If you don't shut up I'll MAKE you shut up! This is the lie! Everything you tell me is a lie! Stop lying!" It was like watching a small child throw a furious tantrum, but Erika felt only pity for him.
"Ryan, has it ever occurred to you why you're this angry at yourself? That you're upset because you know I'm not lying and it hurts too much?"
"You should stop talking. Now. Before I make you stop. I won't listen to your lies for another second." His need to lash out was clearly overwhelming, and she knew it was time to stop pushing the poor, shattered thing.
"I'm sorry." Erika was quiet for a long moment. "I wish you could believe me when I say I want to help. I think we're almost done here for today. I'm going to scale back on your meds a bit until you get a little more used to them, okay?"
The boy eyed her warily, distrustful of her intentions. Just getting his meds into him every morning was a nightmare, for him and for the nurses. "What else do you want?"
Knowing he wouldn't believe her if she insisted she had no real agenda, she smiled. "I want you to try to get along in group therapy and do the exercises. But Ryan, I don't want you to do that for me, I want you to do it for you."
"I don't see the point," came the sullen reply.
"The group therapy sessions are not just for you. Don't you ever feel bad for Indy? Or hope that maybe Ginny can stop being so mean? Group helps all of you. You're here to help yourself, right? And the first step to helping yourself is knowing that sometimes you have to put aside your own desires to help others. Think of it as doing your civic duty. Everyone has to help out their fellow man, right?"
"Ginny can go fuck herself," he muttered, crossing his arms. Much of his tension and anger were already diffused, gone as quickly as they had come now that they were on to safer subjects.
"She's a very damaged little girl, Ryan. She's done some terrible things." That was a bit of an understatement, Erika knew, but even Ginny's penchant for setting her homes on fire (usually with a foster family still inside) was just a symptom of a greater emotional disturbance. "But we're still helping her realize she did a bad thing. Then she has to start to forgive herself. And that's a really hard thing to do. But she's going to have to. ...And so are you."
Right away she knew she'd gone back into bad territory, as he stiffened visibly. "Are we done? Can I go?" This time it was the patient who didn't wait for a reply, as the young man slid out of the chair and practically fled her office. She watched him go, and raked a hand through her hair.
"...I really don't think I'm making any progress with that poor child," she mumbled to herself, flopping back into her chair. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought.
*****
“Indiana, I need you to focus.” Rubbing a hand over her temple, Erika tried not to slump into her chair too obviously. Indy was too clever by half for her to deal with when she was this tired, and none of them had given her an easy time today.
“Focus on what? Your overly clinical psychoanalysis of someone who's perfectly sane? Come on, Doc, you know I can't be bothered to buy into the bullshit this early in the afternoon.” The lazy drawl of his voice grated on her nerves, but after two years of dealing with him, she was rather accustomed to his attitude. The careless way he was draped over the chair – sideways, with a foot propped on her desk – was something she downright expected by now. If his eyes hadn't been so cold, he might have been handsome, with all that wild red hair and the sculpted cheekbones. But along with the sharp tongue he wielded, that cold emptiness warned people away and screamed 'predator' to all those primal instincts. If Erika had been any less brave of a woman, she would have refused to see Indy, but she was too practical to give up on him.
Of her four patients, he was the only one without a body count, and yet he was dubbed the most dangerous by every previous institution he'd been traded from. The boy had been in state care since he was four, and there was no explanation or reference to where he had come from in his files. All that was there were test results of every kind, especially the intelligence ones that showed time and again a score right off the charts. Indy was the smartest person she'd ever met, and he knew it, and as far as she could tell, that was the only thing was was wrong with him. Sure, he was a bit of an egotistical asshole, but he wasn't a sociopath like his previous assessments showed. Just the way he softened around poor Ryan and obliged the little schizophrenic's delusions was enough to tell her that under all that sarcasm, Indy had a real heart. Now, though, he was doing his absolute best to pretend he didn't at all.
