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EDWARD DEANGELIS
“So, any more suicidal thoughts, Mr. Winchester?” The man addressing me was Doctor Roger Marsh. He didn’t even look at me as he typed away on his small laptop. His voice uncaring, almost robotic in its lack of tone.
“I’m not suicidal, I keep telling you that. But you and all the other staff here won’t listen to me.” My skin was turning red as my heart rate rose. But it was useless to get angry. I glanced down at the chair I was sitting in and the leather retraining wraps that were built into the armrests. Breathing deeply, I looked back at Dr. Marsh and tried to calm myself. The Sherwood Mental Health Institute was funded by the State. But due to its isolation and the need for more space for those deemed mentally unstable, it was not really inspected, and such restraints and other things, despite being illegal, were used frequently within its walls. And I did not wish to experience them.
Finally, I caught a glimpse of Dr. Marsh’s dark brown eyes as they rose slowly to glance at me after my response. They flickered to my bandaged left wrist and forearm.
“Your injury suggests otherwise.” He kept those piercing eyes locked on me.
Dr. Marsh was not a big man. He was in his mid-forties and had black hair lined with streaks of grey, a rather gangly sort of man, with a long, pinched nose that his glasses constantly fell low on. But those eyes were blank and devoid of emotion. Their intensity and the emptiness behind them, made me shiver, more so because I knew what he could have done to me, and I wondered what went on behind those dark eyes. I had stared into my share of large, black eyes during my life, but this was one of the few times I was afraid.
Clenching my jaw, I raised my uninjured arm and rubbed my temples. “I told you I was not trying to kill myself. I had a small device implanted in me the last time the Visitors came. Normally, what they do to me doesn’t hurt, but they must have misjudged or been trying something new. ’Cuz my entire arm ached when they returned me. I tried going to a doctor to have it removed, but they said there was nothing there. So I had to remove it myself. You have the paperwork from the hospital. They said there was nothing there, but sure enough, I cut out a small bit of metal that was surrounded by nerve bundles.”
“What you pulled from your arm, Mr. Winchester, was a small bit of the knife you had used. The very tip broke off as it scraped against your—”
“No, it wasn’t!” My hand, which had been rubbing my temples, now slammed down into the armrest. “You know it wasn’t, and the other doctors know it wasn’t. That is why the knife and the small bit of metal I pulled out are missing!”
Dr. Marsh raised a hand, and only then did I notice one of the massive orderlies, named Rocco, had stepped inside the room and came toward me. He was a massive hulk of a man. His side job was probably a wrestler for the WWE.
“So tell me, Mr. Winchester, how long have you suffered from headaches, bouts of rage, and delusions about aliens?”
“I don’t suffer from headaches, rage, or delusions. You won’t listen to me. No one in my family will listen. Since the start of mankind, there have been reports of aliens coming to our planet, watching us, guiding us, shaping our future. Taking us, taking me.”
Clicking about on his laptop, Dr. Marsh sighed softly. “So it seems we can trace your delusions back to when you were thirteen. At least that's what your parents told us.” He looked over to Rocco. “Rocco, please take Mr. Winchester back to his room.” He scribbled something onto one of his medical prescription pads before tearing it off.
“And once he is safe and secure, please take this list of medications I am prescribing for Mr. Winchester and give them to whatever nurse is on duty in his wing.”
“I don’t want any medication. I won’t take them!” There was nothing wrong with me, and I was terrified of what would happen to me. I had seen others here. They were basically walking zombies, so drugged up they just sat there, their minds turned to mush.
“Come now, the medication is meant to help you. If it works, you can go home in a week or two. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Dr. Marsh waved me off like he was dismissing a child, and with that simple wave, a massive hand encircled my good arm and yanked me out of the chair. Pain shot up my arm and radiated from my shoulder, but I knew better than to resist. I had seen Rocco and others take down other patients for as little as verbal defiance, another fact that proved the Sherwood Mental Institute made their own rules, despite their government funding.
“Let’s go.” Rocco grunted as he began to escort—well, more like drag—me from the room.
I quickly sped up to prevent myself from actually being dragged, as I had seen him and other orderlies do to other patients in the first two days I had been here. And seeing as this was only my third day being locked up, I wasn’t eager to ruffle anyone's feathers, despite my mounting frustration and fear. Rocco led me down a simple hallway. The building, at least the inside, was rather plain, white walls and ceilings with old lamp fixtures providing that sterile phosphorescent glow. We passed a few doors, but I had no idea what was behind them. We paused briefly as we reached the locked doorway that separated the staff’s area from our own. Passing through, we entered the common room, a small cafeteria-like room where they fed us shitty meals and allowed us social time with one another—which, of course, revolved around a few decks of cards and a TV that never was on. There was a telephone, but no one ever used it. I doubt it worked, unless the staff wanted it to.
