323

My Nurse’s voice draws me out of my reverie. I look up at her and see that she is smiling, but her eyes are red and wet. Why? Tears… what do tears mean? I don’t understand them. I remember them, but I don’t know how. I can’t remember ever crying. In the dream, She is always crying. That must be how I can remember.

 I want to understand and I want to help. But how can I with no words to say and no functioning brain to comprehend? I use the one thing I can control: my body, my muscles and limbs and nerves. I reach out to her and take her hand. She looks at me and starts to cry harder.

Great. Somehow I’ve managed to make the situation worse.

  “Oh Max, somewhere in there you’ve got a personality, don’t you? You understand me somehow. I know you do. There has to be a better way for you. A better place.”

She sits down on the pillow on the floor. Its white, like everything else, and soft. Even my bed is soft all the way around. I know why. It’s because I used to bang into things. I had a chair once, and a table with a vase full of fresh flowers. But I broke them, and something red and warm spilled on the floor. After that, they took my chair away and put the pillow there. Other than the bed, the only things in room 323 are the pillow for My Nurse and the light, which is too high for me to reach. Everything is pristine and barren looking.  

 “I forgot a book tonight, so I’ll just tell you a story ok?” My Nurse murmurs in a voice that isn’t quite steady yet. I look at her and blink. I like stories, especially the ones My Nurse tells. “Once upon a time, in a land faraway, there lived a young man. He lived with lots of other people, in a white house.” She pauses and twirls her pale hair around her finger. “In the white house, the people all had problems. And the workers tried to help them. But the workers couldn’t understand what was wrong with some of the people. The young man was one of these. He looked strong and healthy, but he never spoke, and he didn’t seem to understand the workers. One of the workers was sure that he could understand some things, but the doctors didn’t think so, so they didn’t even want to help him. They didn’t want to help the lady down the hall either, or the older man in room 144. They don’t even try…” Her voice trails off and she sobs hard, burying her head in her lap.

323

The clock reads 3:23 a.m. and its faint green glow is the only light in the room. I can feel my muscles constricting still from the hours and hours of sleepless therapy strapped to that hard metal surface. The room had gotten so hot that my sweat sizzled on the table as it fell in slow drops off my neck.

But I couldn’t do it. No matter what they did I couldn’t speak. I could scream or yell if I wanted, but I’d forced myself not to do that either. It only gives Them more hope that They can find a way to force my brain to remember how to string words together and push them out of my throat.

As I lie now in the cool darkness of room 323, I doggedly wonder how many days I was in therapy this time. I’ve seen and done it all before, though I can’t remember the details. It might have been years ago for all I know. My arms and legs ache from lack of use. Hamilton explained that too me: by forcing me to stay absolutely still the tension inside me builds to a breaking point causing my vocal memory to return and enable me to speak.

In theory.

What ended up happening was that I broke the straps and the table and Reynolds got a black eye and Hamilton a split lip. Something worse happened to the other man….Stuart I think they called him. His face looked swollen and bloated and red. I felt bad. Stuart, like me, is under Their control. He might be a worker, but he’s really nothing more than a tool in Hamilton’s belt.

After that incident, They decided I’d had enough therapy for a while.

Room 323 is so cool and still that I can hear my own heartbeat. I can’t sleep in spite of my exhaustion, for few things scare me as much as the dream and can’t risk it coming tonight. Not tonight. Not after the past few days. I’m afraid to sleep for fear it will come.

I see shadows outside my door, and the key pad lights up green. A silhouette appears on the threshold, glaringly black against the glow of the hall lights.

  “Max, mind if I come in?” It’s My Nurse and she’s armed with juice and crackers. She flips on a small portable lamp, its soft glow revealing her cheerful smile. “So, here you are back from therapy!  I’ve missed you. Seems as if you’ve been gone forever, and yet not gone at all now that I see you back again. Here, drink up. Don’t mind if I have a bit too, do you? Didn’t think so.” She pauses to gulp down some juice out of a foam cup.  She hands me one and I taste the subtly sour-sweet red liquid.

  She prattles on. I try to listen, but my mind wanders, maybe because on some subconscious level I know she’s not really saying anything important anyway.

My thoughts drift, and I can feel myself forgetting again, losing sight of the last few days. Already the scenes in my head are growing foggy. I remember…. the dream. It’s all I can firmly grasp. Even the names I worked so hard to memorize are slipping away.

Ren something. And Ham. Ham…what? I can’t remember. Hamilton? I think. It’s fading fast. But always I remember the dream. I close my eyes and I see Her face. She’s calling but I can’t find her. I need to get Outside, to run free, to find the girl who never stops calling for me.

323

  I stare directly into his eyes and my gaze radiates cold, steel stubbornness. He meets my stare and says to My Nurse, “Miss James, you’re excused. Please see to your other patients for now. Dr. Reynolds and I will call you if we need you.” He turns and smiles at her, long and slow.

 I was wondering how long it would take for him to get rid of her, my one ally.

My Nurse glances nervously between Hamilton and me, evident worry puckering on her pretty face.  Confused and agitated, her frighten eyes come to rest on me, hoping for a sign. Our eyes meet and I smile, softly this time, and my eyes send a message unspoken.

I’m not afraid.

She understands. Relaxing visibly, she nods and replies, “Alright. Thank you Doctor.”

With a last look at me, My Nurse slips through the door, the last ray of compassion in the room fading away. I’m on my own. But my eyes didn’t lie: I’m not afraid. Because nothing they can do to me will be any worse than what they’ve already done.