“You know as well as I do that we're just going through the motions. There's nothing you can really do for me. Except, you know, get me the hell out of here and let me live the normal life I've been denied because the government is afraid of people who're too smart to fall for their brainwashing. But whoops! They're not going to let you do that. Oh, no. I'm a 'threat to national security,' so I'm crazy and dangerous and have to be locked up for life and subject for an hour every day to some grad-school idealist yuppie who has dreams of FIXING me. Well, time to wake the fuck up, Doctor, 'cause you can't fix what isn't broken.” Now his indolence was gone; he was ramrod straight in the chair and that fierce gaze was almost searing in its intensity. “So if you value any part of your mental health system, declare me cured and let me the hell out of this cage!”
It took every ounce of her self-control not to flinch. At times, he could almost read minds, and she'd definitely be one of the first to admit that there didn't seem to be any reason for Indy to be here. But he knew very well that she had no control over who remained here. “You know I can't do that, Indy,” she started, but he was already on his feet.
“Then I guess we're done here,” he interrupted smoothly, and while she was still staring at him in shock, he sauntered out of her office as though he owned the place. It took her a moment to regain her wits, and finally she groaned. “Damn it, Indiana...” He might not be crazy, but if she had to put up with him for much longer, she'd end up the crazy one. Hopefully Ginny wouldn't be in one of her little moods for their session later, too. Erika didn't really think she could handle too much more at this point before she'd have to be committed alongside her patients.
*****
Oh, how silly she'd been to hope Ginny would behave better than the others had today. How could she have been so foolish? With a migraine already creeping up behind her eyes, the overly-innocent quality of the pale girl's voice was the last thing she really needed to hear.
“...and I know it was my turn because he'd already been using them for hours, and I wanted to be able to work on my painting because you keep saying that I need to work on my anger,” Ginny was insisting. It didn't even take Erika's skilled powers of interpersonal perception to know that she was lying – again. Dealing with a pathological liar never made the day easier, and one like Ginny... well, at this point, she would have given her right arm for an excuse to cut the session short and get some aspirin and some sleep rather than listen to Ginny whine about why she'd thrown paint all over Terrance during their arts and crafts hour today. So when the knock came, she nearly jumped out of her seat with eagerness.
“Yes? Who is it, what do you need me for?” She yanked the door open before the knob could even turn, and the orderly on the other side looked surprised for a moment before the anxiety took over his face again.
“Doctor, there's been an incident with Ryan,” he started hesitantly, and in that moment Erika knew from his tone that something was terribly, horribly wrong. Suddenly every concern she'd had from the stress of today was erased as an unnameable dread spread through her, and she pushed past him without waiting for another word, sprinting down the hall to the resident's ward. Fumbling her card into the reader, she cursed at it breathlessly as it beeped at her to try again. By the time she got through the door she was shaking, and the sight of Indy standing in Ryan's doorway, still as stone, tore away whatever hint of hope she might have had left.
Skidding to a halt, she almost stumbled, catching herself on the door frame before the sight of a wide puddle of blood stopped her cold. “Oh, God,” she choked, and clutched at the cross around her throat. A glint of something sharp on the floor told her how he had done it, but it didn't sink in at first. She saw Ginny come up behind her – she didn't know that Ginny had come after her – and she saw Terrance come out of his room to stand behind her; none of it registered. All she could see was the limp body on the floor in that room, looking even smaller now than he usually did. The blood rushing in her ears would have drowned out any words, had any of them spoken, but no one opened their mouth. Not a sound broke the silence.
The others were staring at Ryan's body, but what caught Erika's gaze were the drawings. Every inch of the quilt-padded walls had long since been claimed by Ryan's artistic impulses, and the alien world they depicted was so fantastic that for one frozen moment, she found herself wishing that he could be happy there now. It only lasted for a breath, though; it was quickly chased away by the heavy smell of blood that clung to the air. That was something she would never forget.
