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Nothing is more sad than the death of an illusion. (Koestler)
Carl kept himself strategically placed between the orderly watching the room and Chris, trying his best to keep Chris out of sight. With every passing minute, Carl’s body trembled a little more, ready to get out of here, ready to run, ready to see his son. He glanced back to see Chris resting his head against an arm, appearing to stare into the thick grime that protected all inmates from seeing the outside world. While it looked like Chris was simply resting, Carl knew that he was busy chipping away at the cement with a small nail.
When Chris first showed Carl the nail, Carl couldn’t help but laugh at the idea, that this was his key to escape. It was a tack. Not even two inches long. Carl joked that if the plan was to apply acupuncture to the orderlies, Chris might want to rethink the strategy. But Chris spent three weeks at Bedlam diligently chipping away at the cement encasement around one bar in front of the window before Carl arrived. Despite how unlikely it seemed to Carl, Chris was able to dig out enough cement so that the bar was loose. Both were optimistic that it would come out today; a great relief to Carl, considering how his meeting with the doctor went.
Carl turned around again to see Chris casually pull the bar forward. The top portion came free. While the hunk of metal did move, there was still another inch before it would come past the outer edge of the sill. Carl spun around to ensure that the orderly couldn’t see what was going on. She had her back to the room, chatting with a colleague.
Carl still hadn’t told Chris that once they were out, he intended to find his son. He hoped that Chris would understand and come with him, despite the warnings. Even if Chris wasn’t willing, Carl knew what he had to do. After being at Bedlam for at least nine days – longer, if he was blacked out for an extended period – Carl needed to know that his son was okay. He feared, however, that his dreams weren’t merely expressions of paranoia. He feared that something happened. And as Liam’s father, Carl must fix the problem. After that, they could go wherever Chris wanted. With Liam.
It dawned on Carl that he never asked Chris where they were going to go. If the cities were too dangerous, what was the plan? Why hadn’t he asked before? Carl glanced back and thought that perhaps he should ask right now. Instead he shrugged, knowing that this was not the time. Besides, Chris seemed to understand the dangers that lay ahead, even if Carl didn’t want to admit his crazy ideas as possible. If the last few days showed Carl anything, it was that the world might not be the happy place that he remembered.
Carl shuffled to the right as the orderly paced. The way she floated across the floor without much care reminded Carl of his wife. The lively step didn’t suit her role at Bedlam, but then again, all of the orderlies seemed to be somewhere else most of the time, except when they were electrocuting patients. This woman, though, with that smile firmly pasted on her face, allowed Carl to visualize his wife. He hadn’t been able to do that since waking up at the institution. He welcomed back the sight of her long brown hair and green eyes. When she smiled, deep crow’s feet gathered at the corner of her eyes from squinting. But when she relaxed, her face was as smooth as a child’s. Innocence shone through her eyes, incapable of any malice.
Carl wished she was alive. As much as he wanted to believe his wish was for Liam’s benefit, he also wanted to feel her soft hands soothe his skin. He wanted to hear her melodic voice tell him that this nightmare would be over soon and that everything would be okay. Carl closed his moist eyes; he could hear her singing. The words became clearer. What songs did she sing? Carl listened closely.
“Ninety years without slumbering, tick tock tick tock, his life seconds numbering, tick tock tick tock.”
She never sang that song.
Carl swung around to see the same guy as before muttering the words to himself. Each time he ended the second tick tock, he paused briefly and stared down at the ground, as if searching for lost words, only to give up and start the song over again. Carl took a step towards him, desperately wanting to know more about these lyrics, but the orderly looked straight at Carl; he couldn’t move from his post. A woman standing a few feet behind the muttering man chimed in with an off-key attempt at the next part, “It stopped short – never to go again – when the old man died.” The two delivered their lines over top of each other. Neither one paid any attention to what the other was saying.
