“The doctor didn’t believe what you said, Nut. I told him you broke your own fingers just to get attention, and he believed me. That’s because it’s true.” He grasped my middle finger with his fist and began bending it back. “You did break your own fingers. You’re not writing now, are you?”
Yes I am.
More and more he bends back my finger. Blinding lights flash as I feel the bones crack, the ends grind together. I vomit from the pain. It covers my cheek, wets my hair. I hate vomit.
Hicks laughs.
“I don’t clean this wing, Nut. Let’s see if we can make you crap, too.” He begins bending back my right ring finger.
The world gets soft and black.
All of my fingers are broken. Both of my hands are in casts. I am clean and the sheets are clean, my arms still in restraints.
“If you ask me to do it,” says the Misty Man, “I will take care of those who cause you pain. We have to do it together. You must want and I will do. If you do not want, I cannot do. I’ll kill Hicks. Your doctor. Anyone.”
“Everyone isn’t bad,” I tell him. “Even Hicks and the doctor. They aren’t evil. The doctor is washed up, frustrated, hurt, old, disappointed with his life. He can’t see the pain in others because his own pain fills his sight. Hicks is the same. The world is populated with men and women who are just like them. I’m like them. I couldn’t kill them for that.”
Smug laughter comes from the Misty Man’s image. “You tried to kill the doctor for that.”
“No.” I turn my face away from the dark. “I was wrong. I didn’t think. I just reacted. The doctor doesn’t deserve to die for what he thinks.”
“What he thinks of you?”
“Especially for what he thinks of me.”
“What then for the doctor? I think you know it’s time to do something. They’ve replaced the caretaker you killed for me with someone who is very gentle and kind. In a like manner, I could help you.”
I think. There has to be something between doing nothing and doing murder. Another option or two. After all, I’m not some kind of psycho killer. “The doctor needs different work,” I tell the Misty Man. “Something away from here.”
For a long time the Misty Man is silent. “At least let me kill Hicks,” asks the creature.
Something, either compassion or vengeance, touched my heart. “Hicks is sick,” I told the Misty Man. “He needs help. Hicks needs to be in here.”
The image of the Misty Man fills with blue lights and a few yellow glows. It fades and I am again alone. I let the anger, the pain, the rage fill me until I scream the universe out of existence.
The new doctor closes the folder and tosses it on his desk. He has his diplomas and certificates hanging on the wall as though he wants to be there.
He wears black-rimmed glasses and works with his tie down and his sleeves rolled up. Danny says he’s a good man. I agree with him. The Misty Man did very well. I wonder what happened to the old doctor.
The desk is new, as is the chair in which I am sitting. Instead of pajamas I am wearing my raw silk sport jacket and tan slacks. Suede shoes are on my feet. Socks, too.
I put them all on myself. I fed myself, washed myself, made my own way to the new doctor’s office. I lean forward and eye a manila folder upon the new doctor’s new desk and grin inwardly as the world suddenly opens its doors.
My name is Paul Linden.
Mr. Paul Linden.
It’s printed in big letters right on my file folder. Now I know my name. Suddenly I’m sane.
“With what you’ve suffered here, Paul, I don’t know how many of us could have maintained our sanity, much less your excellent attitude,” says the new doctor. He speaks in a calm but rapid manner. My imaginary fingers have difficulty keeping up.
“They were human beings doing the best they could with what they had,” I answer. “Besides, forgiveness is the price of serenity, isn’t it?”
The doctor nods, a big smile on his face. He waves his hand at my folder. “You’ve been rather suddenly cleared of all charges, which means that your reason for being committed here expired with them. If you want, I imagine you could sue the police, the state, and this institution for a considerable fortune.”
“I’m aware of that, doctor. I can’t afford to be vindictive, however. Things happen, and I understand that. Besides, resentment and revenge can eat me alive. I’ve learned that much here. As far as I’m concerned, the past is past.”
“Well, the sessions we’ve had together, as well as all of your tests, show you to be one of the best adjusted humans on Earth. Of course no one will ever accuse the previous administration of this institution with keeping too many records.”
He laughs.
I laugh.
The Misty Man laughs.
Doctor and former patient stand, shake hands, and laugh again. It is funny. The right papers aren’t there, the right persons aren’t available, and out of the shadows comes this editor of Danny’s, Herb Liselli, to admit to everything.
In the hallway the doctor walks ahead to talk with the guard on the security door. I stay behind for a moment. Danny and a dozen other patients are waiting to say good-bye. Danny turns away, hurt that I am leaving him there.
“Danny. Good-bye.”
Danny shrugs, shakes his dark curls, and keeps his eyes closed. “Guess I’ll miss you, Nut. You didn’t tell the new doc anything about my plan, did you? You didn’t tell him what I’m going to do to Boyle?”
“No. Do you think I’m crazy?”
“You sure?”
“I don’t remember it, Danny.” I lower my voice. “I didn’t write it down, so how could I remember it?”
I give Danny a big hug and whisper in his ear, “You remember Herb Liselli, that editor you want to dismember?”
I feel Danny’s head nod against my cheek. “He’s coming here as a patient, Danny. It shouldn’t be more than a few weeks.”
“Are you sure?” Danny asks in a whisper, his eyes as wide with promise as a child’s on Christmas morning.
“The Misty Man worked it. Call it a gift from me to you.” Danny holds me at arm’s length, tears of gratitude in his eyes. I squeeze Danny’s shoulder and look at the other patients. Teddy, Mike, Grandma, Rough Stuff and the rest. I nod to a few, touch hands with them, give another hug or two.
When done, I ask Danny, “Where’s Hicks?”
“We brought him.” Danny points to a patient squatting and leaning his shoulder against the wall, his arms wrapped around his knees. Hicks’s eyes look around, his neck muscles twitching. Danny stands next to him and Hicks cowers and covers his head with his arms.
“Don’t hit me!” he cries quietly. “Please, don’t hit me.”
I squat in front of him. I can see one of Hicks’s eyes, wide and frightened, peering at me from between trembling forearms. “I’m leaving now, Hicks. Keep trying, let these people help you, and you’ll be fine.” I pat his arm. “Every now and then I’ll be back to visit you.”
Hicks violently shakes his head and whimpers. I squeeze his shoulder and stand up. I hug Danny again, say some more good-byes, and go to the security door. I hug the new doctor and nod at the guard. The guard isn’t a hugger.
“What’ll you do after this, Paul?” asks the new doctor.
“I’m going back to my old job at Defense. But, Doc, come the election don’t be surprised if the President nominates someone who looks a lot like me to be the new Secretary of Defense.”
The doctor frowns and cocks his head to one side. “You’re not setting yourself up for a big fall, are you, Paul? Those confirmation hearings can get pretty rugged. Even though you were cleared of those charges, you did have a minor breakdown. Are you certain the President would want to put you through something like that?”