She had failed Ryan, and she could never forget.
*****
Wednesday, group therapy
The early morning sunshine streamed through the window, scattering itself across the linoleum of the recreation room, but even its warmth could not begin to carve into the icy atmosphere that filled the room like a glacier in a swimming pool. Someone had had the foresight to take the extra chair out of the circle, but still there was a gap between Indy and Erika where Ryan should have been sitting.
Even just a few short months into his stay here, Terrance knew he would miss the skinny, dark-haired little lunatic and his vivid imaginings, but not nearly as much as Indy, who was even now uncharacteristically silent. It seemed like none of them dared speak at all, not even to protest the way the staff had started to scrub Ryan's artwork off the walls. Soon enough it would be as though he had never set foot here – or so they would try to make it. Terrance could already see that each of them was desperately trying to hang on to some part of the innocence that, out of all of them, only Ryan had possessed. Maybe his escape into his own mind had been something they should have let him stay in; maybe living in another world entirely really was better than suffering here.
Ginny shuffled in her seat, but before she could even open her mouth Indy shot her a glare, and the silence continued. Usually, Erika would have been the first to try to keep a conversation going, but the look on her face made it clear that grief and guilt were too heavy for her right now. She would hardly be leading group today. Awkwardly, Terrance fidgeted, trying his best to keep quiet. Why were they still sitting here? Why even bother to have group?
“We should... talk about how we feel.” The doctor's voice was a surprise to hear breaking the ice, even if it did tremble with barely-repressed tears.
“You're kidding.” Indy's voice was flat, devoid of his usual mocking tone; for once he seemed truly pained. “How we feel? He's DEAD, how the fuck are we supposed to feel? He spent his life here, trapped in a hell that you kept trying to ground him in, again and again, and now that he's finally managed to kill himself and escape, you think we're going to roll his death into some neat self-help activity by talking about our fucking feelings in group therapy?!” His apathy hadn't lasted long, but now his voice was full of real anger. “How about this? How about I pity him? How about I wish I could've helped him do it, gotten him out of here sooner? How about how fucking sad it makes me, how ANGRY, that he spent his life in a fucking cage and now his ghost is going to be stuck here forever too? HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL!?”
No one else dared speak. Indy was pale as a sheet despite the fury he was trembling with, freckles standing out sharply against his pallor, and after a moment he relaxed, a mask-like smile plastering itself over his face. “That's what I thought,” he said lightly, calm as stone once more, and he turned to walk out. Ginny was right behind him, and as Erika stared after them in a state of shock, Terrance found his gaze drifting to the patch of sunlight on the floor. All those long stripes, marked by the shadow of the bars that were bolted over the window, and yet none of the sunlight that crept through them seemed to soak into the cold that clung to every wall of this place.
And now... now it had claimed a life. Was Indy right? Would poor Ryan stay a ghost here forever? Terrance tried not to shiver. It wasn't the prospect of being haunted; he wasn't even close to afraid of spooks. No, it was the very bleak glimpse into his future. Would he end up like that, too? Would he die in this cage just like Ryan had? It was a more frightening thought than any imagining of what might have become of him if he'd stayed in the service. With that deeply unsettling thought, he got to his feet and left the rec room as quickly as he could. No matter how fast he walked, though, he couldn't escape the image of himself on the floor, sprawled in his own blood, with nothing to be remembered by but crazy drawings all over the walls of his padded cell.