As with most things in Sherwood, that social time was also something I dreaded. My first two days I had been huddled alone, watching as some patients were force-fed applesauce and other mush laced with pills. While the least medicated patients waited for the orderlies to leave for a smoke break, it was then the true horror started, as those with enough rational thought took their aggression out on one another. Yesterday, I had watched as two male patients converged upon one of the drugged-up female patients. I knew if I intervened, they would turn on me like some kind of savage animals. So I just closed my eyes and waited for the orderlies to come back. When they did, they yelled and hollered when they found her sprawled behind her table, her gown torn to shreds. I could not stand to look at her as they herded us back to our rooms. I didn’t want to see what they had done to her.
Night was the best, but in some ways also the worst. I was locked in my small, but not uncomfortable, room, with a tiny barred window that allowed a small glimpse of the surrounding woodland and, at night, the moon. There was a plain, prison-issue toilet, which had a small sink attached to it as well, with a small stack of paper cups for water. But beyond that, not much else. My room light only stayed on as long as the staff allowed, which since there was not a clock, was only slightly past sundown. At least in my room I was safe, but I was also alone, no one to talk to. Well, as long as you don’t count the howlers. That is the name I gave the patients who decided that nighttime was the correct time to be extra vocal. Tonight, though, ended differently from most, as right before lights out, my door was unlocked and in came Rocco and Nurse Louise, who was one of the night-shift nurses.
She smiled; it was not a warm welcoming smile, but cold. “Well, hello, Mr. Winchester. I am here to deliver your nightly medications. “Louise held out a small disposable soufflé cup, which was filled to the brim with all kinds of differently colored pills, then nodded toward Rocco, who went and filled up one of my small paper cups on my sink-toilet combo.
“I... I don’t want those. I don’t need them.” The sheer size of the pills had me worried. If it had been maybe a pill or two, I would have just done it. But this, who knows what they all were and what they would do to me. I feared that I would become one of the zombie-patients, lifeless, without any noticeable thought or mention, and left to the wild whims of those who could still act in the common room.
She kept that cold smile on her face, but I saw those blue eyes twinkle in amusement at my feeble protest. “Come now, Mr. Winchester, I even put something in here to help you relax and rest. Now come over here and take your medicine.”
I shook my head adamantly. My lips sealed. I backed up against the wall next to my bed.
Louise’s smile grew just a bit as she shrugged slightly and glanced at Rocco. “Rocco, would you help Mr. Winchester take his pills.”
I glanced over toward where Rocco had been by the sink, but by the time I looked, there was already a massive hand around my throat and under my jaw. I could breathe still, but not without trouble.
“My pleasure, Louise.” And Rocco’s voice was filled with a hint of pleasure, but mostly of annoyance. “Now, Mr. Winchester. You are going to open your mouth and take your meds. If you don’t, then I will open your mouth for you.” Rocco’s fingers moved and began to apply a growing and painful amount of pressure on my jaw.
I was shaking, as I knew he was not bluffing. He would hurt me and make it seem like some kind of accident that was my fault.
The pressure stopped after a few painful seconds and he turned my head sharply, so my eyes were locked on his. “Do you understand?”
“Yesss.” My response was more of a soft hiss, as his hand was still around my throat.
In an instant the pressure was gone, and he, like Nurse Louise, had developed a cold smile on his face. “Good.” He thrust the small cup of water into my hand, spilling some of it in the process, before stepping away.
Following his withdrawal, Nurse Louise advanced and placed the cup of pills into my other free hand. She stood there watching, that empty smile, and what I now identified as cruel-looking eyes, stared at me. “Go on, Mr. Winchester.”
I had no choice but to comply. So, swallowing my fear first, I raised the tiny cup filled with pills, and dumped them into my mouth, before doing the same with the water. I gulped loudly, feeling the large clump slide down my throat. I almost gagged, but forced myself not to.
“Good boy.” She turned away and made her way swiftly from my room. Rocco followed behind, then stopped, turning around to look at me again. “Oh, one more thing, Mr. Winchester, if you vomit them up and flush them down your toilet, or even if Louise has an inkling that you did, your water will be turned off, and your new toilet... and sink... will be a bucket. So I suggest you lay down and go to sleep.” With his warning over, Rocco slammed my door closed and shut off the lights.
