The Last Laugh
The past.
“I forget your name,” Alister said, and he winced. He watched the muscleman clean the deep cuts on his palms.
“Milos,” he said. “Am I hurting you?”
“No,” Alister said, and he tried to place Milos’ accent. “What happened to your friends is what hurts.”
Milos paused then got back to cleaning the cuts.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Alister said. “I know what you’re feeling because I’ve had to live it every day.”
Milos continued to work without pause.
“And the hurt I feel will never go away. After you die, there will be another.”
Milos placed white medical tape over the gauze. “I’d prefer we didn’t talk about it.”
“There is always another.”
Milos slapped Alister’s knee. “There, that should do it.”
“You’re Hispanic.”
“What?”
“I’m trying to place your accent.”
“I’m Portuguese.”
“I never would have gotten that.”
Alister squeezed and opened his hand. The pain was intense.
“We should get going,” Milos said. “There are a lot of people I had to put in place to make this work. They’re all awaiting your arrival.”
“And they all know what they need to know about me?”
“Yes. Follow me.”
Milos led Alister through hallways lined with pipes and lit with dim pigtail lights that blinked. They walked up two flights of steps and out a steel door that squealed when it opened. Alister took two steps outside and climbed into the back of a parked van.
“Where am I being taken?”
Milos sat in the driver’s seat and turned to face Alister. He faced forward and started the van.
“You are being taken to a facility called Sunnyside Capable Care Mental Institution. It’s a hospital, and you’ll be given a private room similar to solitary confinement in prison. You’ll be given three squares a day, and all necessities will be provided.”
Inside the van, the back and side windows were covered with cardboard and duct tape. Alister subconsciously fought the sway of the vehicle while his mind was immersed in a distant possibility. “Maybe I have a chance of beating this thing.”
Milos nodded. “I hope so.” Blood trickled from his nose. He wiped the blood away and pressed the gas pedal. The engine revved, and the vehicle lurched forward. “It seems this is the beginning of the end for me.”
Alister could see his worry. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Milos jerked the van to a sudden halt, turned around in his seat and looked at Alister. “I hope to be back in a minute so I can finish this.” He got out of the van. “Wait here.” He slammed the door shut and ran away.
Out of the front window of the van, Alister watched a man dressed in all white run toward him. He was pushing a wheelchair.
“No,” Alister said. Sorrow settled in his chest and wrapped his heart. “Why are you doing this to me?” he asked the curse.
The side door of the van slid open, and the man waited for Alister without word or eye contact.
Alister exited the van and sat in the wheelchair. He was pushed across the parking lot and into the side entrance of a building he had no doubt was the hospital Milos had mentioned.
An entourage of people waited and whispered until Alister neared. As if each move were rehearsed, he was moved through long, bright hallways. The floors were polished to a high gloss, the ceilings and walls were a sterile white and doors with small windows were lined one after the other. Distant, muffled shouts of torment gave the hospital an ominous feel.
They rounded a corner, and there was a woman in a wheelchair speaking to someone that couldn’t be seen by others. She was being pushed down the hallway toward Alister as her babble grew louder. A wild, distant stare accompanied her rant, and her focus became fixated on Alister.
“You,” the insane woman said. Her eyes filled with rage, and she pointed a bent finger at him. “You reap what you sow!”
She jumped out of her chair, and before anyone could react, she was on top of Alister. She raked her fingernails across his face and slapped him.
“You wonder why you’re being pursued by that invisible demon when you’re the one who invited it in?”
Alister tried to protect himself, but the blows kept coming.
“Get her off of me!”
But they had already gotten her back in her wheelchair. Everyone had stopped and looked at him.
“What have you done?” a man with a crooked nose asked Alister. He was dressed in a suit and tie rather than a white doctor’s uniform like everyone else.
“I…”
“Why would you?” the man asked. If Alister had gotten to know him, he would have known him as Director Lofton.
“I’m sorry,” Alister said.
“Get him into his room now before he infects someone else.”
“My God,” Alister said, and he looked at all the people that were there. “What have I done?”
“Murderer,” the insane woman said. Her accusation was loud, clear and true.
Alister stood up from the wheelchair and walked to his room. “I’m sorry,” he said as he closed the door. He rested his forehead against the door. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry.”