Carl’s mouth dropped open. The desire to identify this song overwhelmed his need to stay in one spot. He took a step towards the woman when an orderly standing on the other side of the communal area’s gate called out, “Carl Winston, the doctor has reassigned you.”
Chris stopped chipping the cement, hiding the nail in his fist. His eyes met with Carl’s. He shook his head. “It’s not ready,” he said.
“We’re out of time. We have to try,” he called back while two orderlies approached the crowd of inmates, both with primed batons.
Chris ratcheted the bar. The cylinder moved more than he thought it would – half of the bar exposed beyond the sill’s ledge. “Okay, go for it.”
Carl stepped behind the mumbling patient, waiting for the orderlies to get closer. “What is that song?” he asked.
The man stood silent, unable to answer Carl’s question.
As the dumb smiles came closer, Carl wondered if the orderlies even knew what was really happening in this room or if this was a distant dream to them.
Carl whispered in the man’s ear, “I’m sorry,” as he shoved the mumbler into the orderlies, knocking one over. Snapping out of his daze, the patient swatted wildly into the air, connecting with the female orderly’s forehead. As she fell to one knee, the electrocution rod flew under the man’s chin. The wand hit the ground, with the man tumbling on top. A steady stream of electricity caused his body to flail uncontrollably.
Another, more lucid patient ran to remove the baton from under the sizzling pile of flesh. Realizing what was in his hand, he called out, “Looks like no one’s getting reassigned today!” He tapped the female orderly on the shoulder, rendering her unconscious. The man laughed to the ceiling, embracing his new-found power.
Carl hid himself behind the singing woman, while he carefully watched a handful of orderlies pour into the communal area. “What is that song?” he asked.
She turned to meet Carl’s gaze. “What song is that, dear?” she asked with a rubbery grin. Carl shook his head and looked up in time to see two more orderlies coming towards him. He pushed the woman at them, wishing there was a better way to do this. He didn’t like hurting people so that he could escape, but finding his son held more importance.
As Carl dashed across the room, he bumped into three more patients, while ten orderlies tried to work their way through the crowd, zapping anyone in their path. The armed patient led a crusade to fight back, calling out, “Look! They’re trying to hurt us all! Fight back now, brothers and sisters! Fight to the death!”
Shouts of agreement rang high above the orderlies attempting to instruct each other on which patients to control.
Meanwhile, Chris pulled at the bar. Cement crumbled from around the metal, more brittle than he thought it would be. Progress came quicker than he planned, the bar only fractions of an inch away from being released.
The more lucid patients mounted an offensive. Nearly twenty of them marched towards the orderlies, drawing attention away from Chris’ efforts. One came in with swinging fists, connecting with an orderly’s nose. As the orderly reeled with blood streaming down his face; he was still able to connect his baton to the patient, promptly zapping the unfortunate man into a wriggling pile of flesh on the floor. More orderlies entered the room, all armed with their batons. One by one, patients were rendered immobile, while the last quarter marched forward, undeterred by their fallen comrades.
Chris finally managed to pry the bar free from its hold. A sharp smash caught every orderly’s attention as Chris used the bar to bust the window. He traced the window frame with the metal cylinder, making the hole as big as possible.
The orderlies ran towards Chris, only to find the patients resisting with more swinging fists. While their efforts did slow down the orderlies, the orderlies fiercely fought back with electricity. The crowd of patients protecting Carl and Chris quickly thinned.
“Carl, hurry!” Chris called.
Carl, only a few steps away, shot towards Chris. Chris said, “You first. Then you pull me through.”
Looking back, Carl saw the orderlies closing in. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Chris folded his hands between his knees to give Carl a lift up to the window sill. Carl squeezed his upper body inwards, barely able to maneuver through the bars. Past the first obstacle, his shoulders bumped against the jagged glass, causing thick pools of blood to soak through his shirt.
The pain didn’t stop him. Carl wiggled out of the window, each movement creating new scratches, some of which barely cut the surface. Others, however, cut deep into his flesh. Finally, his hips were past the glass. Carl looked down to see that the ground wasn’t more than five feet away. He let his body slide down the wall, rolling into dirt.