Since he'd been discharged – honorably, with no mention of his little meltdown after his kill count had hit three digits – there had been barely a word of explanation out of anyone. Just the simple order, through the chain of command that was his life and his oath, and then he was on a plane back home, shuffled from one anonymous agent to another, until he was sitting here between two motionless figures in suits and dark sunglasses. It was like something out of Men in Black, but he knew there were no aliens involved. Just terrorist cells and homemade rounds that were just as capable of tearing through his bones as were the mass-produced bullets he was issued. That was his life. That had been almost every waking moment for the last four years. But now he was en route to the Greenfinch Institute for State Research, and not a damn person would tell him what that meant, or why he was here, or in fact answer a single question he could break through his training long enough to ask. The imposing beauty of the building they were pulling up to was not encouraging in the least, and as he took in the subtle details of the fenced-in gardens and the solid iron grate over each and every window, a sick feeling settled firmly into the pit of his stomach.
This was more than a hospital or a rehab facility for SEAL members who'd just had a few too many deaths on their conscience. No, this was a prison, cleverly disguised as an upscale looney bin, and no matter how comfortable a military man was with following orders, that didn't mean he had to complacently submit to being dubbed insane. On top of that, he wasn't in the service anymore. And this was how he was repaid? This was like being incarcerated without committing a crime, and as the faceless suits frog-marched him out of the car and up to the massive double doors of the institution, he heard a cell door slam shut in the back of his mind with a loud clang.
*****
three months later: Monday, group therapy
“This is a waste of time,” Indy groaned, leaning back in his chair and letting his long legs stretch over the colorless tiles. “Can we take our rage out by smashing pumpkins again? That was actually pretty fun.”
“Not today, Indy,” Dr. Erika admonished, trying to rein them in. Maybe there was something in the summer air, but today it seemed impossible to keep them on track.
“You stole my pumpkin, Indiana,” Ginny accused sharply. “You stole it, and you carved a horrible face into it, and put a light in it and left it in my room and it gave me nightmares until it rotted and then the smell gave me MORE nightmares!”
“Ginny, you're so full of shit I don't know how your eyes aren't brown.” The young man snorted derisively, and turned to glance back at their psychiatrist. “Doc, can't we go outside today?”
“Not today, Indy. Ginny, we know that didn't happen, and you do, too. What makes you feel like you need to say things like that?” Desperately trying to keep them to the therapy part of group therapy, Erika nevertheless felt like she was losing control of them. Usually they were a handful alone and a hectic mess together, but the last few days it had been especially awful. Between Terrance's reluctance to accept his need for therapy and Ryan's recent reaction to the new medication, in addition to Ginny's trouble-stirring habits and Indy's caustic attitude... well, it was getting pretty difficult to keep them in hand. She was pretty close to just letting them run around in the gardens for awhile, if it would get them to behave. If only.
“Because she's a hateful little cunt,” Indy snorted, prompting a shriek of rage from Ginny and a bark of laughter from Terrance. Ryan was amused enough to lift his head, but it was all Erika could do not to throw something at them.
“Indiana! Please! Ginny, sit down. Ryan, did you want to help us with our question today? What do we all think we can do right now to help ourselves reach our goals more effectively?”
None of them heard her. Ginny was on her feet, gesticulating wildly at Indy while they argued with each other. Ryan had subsided back into dreamland, and was gazing off into the distance with no comprehension of them. And Terrance was watching the other three and laughing. Maybe that could be a step for the day for him. Maybe if he could laugh at the other crazy people, he'd feel a little more secure in his own sanity. ...Or something like that.
Slumping back in her chair, Erika pressed the palm of her hand to her forehead. Today's session was definitely a bust. Maybe the individual sessions tomorrow would go better than this.
*****
Tuesday, individual sessions
“I told you, I don't belong here.” The belligerent set to his jaw told Erika that he was going to give her extra trouble today. So far, Terrance had been one of her most complicated and stressful patients. His file hadn't even begun to prepare her for what he had put her through – and it was only their third month together.
“You know we need to make sure you're okay to re-integrate back into society,” she said calmly, using her best soothe-the-loon voice. Today, it backfired. Snarling, the big man was on his feet in an instant; with a swipe of one meaty hand he cleared half of her desk. Papers fluttered to the floor in a moment of stark silence before his roar split the room.