I lay down, my body still shaking from the encounter, my mind awhirl with thoughts of drug overdoses or medications interacting poorly with one another. I had seen and heard of such things all my life on TV, and now my fate was in the hands of some doctor who didn’t really care about my well-being. Somewhere amid the tidal waves of thoughts, scenarios, and fears, the sleeping medicine kicked in and blackness overtook my mind. I dreamed of days past.
***
THE LIGHTS, THEY ARE so bright. I can hardly see, and I cannot move. But I am not afraid. Slowly the lights dim, and I see them, the Visitors. This time it is the Greys. Four of them surround me as I lay upon some kind of table, strange devices held in their three long-fingered hands. It had been a while since the Greys had last taken me, but that was OK. Slowly, my eyes locked looked into the Grey’s giant black eyes next to me. Inside my head I could suddenly feel something, and then a feeling entered my thoughts. No word, but just a very strong feeling.
“Welcome.”
Others entered soon after, but none as strong. Curiosity, familiarity, other things that I didn’t recognize. But never anything that made me worry. I have always heard of the abductions, where people are hurt, or eggs or sperm are taken. But that has never, to my knowledge, happened to me on any of my abductions.
After a few moments, the Greys step back and the lights around me fade. I can suddenly move. My body jerks as most of my muscles suddenly convulse. I sit up and gaze around. I am naked, but once again, I am used to that. They and others have taken me since I was thirteen. Every time I end up naked. But this was new. Never before had they allowed me to get up.
“Follow.”
I feel the Greys’ desire. I am not sure which one is projecting the feeling, or if it is all of them. But the one farthest from me motions for me to follow. I stand, and my legs wobble, but I regain my balance quickly. Slowly, I follow, walking behind the tiny hobbit-sized Alien. I follow down strange hallways. The walls look almost like liquid, or like gas or metal. Solid, but somehow not. Eventually, the Grey turns right. I notice and follow, but in doing so see the other Greys have not followed us. We entered a large room filled with screens, but screens made of solid light. A dozen or so Greys stood at various stations, long fingers moving quickly as they touched and drew their fingers all along the displays. My “escort” stood silent for a moment. Without any visible signal, the other Greys turned in unison to stare at me, but their large, smooth heads and massive, black eyes turned upward.
My eyes followed, and I soon found myself staring at nine screens. Within each one was a different alien, well, the head of an alien, and in some cases, also their shoulders. The screens flickered and all the creatures turned and stared at me and my Grey escort. On the far left screen was a Grey, but he was a bluish Grey. On the middle right was a creature that I could only describe, at least from what I knew, as a Bigfoot. Toward the middle of the screen was some kind of humanoid reptile creature. He, out of all the creatures that I could make out, also seemed to have some kind of garment on. The rest were too hard to see, their appearances shielded by shadows, I assumed from their end of wherever they were. One silhouetted figure, I swear, appeared to have a giant bird head on human shoulders.
I stood there for... Well, not long, but not short. Time was hard to tell due to lack of sunlight or clocks. But the Greys stood silently, while some of the creatures spoke, making various hisses, clicking noises, and a variety of other sounds that I cannot really relate to anything I have heard before. Soon, the Greys turned about and began going back to business on their strange machines. The one that had escorted me turned and motioned for me to follow as it once more took off down the hallway. We didn’t go back the same hallway we had taken before, at least I don’t think we did. We passed an open doorway and a suddenly familiar sound issued from within.
“Mooooo.”
“Ah shit.” I peered into the doorway. I knew what I would see, and I knew I shouldn’t have. But I did anyway. Inside was a poor cow. It stood confused, and probably terrified, inside some kind of pen made of light beams. That was not the worst part, or the part I expected. What was next to the dairy cow was what I had seen countless times: a massive steer floating above some kind of strange device, its insides spilled out as two Greys moved around it, collecting some strange substance that issued from a machine that was collecting the blood and other parts of the steer that were thrown in. As I said, I have never felt in danger from the Greys, or had them do terrible things to me that other people had reported. But the cow thing... Yeah, the cow thing I saw often. I think the goo they harvested they used as food, but that is just a guess from theories I had heard on Earth.
“Follow.” I felt the desire of the Grey, but this time it was stronger, so quickly frowning at the poor creatures in the room, I turned and continued walking.
“Wake up.”
I tilted my head, looking down at the Grey, but he was gone. I spun, looking down endless corridors.
