"Listen."

"I don't hear anything, Jamie; what do you hear?"

"I think they’re comin again."

Trepidation filled Terry as he strained to hear. There was nothing. Nothing save for the usual scraping from Dave’s room next door. He turned toward Jamie and saw the lean man standing by the padded door.

“I hear em comin for ye. Time for yer meds, Terry my lad. Gona take a trip down smooth alley, sailing on imaginary fantasies while they play hide n seek with yer arse.”

Jamie turned and giggled in his direction, knowing how it unnerved him.

“Shut it, Jamie, you’re always so mean to me!”

Jamie fell silent and walked back to his bunk. Then, there came the sound of several footsteps approaching. Terry’s guts twisted into knots, his hands slick with sweat. Perhaps they weren’t coming for him this time. He tried to swallow but his throat was dry. He heard the footsteps approach steadily, each step echoed through his being. They stopped, all of them, by his door. He heard the murmur of voices as his tormentors discussed something. Then keys clanking against one another. Try as he might, he could not keep them back. Warm tears streamed down his cheeks, and he whimpered uncontrollably. He heard Jamie laughing beside him, and turned to see him smirking at him. Anger filled him at that moment, why did they spare this vile bastard and enjoy torturing him. None of it made sense.

”Ye ready there, Terry my lad? Ye better say those Hail Mary’s and Our Father’s.”

“What if they didn’t come for me Jamie? Maybe they’re here for you!”

Spittle flying from his mouth, he rose to his feet and bore down on Jamie. This time he didn’t care if they both got into trouble, he would beat the crap out of Jamie.

“Now, we both know they not comin for me, Jamie my boy. And if ye want to pull me in on yer trouble, fine… but I’ll hit ye so hard yer friends’ll feel it.”

The door opened as Terry lunged toward Jamie with balled fists. Jamie was bigger than he was, and taller. He avoided Terry’s loose punches and drove his large fist square into his midriff. The air flew out of him and before he could wince, Terry felt a second blow floor him. Four men entered the room, grasped Terry by his limbs, and dragged him from his cell.

“No I didn’t start it please let me go! It was Jamie he made me do it! Jamie, you bastard, I’ll get you for this!”

He was thrashing against his captors with all his might, but their grips were like iron. They said nothing only looked down at him with the contempt he was accustomed to. The light overhead in the passage was blinding in comparison to the twilight of his cell. He could hear Jamie laughing, and it increased his anger and frustration tenfold. He doubled his efforts and freed his right hand. Balling his fist, he struck out at the man who had been holding it, catching him below the crotch. The man howled with pain doubling over. He cursed severely, then removed a syringe from the folds of his white uniform. He yelled for the others to hold Terry down, as he plunged the needle of the syringe in his shoulder and injected its contents. Everything became a blur as Terry lost consciousness.

Terry awoke to an all familiar sight. He was restrained in an uncomfortable chair, with wiring along his bare chest and head. He did not try to struggle for he knew it was pointless. Turning his head as far to the right as his bonds allowed, he saw the man who called himself Dr. Green. He was adjusting nobs and dials on the apparatus connected to the wiring on Terry. He looked up and smiled as he met Terry’s gaze.

“You’re awake Terry, good. Now we may begin.”

”Why are you doing this to me Dr. Green? I’ve been good I swear I have!”

Fresh tears welled up in his eyes as he searched the doctor’s face for some sign of sympathy. There came none. The doctor merely smiled and adjusted a few more devices. Then he walked over to Terry with a clipboard and pen. He placed a chair directly across from Terry and crossed his legs.

“Tell me Terry, how’s Jamie doing?”

This was the drill. Every time they brought him here, the opening question was the same. How’s Jamie doing. If they really gave a damn about Jamie, he would be in the chair and not Terry!

“Jamie is still mean to me. He says the most awful things. Why don’t you ever take Jamie doctor? Why do you only take me and ask me questions about Jamie!”