Carl bounced to his feet. He hoisted himself back up the ledge and reached through the window for Chris. Chris latched onto Carl’s arms. As Carl slowly pulled back, the jagged glass carved a deep gash in his chest. Crimson dotted the cement sill. Pain, grunting, progress. Carl felt that his frail body might get pulled apart.
Chris’ arms clung to the outside wall. His head through the window, Carl slipped, his body tumbling into the dirt once more. He looked up to see Chris grimace, a scream escaping his mouth, “They’re pulling me back in,” he called out.
Reaching up, Carl grabbed onto Chris’ arms again, pulling with his feet up against the wall for added leverage. Chris shouted, “Let go! It’s okay.” Carl refused, but the orderlies were winning the tug of war. Chris said, “Go north! That’s where you’ll find the answers.”
“Chris, no!”
“Hurry! Go! And don’t look for your son! They’ll find you again! Just go north.” Carl’s grip slipped before the orderlies took turns electrocuting Chris, whose limp body disappeared back into Bedlam.
An alarm rang.
Carl ran. He didn’t know where he was, or where he was going. He ran. As far and as fast as his legs could take him. A minute felt like an eternity. His legs burned. His heart might explode. None of that mattered. He ran. Streets and buildings whooshed together like jittery video – a nonsensical blur. He didn’t try to make sense of the scenery; he wanted to get as far away from Bedlam as possible. He ran until he stumbled forward, nearly crashing to the ground in complete exhaustion.
Finding a side alley, Carl wobbled toward a building to lean against. Unable to catch his breath, he slid to the ground. Sharp needles poked at his lungs with each breath. A deep whoop led to coughing fits. Dizzy. Nauseous. So nauseous. He heaved out whatever bit of curd was left in his stomach.
After several minutes of sharp panting, his heart rate slowed. Breath slowly came back to him. Carl brought his knees up to his chest so that he could fold his arms over top. He closed his eyes and lowered his head onto his arms, wishing for the dizziness to stop. The pain in his lungs subsided, replaced by throbbing in his shoulders and chest where blood caked his shirt. Carl pulled his shirt over his head, finding more gashes than he could count. Most were nothing more than superficial scrapes, but the large one on his chest needed stitches. At the very least, he needed to clean and dress the wounds before they became infected.
Carl tried to figure out where he was. While he ran, his only concern was putting distance between himself and Bedlam. Now, he had to figure out what came next. Chris said that there were answers in the north. But what answers? Carl briefly contemplated what might be north; nothing came to mind. He had spent his entire life within the city limits of Albany. What laid beyond McGuire’s Restaurant in the north end was a complete mystery. Not that it mattered too much at this point, anyway. Carl knew that he was going to find his son, despite Chris’ several warnings.
With jellied legs, Carl rose to his feet. Taking great care to avoid tumbling, he inched his way towards the road. A first clear look at the world revealed a street filled with potholes and heaved cement where lifeless weeds wilted. Fallen debris from ruined buildings lined the sidewalks. Every window smashed, although Carl didn’t see any glass on the road. He peeked inside one building to find the charred, indistinguishable remains of whatever business or home had once stood here. Only the stink of damp ash lingered.
Backing away from the building, Carl’s attention shifted to the sky. Thick rolling clouds reminded him of his glimpse into this world while at work. At the time, those flashes felt like a betrayal to the real world. Now Carl thought it was a warning – one that he neglected to heed.
Realization set in: Chris was right. This place, his world, no longer looked the same. He staggered forward, looking at the wreckage. These were once, Carl assumed, beautiful buildings in his mind. Part of a deceitful veil that disgusted him. He tried to surmise the why and how of hiding this truth, but everything felt so beyond his control that nothing came to mind.