“Wake up!”
The hallways began to shake. What the hell was going on? This never happened before when they took me. Was there a problem with the ship?
“Mr. Winchester, wake UP!”
***
“WHA... WHAT’S GOING?” I mumbled the half-coherent words as I was awakened from my slumber, my dream, my memory fading already while everything was still dark. My thoughts were sluggish.
“About damn time. Get your lazy ass up and get to the common room. Breakfast is being served. And we still need to take your blood pressure.” I could hear the annoyance that saturated Nurse Louise's voice. Her vise-like grip on my shoulders was released before pushing me back down onto the bed. I could hear her walking away, her soft grumbles unintelligible. Why is she waking me up so early? It’s still dark out. I can’t even see any...
“I can’t SEE!”
Waving my hands in front of my face did nothing. There was only total darkness. But there was more than just the blindness. Moving was a struggle. My arms felt like they were pushing through molasses as I waved them. “Nurse! Help me! I can’t see. I can’t move!” I cried out in fear-fueled desperation toward where I knew the doorway was. I thought Nurse Louise had left, until I heard a deep, irritated sigh.
“I’m not in the mood for your bullshit, Mr. Winchester. Get your ass up and to the common room for breakfast, then on to have your blood pressure taken. So stop your lies and get up... or else I will have Rocco come in here if you really need help. But he is already upset enough at having been called in early due to Jimmy calling in. So I would suggest you not make me bother him on your behalf.” Fading footfalls echoed for a few moments as Nurse Louise left.
“But... I...” My remaining objections turned into pitiful whimpers while my mind recoiled from my horrific situation. How long I lay there a gibbering wreck, I do not know. But it couldn’t have been long, since Rocco never came. Finally, my logical mind began to reassert itself. And I knew if I didn’t do something, I would be in worse trouble. Slowly, I began to sit up, pushing myself through what I perceived as “thick” air. I managed to stand, but by the time that feat was managed, I was drenched in sweat. But I was rewarded for my effort. A sudden thick crack of light filled my eyes. It was blurry, but in that slim crack I could make out my feet. Well, mostly just my toes. I don’t know how or why, but that slight image gave me hope. My movement remained ponderous. But I managed to get into the common room. My shins and toes suffered from my lack of visibility. I sat there for hours, asking anyone who came by me for help, trying to explain what was going on, pleading for assistance. But the only person who listened or seemed to care was silent. Every once in a while, a soft, slender, reassuring hand would reach out and stroke my head or rub my back. I tried speaking to them, but they never answered, although from time to time, the kind silent soul reached out and touched me, silently letting me know I was not alone.
“All right, everyone, you’d better all behave. We have something really quick to take care of.”
I didn’t recognize the voice who announced the soon-to-be orderly-free, nurse-free common room. But I knew what it meant. I lowered my head onto the table and slowly dragged my arms to my head and waited.
Two door slams later, the giggling started. The sadistic un-drugged residents, who I had duly named “The Pack,” had free, although, only temporary, reign over the common room and all inside. If they had heard, and remembered, and understood my pleas, they would come for me, knowing I was weak. I heard them roaming about. Their mad chuckling laughter was a terrifying thing to hear. It reminded me of a hyena searching for prey. The pack of them came behind me, and rough hands pushed me. But I didn’t move. I just, for lack of a better term, played dead. That is when the screaming began. I heard them all begin to scream. The table began to shake, and tears began to roll down my cheeks. They knew, and they would tear me apart for my weakness. My body shook, but after a few moments, and no blow fell on my trembling tense flesh, an understanding dawned in my mind. One of the screams was much different and was coming from next to me.
The Pack had decided to attack another—the silent comforter that had sat beside me all day long. They had chosen her—I knew it was her because of her screams, high-pitched wails of pain and terror. I began a mantra of soft whispered pleas. “Please stop, please leave her alone, please stop, please leave her alone.” I whispered this over and over. I wanted to rock, but such a simple motion was impossible with my current mobility issues.
The attack was over almost as quickly as it had begun. But for me it seemed like an eternity while I heard the woman’s screams next to me rise and rise, until screams became whimpering moans, and finally whimpering moans became rasping gurgles... Then there was only the giggling clamor of her assailants, and even those began to fade as The Pack dispersed. I reached out, my leaden arm feeling around next to me. I felt someone, but quickly drew my hand back when my fingers became wet. I could not see what it was, but I had a horrible feeling. Blood. I slowly wiped the fluid off on my pants leg.