Dr. Green sighed, and scribbled a few notes on his clipboard.

“Because Terry, Jamie does not exist. He is a delusion of imagination, and we are here to cure you of it. Now relax, this will only hurt for a bit.”

#OfPenAndPaper #Torment

“Brian Tracy,” he heard himself mutter under his breath. His words were still slurred. His blurry vision clearing up slowly to reveal forms and figures in the dimly lit room before him. He closed his eyes and lifted his chin. His head ached. His body ached. His stomach churned and it felt like he could hurl his guts out at any second while his head spinned frantically. He took a deep breath, held it in for a moment, and then breathed it out on a heavy sigh for several seconds before repeating the exercise again. 

Gradually, he regained some control of his senses and could muster the strength to open his eyes again, this time revealing a row of windows to his right, and a desk before him, against which a man was leaning with his arms crossed. His gaze was steady, but his smile was unnerving. Almost as if he was never meant to form his lips in the shape of a cupid’s bow, and the mere effort exerted towards doing so was an act against nature itself thus contorting his features into a horrid yellow toothed grimace, which was sure to make even the most docile of babies cry at the sight of it.

“Ah,” he said. “I see a little less cloud and a little more man in those eyes of yours now. Will you kindly state your name for the record again?”

“Who are you?” Brian managed to croak out, his tongue sticking to the roof of his dry mouth.

“I am Dr Everett Saunders, Brian. And you and I have come a long way together. Oh yes, long indeed…” He pushed off from the desk and walked round to his chair.

Brian could make out a plaque on his desk and several honorary certificates on the wall to his left, but no words just yet. He blinked several times while Dr Saunders continued speaking.

“Years to be exact. I assure you that by now we could have called one another “good friends” had our circumstances not been quite so extraordinary.”

“Extraordinary?” Brian wondered aloud, while trying to sit forward. Something held him back and as he looked down at his chest he found himself bound in a cross jacket and strapped to a wheelchair. ”Wait…Where AM I?!” he queried, his voice now sharp with concern.

“Everything will be clear in a moment Brian. Now, if you’ll simply remain calm,” he paused mid-sentence while fiddling with a piece of paper and a frame, probably another addition to the already crowded wall of certificates. “I will pay you my full attentions in just a few minutes.”

Now done with his task, he placed the frame on the wall as Brian had expected. He could make out the place where it had previously been due to the discolouration of the wall in the exact shape of the frame. Why would the Dr need to take it down? Surely he had someone to do the cleaning? But then the wall wasn’t clean. Then perhaps to add a new accreditation in the place of a less liked one. But the wall was already so full, which indicated that he didn’t mind the clutter to begin with. So why? And furthermore, why was this so important to Brian of a sudden. He could care less what someone else chose to do with their office décor. Were it up to him, he’d just put up a new frame till the entire wall was covered with certificates if it came to that.

“Wait,” he said softly, a strange uneasiness grabbing hold of his belly as a frightening thought crept into his mind.

“Exactly Brian,” said Dr Saunders. “Wait just a moment, and everything will make perfect sense.”

He looked at the desk, now focusing on the plaque. ”Now tell me how you are feeling today Brian,” said the Dr, now moving into place in front of the desk, hiding the plaque from sight. “We always want to talk about our feelings, now don’t we Brian?” He smiled again, and this time Brian could sense that something was most definitely not right with the gesture.

The wall, he now noticed, had several missing frames. All of whom were placed neatly one atop the other to the left of the desk. A thought started to form in his mind, and he brushed it aside by shaking his head vigorously.

“Am I ill?” he asked tentatively. Yes, that must be it he thought. I am not well.

“Ill? ILL?!” Dr Saunders exclaimed. “No. You’re not ill.” He knelt down before him resting his hands on Brian’s knees.

“You’re not ill at all.” He rose and turned to the desk again, reaching out to several sheets of paper like the one he’d framed earlier. Taking them in his right hand, he turned to Brian and placed the pages in his lap along with the plaque. Leaning in to look into his eyes, his face too close for comfort.