“I served this fucking country! Four years, four! Three tours in Afghanistan! I was the best sniper in my unit, youngest promoted to lieutenant in thirty years of Marine history!” His heaving chest gave lie to the rage bubbling under his skin. Dark eyes flashed as he clenched his hands into fists. This was the point when she knew it would be most dangerous to show fear. Instead, she merely lifted an eyebrow at the angry young man.
“When you're done throwing a tantrum, I'd love to speak to the trained veteran I know is in there somewhere.” Her tone was only mildly disapproving, but it did the trick.
The change in him was visible. She watched the tension drain out of his shoulders, leaving him hunched over for long long, still moment. The look on his face was half-obscured by the thick dreadlocks that fell forward, but she could see the ripple of guilt that tore through him.
Sinking back into his chair, he let out a sigh of resignation. Erika was relieved, but she didn't let it show. He wasn't kidding about his training and abilities, and he was still hardened from the field. If he decided to lash out at her instead of her desk blotter, it would not end well for her. Too professional to cross her fingers, she simply waited.
“I'm sorry. You're right. I should be able to control myself. I just hate it here so much. I feel like I'm in a cage all the time.” He raked a hand over his hair, pushing it back over one broad shoulder. Reaching down, he scooped some of the papers off the floor to shuffle them back onto her desk. Years of study told her that he was using physical activity as an emotional shield, but she waited for him to set the pencil cup down anyway before she spoke.
“And that's why you need to be here, Terrance. The sooner we get you back on your feet, the sooner you can get back home. Now, are you ready to have today's discussion?” She didn't even wait for his nod. “Good. Then let's begin.”
*****
There was nothing Erika hated more than having a patient she couldn't help. She'd gotten into this line of work for just that reason, to help people and fix their problems, and it was more than a matter of pride to be good at it. And yet the boy staring at her with empty eyes from the plush chair opposite her desk had shot down her every attempt to help him, and after two years of working here at Greenfinch she'd finally resorted to trying him with some stronger anti-psychotic medications.
Ryan was young, just nineteen, but he'd been here longer than anyone else in the place, and every wall in the resident's ward showed some mark of his artistic inspiration, where violent flashes of inspiration often took him. Regularly, the images of his alternate reality came through his hands in any medium he could obtain; crayons were more valuable than gold to him. In his ten years here, several of the doctors had put him on steady diets of zombie-makers, but to Erika, those were not the right way to solve a person's problems. Pills only treated the symptom, not the disease, and while it had only been a week since she'd started Ryan on his new prescription, she knew that she would have to take him off of them.
The worst of it was that Ryan was more and more of a mess the longer he was on the meds, withdrawing further from the others and venturing out of his room less. His wild, spontaneous artworks slowed and then died out completely as the images in his mind began to fade. Sometimes, he would start crying silently at nothing, reduced to tears by another hole in his memory. The escape of his thoughts was being eroded by the drugs, until his fantasy world wasn't solid enough anymore to hold his weight. Every session with him broke Erika's heart a little more, but there was no way she was going to give up on him.
"Ryan, I've noticed that you seem to be having some difficulty adjusting to the new medication." Genuinely concerned, she settled into her chair, praying to a god she didn't believe in that today's meeting would go better for the poor child.
Huddling in on himself like a child, he clutched his knees to his chest, voice wobbling. "I can't get back. I'm stuck here and I can't get back. I need to go back."
"We've talked about this, Ryan. I know how terrible it is to think about what happened to you, but you can't just hide from it, sweetie, or you'll be trapped in your own head forever. And it seems like a nice escape now but you know as well as I do that it's not real." It was not exactly professional to address him so familiarly, but they'd known each other for awhile now, and after so long together it was one of the few things she knew she could do to help keep him at least a little calmer.
"It is real! This... this is what's fake. All of it. You're just trapping me here, keeping me from where I need to be! Why won't you just let me go back?" His narrow frame trembled with the anger building behind his soft brown eyes, composed of heat and rage and, under that, the cold fear that she might be right.