And that’s when the shouting began again. But not from The Pack.
“Holy fuck! Damnit!” I heard Rocco proclaim from the far end of the common room. But his voice was not filled with concern and horror; just anger and annoyance.
“Damnit, Anna, Carol, get in here. These lunatics tore old Cheryl apart. Fuck!”
I kept still, not knowing what to do. But his words did register. The calming person next to me had been Cheryl, an older patient. I could not be sure, but I remembered an older lady, kinda wild hair, but soft and kind features, who kept mostly to herself. I had assumed she had been one of the zombie-patients, but I had assumed wrong. I had only known her as a soft, comforting hand. But in this place that was more than anyone else had given me. I wept freely again, my head still on the table as I mourned the loss of the life next to me. Yet there was also a feeling of relief that it had not been me. I could feel people rushing by me, surrounding Cheryl. A discordant symphony of voices all speaking at once.
“Is she still breathing?”
“Yes, but barely. Her pulse is weak.”
“Christ, are those bite marks?”
“Dear God, they bit her ear off.”
“Go get a cart. We don’t have a choice. We're going to have transport her to the hospital.”
It was then I finally decided to speak up. “Is she going to be OK?” That was a mistake, as I now drew the ire of the most dangerous Pack in Sherwood.
“Winchester!” Rocco’s voice thundered in my ears, “Did you help do this? You sick fuck.”
I had slowly lifted my head and raised my hands before me, palms outward. “No... I didn’t hurt her... I can’t even see. Something... is wrong with—”
“Look at his hands, and his pants. He has her blood on him.” I didn’t recognize what the nurse was saying. But the malice-filled accusation in her voice was unmistakable.
“No, please I—” Pain blossomed on the side of my head as something slammed into me. But thankfully, darkness came, and I knew no more.
***
I AWOKE SOMETIME LATER, my head throbbing. I didn’t wish to move for fear of making the pain worse. I heard voices, but this time they were calm. I could only see a bright light above me, and for a moment, I hoped I had been taken again, that I had been rescued from this living hell. But that hope dwindled as my senses fully returned. The table was wrong. The light was wrong. The few things I was able to see in my peripheral vision were also wrong. And then, it finally hit me that the calm voices I heard were speaking in English. I was still in the institute. I focused now on the voices trying to discern what had happened and where I was.
“Yes, Mr. Winchester is stable.”
That voice I did not recognize.
“And your findings are?” Dr. Marsh, but the buzz that mingled with his voice let me know he was speaking through an intercom or a speaker on a phone.
“The drug combination you prescribed, along with the sleeping pills Nurse Louise added, had adverse effects on the patient. His muscles were so relaxed that he couldn’t even open his eyelids to see. Any kind of movement would have been extremely difficult. To be honest, I don’t know how he was even able to move, much less think. He had some kind of strange chemical imbalance that allowed him to act in a limited manner. It’s rather amazing. I have never seen—”
“I am not interested in how amazing it is. Do you think he was part of the attack on the other patient?” Dr. Marsh interrupted, his tone impatient.
There was a protracted silence, before the unknown man answered, annoyance laced his voice. “No.”
Dr. Marsh sighed. “Very well. Finish your report and send for the nurse. She will return Mr. Winchester to his room.”
“I have also taken the liberty of correcting the dosage levels of the various medications you have prescribed for him. They were too high.”
I gave this mysterious man, who I now assumed was also some kind of doctor, silent thanks. It was clear by the inflections in his words that he was displeased with Dr. Marsh.
“Your opinion has been noted.”
I heard a loud click as the call was ended.
“Pompous asshole, gonna get us shut down.”
Dissension in the ranks. The thought thundered in my head. Perhaps this new doctor could, and would, be willing to help me. And now that Dr. Marsh was no longer listening, my opportune moment had arrived.
“Immun, ffuinn... uummmgh” The words that formed clearly within my mind, slipped from my lips as if I spoke them from under a sea of honey.
“Ydduingre... pppiim,” I tried once again in vain to speak, but as before, I failed, the words coming forth, like those of a senseless drunk.
“Ah, Mr. Winchester, awake I see. I would say I am surprised, due to the cocktail of drugs still coursing through you, along with the nasty bump on your head, but as you possibly heard me tell Dr. Marsh, you have some very strange, albeit beneficial, chemical imbalances in your body.”
“Vvees... hauunig?” I continued my struggle to speak, but to no avail.