“You see…You’re cured Brian. I cured you,” he said. Looking every bit as pleased as a cat that’d caught a fish.

“Our time is up for today dear Brian. Let’s continue this little chat tomorrow, shall we?” Dr Saunders walked to the door and called for someone to take Brian back to his room.

This was all so confusing. What was going on? Where is this place? Why am I here? Is there anyone who could tell me something useful?

His gaze dropped down to the pages in his lap. He blinked. And then blinked again. What was this? What did it mean? He could feel his body start to tremble. The muscles in his face went lax and he suddenly forgot the skill necessary for speech.

“Ah Tess. Thank goodness YOU came and not that aweful new girl Maggie. I think she’ll be a bit of a problem for us.” He heard Dr Saunders say behind him.

“Would you like me to take Mr Tracy to his room right away then Ben?” Tess said in a cheerful young girl’s voice, not more than 19. Brian knew her voice well. He’d often dreamed of her. Or rather, he’d dreamed of possessing her red haired innocence for himself one day.

“Yes. Take him away. I’ll have a go at him tomorrow. Today I’d like to finish up here,” he gestured at the room with emphasis on the wall.”…and do some research.”

“Very well Ben. Do be having a good day then” She said merrily as she wheeled Brian to the door.

“Oh and Tess dear,” he said as if in afterthought. “It’s Dr Saunders now. Please do try to remember that from now on.”

“Thanks for reminding me. Dr Saunders. Do have a good morning then.”

“And a good morning to you too Tess…and to you…Brian,” he said with an even broader smile.

Brian said nothing. He felt nothing, unless numbness were a feeling. And of that he had plenty. Back in his room he stared blankly at the wall before him. Tess had left him still fully strapped up in his wheelchair before leaving and locking the door behind her. He thought  the circus of doctors and patients they’d passed on the way to his room and a smile came to his face. At first just lifting the corners of his mouth, but steadily increasing until he burst out laughing hysterically. He laughed until his sides hurt and tears welled up and spilled forth from his eyes. He laughed until he was writhing in his bonds like one beset with epileptic seizures, and then he laughed some more. This bout of uncontrollable mirth soon waned, and left him weeping in a greater state of agony than he could recall ever having been in.

He sighed a burdened sigh when it was ended, a hopeless sigh, utterly exhausted, and looked back down at the pages still nestled safely in his lap where Dr Saunders had placed them.

“…The regents of the

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA

ON THE TOWN NOMINATION OF THE GRADUATE COUNCIL

OF THE ABC DIVISION, HAVE CONFERRED UPON

BRIAN TRACY

Who demonstrated ability through original research in PSYCHOLOGY

THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

WITH ALL THE RIGHTS AND PRIVELEGES THERETO PERTAINED…”

Title: Sight

Characters: Emíl, Danny, Therapist, Doctor, Mr. Z

Plot: Danny is an “imaginary friend”/hallucination who serves as a father figure to Emíl. They are stuck into a mental ward by Emíl’s mom. Emíl’s dad died a few years ago. Ever since then, he’s seen Danny, as a replacement. Emíl is a youngish kid. Danny and Emíl are less than happy about being in an asylum, and they begin to debate escaping, with some help from Mr. Z.

Emíl: Danny?

Danny: Yeah?

Emíl: How come only I can see you?

Danny: Dunno. I guess you’re special.

Emíl: I think you’re special.

Danny: Thanks, Emíl.

Emíl: No problem. Why don’t they like you?

Danny: Because people fear what they don’t understand. And they think you crazy.

Emíl: That’s rude.

Danny: Welcome to humanity.

Emíl: *laughs* You’re funny.

Danny: Yep. I’m a real comedian.

Emíl: So what’s it like? Being invisible?