"Where you need to be? Do you really think that you need to create such an elaborate alternate reality? You're strong enough to handle the real world, you know." Tipping her head, she set her clipboard on the desk. This was so textbook Ryan that she already knew there would be nothing new to take notes on – and if he got too much more upset, she'd have to stop a few punches.
"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up! If you don't shut up I'll MAKE you shut up! This is the lie! Everything you tell me is a lie! Stop lying!" It was like watching a small child throw a furious tantrum, but Erika felt only pity for him.
"Ryan, has it ever occurred to you why you're this angry at yourself? That you're upset because you know I'm not lying and it hurts too much?"
"You should stop talking. Now. Before I make you stop. I won't listen to your lies for another second." His need to lash out was clearly overwhelming, and she knew it was time to stop pushing the poor, shattered thing.
"I'm sorry." Erika was quiet for a long moment. "I wish you could believe me when I say I want to help. I think we're almost done here for today. I'm going to scale back on your meds a bit until you get a little more used to them, okay?"
The boy eyed her warily, distrustful of her intentions. Just getting his meds into him every morning was a nightmare, for him and for the nurses. "What else do you want?"
Knowing he wouldn't believe her if she insisted she had no real agenda, she smiled. "I want you to try to get along in group therapy and do the exercises. But Ryan, I don't want you to do that for me, I want you to do it for you."
"I don't see the point," came the sullen reply.
"The group therapy sessions are not just for you. Don't you ever feel bad for Indy? Or hope that maybe Ginny can stop being so mean? Group helps all of you. You're here to help yourself, right? And the first step to helping yourself is knowing that sometimes you have to put aside your own desires to help others. Think of it as doing your civic duty. Everyone has to help out their fellow man, right?"
"Ginny can go fuck herself," he muttered, crossing his arms. Much of his tension and anger were already diffused, gone as quickly as they had come now that they were on to safer subjects.
"She's a very damaged little girl, Ryan. She's done some terrible things." That was a bit of an understatement, Erika knew, but even Ginny's penchant for setting her homes on fire (usually with a foster family still inside) was just a symptom of a greater emotional disturbance. "But we're still helping her realize she did a bad thing. Then she has to start to forgive herself. And that's a really hard thing to do. But she's going to have to. ...And so are you."
Right away she knew she'd gone back into bad territory, as he stiffened visibly. "Are we done? Can I go?" This time it was the patient who didn't wait for a reply, as the young man slid out of the chair and practically fled her office. She watched him go, and raked a hand through her hair.
"...I really don't think I'm making any progress with that poor child," she mumbled to herself, flopping back into her chair. It wasn't exactly a comforting thought.
*****
“Indiana, I need you to focus.” Rubbing a hand over her temple, Erika tried not to slump into her chair too obviously. Indy was too clever by half for her to deal with when she was this tired, and none of them had given her an easy time today.
“Focus on what? Your overly clinical psychoanalysis of someone who's perfectly sane? Come on, Doc, you know I can't be bothered to buy into the bullshit this early in the afternoon.” The lazy drawl of his voice grated on her nerves, but after two years of dealing with him, she was rather accustomed to his attitude. The careless way he was draped over the chair – sideways, with a foot propped on her desk – was something she downright expected by now. If his eyes hadn't been so cold, he might have been handsome, with all that wild red hair and the sculpted cheekbones. But along with the sharp tongue he wielded, that cold emptiness warned people away and screamed 'predator' to all those primal instincts. If Erika had been any less brave of a woman, she would have refused to see Indy, but she was too practical to give up on him.