“Yes, yes I am sure you have questions. As do I. But don’t worry, I shall find the answers I seek within you, and perhaps I might even answer some of yours. But for now you will need to go back to your room.” There was a loud beep followed by an unknown female’s voice.
“Yes, Dr. Konrad?”
“Please come in here, Nurse, and take Mr. Winchester back to his room.”
“Yes, Doctor.” The same click I had heard before putting an end to the call. A few seconds later, the door opened and a slender blonde-haired nurse made her way in and began to wheel me out on the gurney I had been lying on.
“Oh, Nurse, one more thing,” Dr. Konrad chimed in, right before I was pushed out.
“Yes, Doctor?”
“Make sure Nurse Louise receives Mr. Winchester’s updated pill regimen, and that she understands that he is to be kept to it. No adding anything extra like she previously did.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
As the nurse wheeled me out, I once again allowed a sliver of hope to grow within me. Perhaps this new doctor would help me; perhaps he cared somewhat for his patients. Whether it was the drugs still in my system or the comforting thought that someone in this place might actually look out for me, I finally slept well that night.
***
MY HOPE WAS QUICKLY crushed. Like a bug beneath a boot, I was destroyed. Instead of being my savior, Dr. Konrad became my tormentor. Sure, he checked on me daily to make sure my prescription dosages were not messed with or altered by Dr. Marsh, but he then gave me his own personal concoctions of drugs, testing my reactions both visibly and internally. I was like some kind of lab animal, tested all day long until my arms were covered in purple bruises from all the needle marks. Soon after that, he resorted to injecting me in other places: between my toes, under my tongue. By the end of the first week of his special treatments, I looked like a long-term heroin addict.
Today, like many other days in the past two weeks, I was in Dr. Konrad’s office. At least today it was his actual office and not the experimentation room that I had been confined to for the past week, when I was... experimented on. But today, all I had to do was drink various concoctions. Most just tasted horrible, but the last one I drank now had my stomach cramping terribly.
“It hurts. My stomach is cramping.” I knew to keep my answers short and to the point. Dr. Konrad wanted direct answers. Trying to reason with him or attempting to talk things out rarely worked... and many times ended with my suffering at his hand increasing the pain tenfold.
“Yes, well that’s to be ex— “Dr. Konrad paused before letting out a mirthless chuckle. “I apologize, Mr. Winchester. The common phrase I was about to express would be done a great injustice to the current situation. In fact, there is nothing about you that I would expect, beyond finding the unexpected. For example, the fact that all of your current symptoms are only severe stomach cramps is amazing. You should be vomiting, and most likely having a seizure by now from the poison you ingested.”
Dr. Konrad’s nonchalant admission to poisoning me startled me beyond comprehension.
“You—you poisoned me?” I stuttered my speech, half due to the shock of being told I had just been served poison, and also due to a rather large cramp within my gut.
“Yes, but don’t worry, you will live.” Dr. Konrad stood and made his way over to me, a simple needle clutched in his hand.
I tensed, fingers curling into fists when I saw the needle. Dr. Konrad must have seen my tension, because he stopped and gazed down at me and shook his head. “Now, now, don’t worry. This is the one and only drawing for today. Now, you can behave... or we can move this into the other room.”
I knew he was not bluffing. Dr. Konrad was anything but frail. He looked like he went to the gym with Rocco after work. He was easily over six feet tall, and, although not the bodybuilder that Rocco was, he was solidly built. I knew firsthand, as he had personally restrained me on a few occasions during my first visits. He... was not gentle. So I forced myself to relax. I felt him inspecting me, probing, prodding, and poking, to find an area that was not bruised and overworked. I felt a pinch finally on my thigh, and after a second it was done.
“See, now that wasn’t so bad. I will study this later tonight, but I have exciting news I thought I should share with you. You are aware of what drew me a few weeks ago?” Dr. Konrad made his way back to behind his desk, putting the needle down somewhere behind it, before he held up a manila folder, waving it at me as he asked the question.
“Yes, my blood and some kind of chemical imbalance.” I reached, gently rubbing my injection site.
“Yes well...” He cleared his throat, and a strange eerie smile crept onto his face. “That was just the beginning. You, Mr. Winchester, are going to make me famous and rather rich. You see, you don’t have a chemical imbalance. The fact is, you're not human. Well, not fully. You have human DNA, but something else. It was hard to find, and I had to send much of your blood work out to have it inspected by specialists. But all the tests came back positive.
“You are a hybrid.”
***
“I’M A WHAT?” SURELY I had heard Dr. Konrad wrong.