Danny: Depends. Sometimes it’s real fun, and I get to torment people like a poltergeist or something. But other times it gets annoying. Like, I can’t buy food or nothin’.

Emíl: That does sound pretty sad. And also cool. Sometimes I wish I was invisible like you. Then I wouldn’t be here.

Danny: Maybe, kid. Maybe.

Doctor: *walks in* Emíl? It’s time for therapy.

Emíl: *groans* Do I have to go?

Danny & Doctor: Yes.

Emíl: *crosses arms and pouts* Fine. But only if Danny can come, too.

Doctor: Who’s Danny?

Emíl: He’s my friend.

Doctor: *confused expression* Okay, he can come too.

Therapist: Hello, Emíl.

Emíl: Hi.

Danny: I don’t like Miss High-And-Mighty-Therapist.

Emíl: Danny doesn’t like you.

Therapist: Tell me about Danny.

Danny: *sarcastic laughter*

Emíl: Why should I? You can’t see him, so it doesn’t matter.

Therapist: It’s my job to be your friend, Emíl.

Emíl: I don’t care about friends. I don’t need friends. I have Danny.

Therapist: Danny isn’t real, Emíl. You need to accept that.

Emíl: I don’t care! I don’t care! Leave me alone! *stands*

Therapist: Emíl, calm down.

Emíl: I’m not your child! You can’t tell me what to do! *runs out of the room*

Therapist: Emíl!

Emíl: Danny, I don’t like this anymore.

Danny: What do ya mean?

Emíl: This hospital. I want to get out.

Danny: Hang with me, man. This’ll be done soon.

Emíl: Are you sure?

Danny: Am I ever wrong?

Emíl: Nope.

Danny: Exactly. We’ll be outta here soon enough. Before you can say “Wow”

Emíl: Wow.

Danny: It’s an expression. We’ll be out soon. Soon.

Emíl: I sure hope so.

Danny: Well, you sure screwed over that therapist. Nice.

Emíl: She was annoying me.

Danny: Exactly.

Emíl: Is she going to come for me?

Danny: *looks at door* She’s here. Outside the door.

Emíl: *stands up angrily* Why can’t I just be alone?

Danny: It’s a mental hospital. You’re never alone. You’re on 24/7 surveillance.

Emíl: *groans*

Danny: I feel ya, bud. This place stinks to high heaven.

Emíl: It smells like death.

Danny: ... Kid?

Emíl: Yeah?

Danny: It is death.

Emíl: Right. That’s why I want to get out.

Danny: Same, Emíl. Same.

Emíl: I don’t understand. What’s so bad about you? You’re not bad.

Danny: But they think I am.

Emíl: Why?

Danny: Because normally, when people like you see people like me, the people like me are bad.

Emíl: That’s stupid.

Danny: Agreed. So hey, you wanna get out?

Emíl: You don’t have to ask. Of course I do.

Danny: Well, I’ve got someone you should meet.

Mr. Z: That’s my cue to come out from under the bed, right?

Emíl: What the- How long have you been there?

Mr. Z: Only since you went off to therapy. But God, this floor is disgusting. It smells like death.

Emíl & Danny: It is death.

Danny: Emíl, this is Mr. Z. He’s gonna help us get out.

Mr. Z: Right. *offers hand to Emíl*

Emíl: *shakes hand* You can get me out?

Mr. Z: Don’t sound so incredulous, kid. Yeah, I can.

Emíl: Great. When?

Mr. Z: Tonight, if you’re up for it.

Emíl: Wonderful. Let’s do it.

Therapist: *knocks on door* Emíl?

Danny: Let yourself in, poop head!

Emíl: *snorts*

Therapist: Emíl?

Emíl: Whatever I say, you’re coming in anyway, so whatever.

Therapist: *opens door and walks in*

Emíl: See? *looks at Danny*

Mr. Z: *looks at Danny* Smart kid.

Danny: What did I tell you?

Therapist: So, Emíl. This morning’s session didn’t go so well. Why don’t you tell me about Danny?