Of her four patients, he was the only one without a body count, and yet he was dubbed the most dangerous by every previous institution he'd been traded from. The boy had been in state care since he was four, and there was no explanation or reference to where he had come from in his files. All that was there were test results of every kind, especially the intelligence ones that showed time and again a score right off the charts. Indy was the smartest person she'd ever met, and he knew it, and as far as she could tell, that was the only thing was was wrong with him. Sure, he was a bit of an egotistical asshole, but he wasn't a sociopath like his previous assessments showed. Just the way he softened around poor Ryan and obliged the little schizophrenic's delusions was enough to tell her that under all that sarcasm, Indy had a real heart. Now, though, he was doing his absolute best to pretend he didn't at all.
“You know as well as I do that we're just going through the motions. There's nothing you can really do for me. Except, you know, get me the hell out of here and let me live the normal life I've been denied because the government is afraid of people who're too smart to fall for their brainwashing. But whoops! They're not going to let you do that. Oh, no. I'm a 'threat to national security,' so I'm crazy and dangerous and have to be locked up for life and subject for an hour every day to some grad-school idealist yuppie who has dreams of FIXING me. Well, time to wake the fuck up, Doctor, 'cause you can't fix what isn't broken.” Now his indolence was gone; he was ramrod straight in the chair and that fierce gaze was almost searing in its intensity. “So if you value any part of your mental health system, declare me cured and let me the hell out of this cage!”
It took every ounce of her self-control not to flinch. At times, he could almost read minds, and she'd definitely be one of the first to admit that there didn't seem to be any reason for Indy to be here. But he knew very well that she had no control over who remained here. “You know I can't do that, Indy,” she started, but he was already on his feet.
“Then I guess we're done here,” he interrupted smoothly, and while she was still staring at him in shock, he sauntered out of her office as though he owned the place. It took her a moment to regain her wits, and finally she groaned. “Damn it, Indiana...” He might not be crazy, but if she had to put up with him for much longer, she'd end up the crazy one. Hopefully Ginny wouldn't be in one of her little moods for their session later, too. Erika didn't really think she could handle too much more at this point before she'd have to be committed alongside her patients.
*****
Oh, how silly she'd been to hope Ginny would behave better than the others had today. How could she have been so foolish? With a migraine already creeping up behind her eyes, the overly-innocent quality of the pale girl's voice was the last thing she really needed to hear.
“...and I know it was my turn because he'd already been using them for hours, and I wanted to be able to work on my painting because you keep saying that I need to work on my anger,” Ginny was insisting. It didn't even take Erika's skilled powers of interpersonal perception to know that she was lying – again. Dealing with a pathological liar never made the day easier, and one like Ginny... well, at this point, she would have given her right arm for an excuse to cut the session short and get some aspirin and some sleep rather than listen to Ginny whine about why she'd thrown paint all over Terrance during their arts and crafts hour today. So when the knock came, she nearly jumped out of her seat with eagerness.
“Yes? Who is it, what do you need me for?” She yanked the door open before the knob could even turn, and the orderly on the other side looked surprised for a moment before the anxiety took over his face again.
“Doctor, there's been an incident with Ryan,” he started hesitantly, and in that moment Erika knew from his tone that something was terribly, horribly wrong. Suddenly every concern she'd had from the stress of today was erased as an unnameable dread spread through her, and she pushed past him without waiting for another word, sprinting down the hall to the resident's ward. Fumbling her card into the reader, she cursed at it breathlessly as it beeped at her to try again. By the time she got through the door she was shaking, and the sight of Indy standing in Ryan's doorway, still as stone, tore away whatever hint of hope she might have had left.
Skidding to a halt, she almost stumbled, catching herself on the door frame before the sight of a wide puddle of blood stopped her cold. “Oh, God,” she choked, and clutched at the cross around her throat. A glint of something sharp on the floor told her how he had done it, but it didn't sink in at first. She saw Ginny come up behind her – she didn't know that Ginny had come after her – and she saw Terrance come out of his room to stand behind her; none of it registered. All she could see was the limp body on the floor in that room, looking even smaller now than he usually did. The blood rushing in her ears would have drowned out any words, had any of them spoken, but no one opened their mouth. Not a sound broke the silence.