“A hybrid, a mix between human and... well, I am not sure, but I will make the assumption you are part of those ‘visitors’ you have always ranted about and attempted to convince others they exist. Oh, and congratulations are in order I suppose. As you have indeed convinced me that the little green men—”
“The Greys, not greens.” I saw Dr. Konrad purse his lips at my quick interruption to correct his mistake.
“Their color does not matter. All that matters is that they have done something to you. Now, whether this occurred after you were born, before you were born, or even unknowingly to your parents, is something I am going to find out. Sadly, I do not have access to your parents, but with your now extended stay time with us, I will have plenty of time...”
“Wait, what? What do you mean extended stay time? I was only to be held here for four months.” My voice rose as panic began to build, the pain in my stomach forgotten.
Dr. Konrad closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, clearly aggravated at being interrupted again. “Yes, well, while that might have been true when you first arrived here. Sadly due to your psychotic outburst a few weeks ago, that resulted in the sad and untimely death of one Miss Agatha May, we have convinced the court, and your family, that your stay should be... prolonged. So...”
“But I didn’t do that! I... I even heard you tell Dr. Marsh that I was too drugged to have done anything. I—”
“Enough!” Dr. Konrad's patience had finally been worn through by my constant interruptions. “If you continue to interrupt me, Mr. Winchester, we will have to take this conversation to the other room.”
Like a well-trained dog who had just been presented with a collar, my mouth snapped shut and I sank down deeper into the large leather chair, my eyes quickly looking down in an unknown sign of submission. That room was filled with straps and pain, and I would do almost anything to stay in here.
“That’s better. Now, as I was saying, your stay here has been prolonged. You are currently being drugged heavily, so your family understands why there has been a lack of contact. Eventually, they will come to see you or call to speak to you. I will let you know right now, if you act up, misbehave, or make us think you will say anything to them, not only will you be heavily drugged, but things will be made much harder here at Sherwood.” Dr. Konrad shifted in his own swiveling chair and scooted closer to me.
I didn’t see him, but I heard the sound of his chair moving and felt him lean toward me. His voice grew softer, but it was a deceiving tenderness, like the purr of a tiger, warm and soft but deadly. I shivered. A queasiness permeated my gut, unrelated to the poison I had recently ingested.
Dr. Konrad paused, and when he next spoke, I could feel his breath upon the skin of my cheek. “Right now I protect you. You are kept safe by me and my will alone. The nurses and orderlies understand you are not to be touched, and if they are forced, they are to restrain with very minimal damage done to you. Your prescriptions have been taken over by me. Dr. Marsh has been convinced... Well, let me be honest here, Dr. Marsh doesn’t really care about the people here. All he does care about his getting ego stroked by mentally ill people who he lords power over, and getting a paycheck for doing it. So taking you off his hands and his mind was a very simple task.”
I felt Dr. Konrad pull away, and his voice returned to its normal, less danger-filled tone.
“Don’t fret though. I promise you two things: one, that if you behave, you will live and your life, although filled with some pain, will be also filled with purpose, with meaning. Two, I promise history will remember you...” Dr. Konrad paused for a moment, pondering some hidden thought about his last promise. “Let me amend my last statement. I promise I shall do all I can to make sure history remembers you. I can’t actually promise that it will. Because who knows how the government will react to my research. I know enough people to make sure the data I have collected from you, and will continue to glean and unlock from your wonderful DNA, will be secured. But I digress. There is a certain possibility that you will be taken from me, once I come out with my findings, and kept in some secret government compound to be tested on in ways that even I would find terrible and unthinkable.” Dr. Konrad chuckled. “And you are well aware that I am not a very squeamish person when it comes to scientific discovery and the means to achieve said discoveries.”
I sat there, mute, as the horror of his words and the realization of my future bore into my mind. I could hear Dr. Konrad prattle on about discoveries and the future, but I registered none of it. My mind was filled with only one thought, one image:
A cage.
***
THE FOLLOWING WEEK flew by, my depression deepening with each passing hour. I spent my days with Dr. Konrad, being poked and prodded, and for the first time, actually probed. The rest of the hours I spent curled up in my room. The medications I had once so feared would turn me into a zombie were forgotten. It seemed the deep, dark depression brought on by Dr. Konrad’s words did the trick just fine.
I had to escape.
But how? Sherwood was locked down tighter than a federal bank. And Dr. Konrad was always watching, perhaps not with his eyes, but through Louise, and Rocco, who, true to his word, had treated me much better. Although, still cold and uncaring, both were now protective and careful with me. I was unsure if Dr. Konrad had shared his knowledge on my... condition with them, but whatever he had said or done kept them in check and kept me safe. But safe was not enough. I wanted to be free.