Emíl: Why don’t you pee standing up?

Danny: *snorts*

Therapist: Well... Um, because it’s not socially accepted.

Emíl: There you go.

Therapist: So Danny doesn’t want you to tell me.

Emíl: Danny doesn’t give a rat’s behind what you know. But if I tell you about him, you’ll drug me up until I can’t see him.

Therapist: Not necessarily.

Emíl: Danny says you’re scared of me and him.

Therapist: Should I be?

Emíl: No. We’re harmless.

Therapist: See? We’re getting somewhere.

Emíl: *laughs* If you say so.

Therapist: Emíl, Danny isn’t real.

Emíl: *frowns* Can you stop saying that? He is. You just can’t see him.

Danny: *walks behind Therapist and makes a face*

Emíl: *stifles a laugh*

Therapist: What’s so funny?

Emíl: *stops smiling* Nothing.

Therapist: What is Danny doing now?

Danny: Tell her I’m pretending to hump her.

Emíl: *smirks* He’s pretending to hump you.

Therapist: Oh. *wrinkles nose* Man, it does stink in here. It smells like death.

Danny: Oh, that’s rich.

Mr. Z: It doesn’t just smell like death...

Danny & Emíl: It is death.

Therapist: I’m sorry you feel that way.

Emíl: No you’re not. You just have to say that. If you were sorry, you’d let me out. But you’re not going to. Because then you’d lose money. Maybe even get fired.

Therapist: I’m not the enemy, Emíl.

Danny: Then stop acting like it.

Emíl: Then stop acting like it.

Therapist: *stands* Well, this has been fun. But our session is over.

Danny: Yeah, you chicken! Run away! Bawk!

Emíl: Bawk! Bawk!

Therapist: *walks out of the room shaking head*

Emíl: *sticks tongue out* Take that, poop face!

Mr. Z: *laughs*

Emíl: *turns to Mr. Z* So, can we leave yet?

Mr. Z: *looks outside*

Danny: It’s three in the afternoon.

Mr. Z: I guess we could try... but I was going to wait for eight.

Emíl: *sighs* I’m bored already.

Danny: Same. What to do?

Emíl: Let’s play that one game... what’s it called?

Danny: Shoplift?

Emíl: Yeah. That one.

Danny: *holds up a pillow and puts it on his head* Take this. Without me noticing.

Emíl: *grins* ’Kay.

Danny: Let’s blow this popsicle stand.

Emíl: *sneaks behind Danny and steals his wallet* Well...

Danny: You didn’t get the pillow.

Emíl: *grins* But I got your wallet.

Danny: You clever little thing!

Mr. Z: My plan was eight, but it seems the driver has arrived early.

Emíl: Now we really blow the popsicle stand.

Danny: Heck yeah, Emíl. We’re gonna blow the popsicle stand.

Emíl: Here’s your wallet back.

Danny: *takes wallet* Man, you sure are a nice thief.

Emíl: check your head.

Danny: How the- kid, you’re a freaking prodigy.

Mr. Z: *chuckles* *takes out phone* We’re on our way.

Through phone: Perfect.

Emíl: What’re we waiting for?

Mr. Z: Nothing! Let’s go!

Danny: *glares at Mr. Z in suspicion*

Emíl: C’mon, Danny! We’re getting out!

Danny: *grunts*

Mr. Z: Onwards!

*outside*

Emíl: Mr. Z, where are the guards?

Mr. Z: They’ve been... dealt with.

Emíl: Cool!

Danny: Look! The car!

Mr. Z: God damn— we’ve been spotted! Run! *dives into car*

Danny: *pushes Emíl into the car* Go!

Emíl: Danny!

Danny: Go, damn it, go!

Mr. Z: *starts car*

Emíl: No! Danny!

*car begins to drive away*

Emíl: Danny!

Danny: *whispering* See ya round, kid.

Emíl: *sobs* Danny... no...

THE END