The others were staring at Ryan's body, but what caught Erika's gaze were the drawings. Every inch of the quilt-padded walls had long since been claimed by Ryan's artistic impulses, and the alien world they depicted was so fantastic that for one frozen moment, she found herself wishing that he could be happy there now. It only lasted for a breath, though; it was quickly chased away by the heavy smell of blood that clung to the air. That was something she would never forget.
She had failed Ryan, and she could never forget.
*****
Wednesday, group therapy
The early morning sunshine streamed through the window, scattering itself across the linoleum of the recreation room, but even its warmth could not begin to carve into the icy atmosphere that filled the room like a glacier in a swimming pool. Someone had had the foresight to take the extra chair out of the circle, but still there was a gap between Indy and Erika where Ryan should have been sitting.
Even just a few short months into his stay here, Terrance knew he would miss the skinny, dark-haired little lunatic and his vivid imaginings, but not nearly as much as Indy, who was even now uncharacteristically silent. It seemed like none of them dared speak at all, not even to protest the way the staff had started to scrub Ryan's artwork off the walls. Soon enough it would be as though he had never set foot here – or so they would try to make it. Terrance could already see that each of them was desperately trying to hang on to some part of the innocence that, out of all of them, only Ryan had possessed. Maybe his escape into his own mind had been something they should have let him stay in; maybe living in another world entirely really was better than suffering here.
Ginny shuffled in her seat, but before she could even open her mouth Indy shot her a glare, and the silence continued. Usually, Erika would have been the first to try to keep a conversation going, but the look on her face made it clear that grief and guilt were too heavy for her right now. She would hardly be leading group today. Awkwardly, Terrance fidgeted, trying his best to keep quiet. Why were they still sitting here? Why even bother to have group?
“We should... talk about how we feel.” The doctor's voice was a surprise to hear breaking the ice, even if it did tremble with barely-repressed tears.
“You're kidding.” Indy's voice was flat, devoid of his usual mocking tone; for once he seemed truly pained. “How we feel? He's DEAD, how the fuck are we supposed to feel? He spent his life here, trapped in a hell that you kept trying to ground him in, again and again, and now that he's finally managed to kill himself and escape, you think we're going to roll his death into some neat self-help activity by talking about our fucking feelings in group therapy?!” His apathy hadn't lasted long, but now his voice was full of real anger. “How about this? How about I pity him? How about I wish I could've helped him do it, gotten him out of here sooner? How about how fucking sad it makes me, how ANGRY, that he spent his life in a fucking cage and now his ghost is going to be stuck here forever too? HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO FEEL!?”
No one else dared speak. Indy was pale as a sheet despite the fury he was trembling with, freckles standing out sharply against his pallor, and after a moment he relaxed, a mask-like smile plastering itself over his face. “That's what I thought,” he said lightly, calm as stone once more, and he turned to walk out. Ginny was right behind him, and as Erika stared after them in a state of shock, Terrance found his gaze drifting to the patch of sunlight on the floor. All those long stripes, marked by the shadow of the bars that were bolted over the window, and yet none of the sunlight that crept through them seemed to soak into the cold that clung to every wall of this place.
And now... now it had claimed a life. Was Indy right? Would poor Ryan stay a ghost here forever? Terrance tried not to shiver. It wasn't the prospect of being haunted; he wasn't even close to afraid of spooks. No, it was the very bleak glimpse into his future. Would he end up like that, too? Would he die in this cage just like Ryan had? It was a more frightening thought than any imagining of what might have become of him if he'd stayed in the service. With that deeply unsettling thought, he got to his feet and left the rec room as quickly as he could. No matter how fast he walked, though, he couldn't escape the image of himself on the floor, sprawled in his own blood, with nothing to be remembered by but crazy drawings all over the walls of his padded cell.