As he limped forward, Carl scanned for clues as to his whereabouts, but nothing looked familiar. Still, he had a feeling that home was close-by. Turning down another street revealed more ruins. A gentle breeze rippled through Carl’s hair and carried a fetid stench from an open sewer running alongside the dilapidated road. He lifted his blood-caked shirt over his nose to try to filter the malodor. The shirt did little to improve the situation; still, he carried forward. Nearing the end of the street, Carl noticed a barricade of rubble that stopped him from moving forward. The pile looked too much like the one in his dream. Carl didn’t see any bodies on the pile, so he moved forward with caution. He continuously stared ahead, waiting for either a vulture or a body to appear in front of him.
Slowly, he made his way to the foot of the pile. He sighed with relief, happy that the dream wasn’t a prophecy. He laughed at the idea. He sat at the base of the barricade and laughed at how ridiculous he felt. Sore, cut up, hiding from someone or something. He didn’t know what was after him, if anything at all. He had never felt so alone and laughing was the only thing he could do.
When he finally settled down, Carl laid flat on his back against the broken asphalt. Exhaustion overwhelmed his body; he didn’t want to move. But he also knew that soon he would have to climb over this pile of crumbled brick and cement to see what lay on the other side. The only other ways out of this area appeared to be through the open sewage or back to Bedlam. Neither of those options appealed to Carl.
He swallowed hard, then smacked his dry lips together, grimacing at the taste of sweat and dust. With all of his effort, he raised himself to his feet. Finding a firm footing on the pile, Carl began to climb. Moving slowly up the pile, ensuring every foothold held him before moving up, Carl made his ascent. One bad step would result in more cuts.
He made quick, easy progress. Carl placed his hand over the summit, finding a secure spot for his foot. He pulled his eyes over the top to see what was on the other side.
Rail-thin people walked along the street, talking to each other as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Each one wore the same rubbery grin – the same one that was slapped across every orderly’s face. Wild, unkempt, unaware animals going about their business as if the world was perfect. He noted a woman walking by with her daughter, both of whom held bricks of curd in their hands, biting down as if they were eating hamburgers.
Fallen chunks of cement lay scattered on the ground. As Carl surveyed the nearby buildings, he found that they were in much better shape than the ones he just passed. A sign on the building across the road from him read: Alb n M ll. A row of doors lined the front of the building while a long tattered canopy flapped around like a wounded bird being pushed by wind. A row of windows caked with dirt led his attention back to the sign, Alb n M ll.
Carl thought to himself for a moment. A smile crept across his face as he realized that this was the Albany Mall. The same place where he and Liam spent so much time on the weekends looking at new attractions or playing the latest video games. He shook his head at how the building really looked, feeling like a fool for buying into the deception.
Carl pulled himself further over the pile to see an old rusted robot with new shiny guns guarding the street standing below him. The weapons panned up and down the street in opposite directions. Carl quickly lowered himself below the eye-line of the rubble. He thought to himself that the machine must be a robotic constable. Except that robotic constables weren’t rusted out, nor were they so heavily armed. Yet another deception, he supposed.
Taking a moment to think, Carl decided that his journey would have to wait until dark. Now that he knew where he was, it wouldn’t take him long to get home, back to his son. But walking down this road in daylight held too many risks. There were too many people and he didn’t know if they would ignore him or mob him. More importantly, that robotic constable could catch him in seconds and then who knows what would happen.
Carl descended the pile of bricks. He knew where he was. This area closed down after Untruthers set it on fire. The day after the fire, an announcement blasted over every Exoche that the area would be remodeled as part of the Neighborhood Greenhouse Project. Progress happened quickly. These buildings soon became impressive glass domes. They were supposed to provide fresh food for the entire city. Three Neighborhood Greenhouse Projects were to be built in Albany. “The newest in bio-tech foods,” the Exoche claimed. “Better food for a better future.”
Carl leaned himself against a nearby building, ready to rest until dark. He shook his head as he muttered to himself: This is not the future. This is a nightmare.