I wanted to go home.
But that was impossible now. I was doomed to be Dr. Konrad’s lab rat until he took all he could from my body and most likely left nothing but an empty husk of a person. Or until the government decided to take me and seal me away somewhere to study me in worse ways. The idea of home was nothing but a fantasy now. I pondered this impossible conundrum night after night. Until only one solution was clear in my mind.
Death.
That was my only means of escape. I would never be free as long as I lived. Such a thought a week ago, a month ago, would have been inconceivable. But a month of torture and the knowledge that it would go on unendingly, made such an inconceivable nightmarish thought my current reality.
I stared down into my hands. My bedsheet, twisted and knotted, lay wrapped around them. It turned out the Sherwood’s lax work ethic in regard to updating their facility to meet government standards was not a boon to me. On the wall of my room were small metal loops. They had been used in the past to secure patients to the wall. They were designed to hold struggling people and were buried into the concrete walls. As long as the bedsheets held, it would work, and my suffering would be over. My hands shook now as I slowly forced around a foot of the twisted sheet through the loop, then made sure to tie it tight. I tugged on it hard, even bracing my foot against the wall, straining and yanking on the sheets. The sheet grew taut but did not rip. Satisfied with its reliability, I slowly began to wrap it around my neck. I could feel my heart racing, and fresh tears streamed down my face. I was scared... No, scared does not convey the depth of terror I was feeling. I continued to wrap the sheet, tighter and tighter. Within a few seconds, I figured it was tight enough. I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall, my chest heaving. I gathered my will. Well, I attempted to gather my will. It was like trying to fill a pot with water, but there were holes throughout the pot. I struggled for an unknown amount of time. Slowly, I allowed my legs to relax. As I began to slide down the wall, I whimpered softly, “I just wanted to go home.”
My weight bore me downward, and the sheet began to tighten around my neck. Lights began to flash before my closed eyes. This isn’t so bad; it’s rather beautiful. The flashing lights somehow calmed me. The rhythm and color was familiar in a way. I realized after a moment that, although the sheet was tight around my neck and my breathing was troubled, I could still breathe. I opened my eyes to a beautiful, flashing light beaming through my small barred window.
I knew that light! They had come. I struggled back to my feet, and in a frenzy, unwrapped the sheet. Staggering to my window, I peered outside. A small sphere of light was zooming toward me, a beam of light flashing from it, streaming directly into the cell, a light of hope to show me that they were coming. A hoarse cry of triumph and jubilation ripped forth from my aching throat. The flashing light grew more intense, and the blue light expanded more and more until it illumined the entire landscape outside of Sherwood. The light shimmered, then slowly began to fade, and as it faded, the outline of their ship became clear: the stereotypical silver saucer. The light, I assumed, was some kind of force-field, but I could not know that for sure. The saucer spun slowly; the underside still glowed a bluish-white as it hovered outside my window. I felt a pressure build within my ears, and my skin began to tingle. A singular beam of green light unexpectedly issued forth from an unassuming location near the top of the saucer. The intensity of the beam was powerful, and I quickly stumbled back and shielded my eyes with my forearm. The strong smell of ozone flooded my nostrils, then the green light suddenly vanished. Lifting my arm, I gazed at my window... Well, I gazed at the area where my window had been. The wall was simply gone... No, not gone, it was there. I could see the wall, and the window, but it was as if it was made of air. I could see through it as if it wasn’t there, some kind of illusion, some kind of hologram. A loud humming filled my room. The metal side of the saucer began to flow and move like liquid. It looked like flowing mercury. Within moments, a large black doorway had appeared from the side of the saucer. And from within slid forth a long silver ramp, sliding down till it passed through the gaseous wall of my room.
Never before had they come to me in such a manner—so openly, so brazenly. I was confused, but thrilled. A sudden white light emanated from within the ship, and I saw the outline of the Grey. He extended his arm to me, three long fingers curled in a beckoning motion. He wanted me to come—and I did so without hesitation, without fear or worry. I made my way up and toward the light and his open hand.
They had come for me, and that was all I cared about. Why they had come, how they had known to come at this moment, I didn’t know... but I also didn’t care.
My hand clasped the Grey’s own small hand. It was warm, and the texture had an almost synthetic feel. And my soul rejoiced as I was led inside.
I was going home, to the home of my people. To the stars and beyond.