Just close your eyes

I’d wish you happy birthday if I could

But you’re gone

It’s too late

Eighteen was the last year you saw

And now I don’t know what to do.

I only know that every time he calls you baby brother

I feel tears start again

Though I hardly even knew you

I can’t forget that smile.

Do you ever wonder why bad things happen? Why the world can’t just be a happy place full of love and joy and perfect peace? It’s our fault, I know that. Us people we messed it up. But it never stops making me sad. Or grateful. I’m grateful that I have a Savior who died. Because of His love, someday I won’t have to be afraid anymore.

323

My smile works. It’s a good smile for this… cold and just a bit wild. It reminds him that I’m bigger than he is and stronger, and in his mind I’m psycho too. Reynolds falls silent and pale at the sight of it. Success. Now I’m in his head and I’ve scared him good. His throat is still red from where my hands nearly forced the life out of it an hour ago and he won’t forget that any time soon.

  This “Hamilton” is a bigger problem. I repeat the name over and over in my head, trying to force myself to remember it. Reynolds I can afford to forget, and My Nurse will always be there. But this man…something tells me he’s important to remember.

  “What’s your favorite color Max?” He asks me again in that deep rasping voice. “What’s your favorite color?”

No. I won’t play the game.

I stand motionless, forcing my feet to stay still.

“You can do it, dear. Just show him. You can do it.” My Nurse smiles at me encouragingly, her face alight with hope. I know what they want. They want me to point to something. But it won’t end there. There will be dozens of other tests and then needles and then strapping me to a table in a dark room and then pills and more pills and a light in the sky and a voice and questions and more questions and new pills and old pills and growing older and weaker and all the while I’ll still be a prisoner soul trapped in a voiceless body.

323

For a few minutes there’s silence in the little glass-walled room. The older man plucks the last shards from my skin, cleans the wound and wraps it up. The three of them say nothing, and I can tell the younger two are waiting for something, though what I cannot tell.

After he finishes, the older man takes off his round spectacles and rubs them with a soft looking cloth. Restless from staying still so long, I shuffle my feet and rock back and forth. Still, he says nothing, but his eyes are on me.

  “Max,” His voice makes My Nurse and Dr. Reynolds jump, but it doesn’t startle me. Few things do. Surprisingly he talks directly to me, not across me like so many of Them do. “I want you to tell me something about yourself.”

Oh no. I’ve been here before and I’m not playing this game again, mister.

I can’t remember the details. I only know that it didn’t end well for me. It ended in room 323.

 “Tell me, your favorite color.”

 “Doctor he can’t        ”Reynolds starts.

  “Let him try. If what Miss James says is true, and this man has a working, thinking brain capable of understanding what I’m asking, then he’ll find a way to communicate with me.”

 My Nurse looks suddenly frightened, those doe-brown eyes growing wider in fear. “But Doctor Hamilton, surely you can’t base such an important matter on stakes like this. Max doesn’t always respond in the right way. After all, I’m not saying that his mind works as well as yours or mine or Dr. Reynolds. You can’t expect this of him.”

  “Miss James, I want to monitor his response.” She opens her mouth again, but closes it as his stern gaze falls on her. She can’t help me out of this.

I swallow. I’ve been through this before, but with different workers and different questions. They play it like a game. Ask me a question and dare me to find a way to tell them the answer without using words. Point to an object in the room, use my hands; when that didn’t work they even forced me to try to speak.

  “Come on Max. We’re waiting.” He says coldly. I realize that all this time I’ve been trying to decide whether or not I like this man. Now I know.

I don’t.

I stand unresponsive and silent. I have all day, all year, all my life. I’m in no hurry. Chances are I won’t even remember this encounter tomorrow. He on the other hand, has a full day dealing with all the Others like me, washing those tools of his, cleaning his glasses. He won’t wait forever, and the longer I do nothing, the less likely he’ll be to play the game again.

  “Max, please.” My Nurse lays a gentle bare hand on my arm. The warmth of her touch is strange and foreign after countless months and years of latex gloves. I don’t look at her. She wants me to comply and if I look at her I might give in. She doesn’t understand. The only way to win the game is not to play.

 “Come on Max, why don’t you just do it so we can all go home. We’ll take you back to 323 and I’ll lock you in myself.” Reynolds smiles sardonically. “Oh, and then we’ll know your favorite color so we can help you redecorate.” He adds.

I say nothing. Somewhere deep down I remember faces and voices like his. He’s the sort of man who thinks himself above me and everyone like me. He has no compassion, not because he’s a bad man, but because he hasn’t learned how to become a good man. I know how to beat him.

I smile.

Because if I’m outnumbered and I can’t be stronger, I can at least be creepier.

323

“Well, Max, I’ve heard you’ve been having some problems with a few of my staff. Care to elaborate on that?” He sits in one of those rolling stools straight across from me and smiles. The bed I’m on is covered in paper that cracks and crinkles with every move I make.

I can’t answer him of course, and I know this so I don’t bother to make any feeble attempts. I only try to speak when it counts, and this doesn’t count at all. Why? Because he knows too. He knows I can’t answer. At least not in words anyway. So why ask me? Because in his eyes not only am I incapable of speech, I’m incapable of understanding. He’s wrong.  

  “Let’s have a look at you my friend. Miss James, won’t you assist Mr. Max in standing up. I’d like to examine him just a bit more closely.”

My Nurse nods and comes to my side. “Stand up Max. Come on, he just wants to look you over a little, make sure you’re alright. Everything’s going to be fine.” She smiles and I detect sincerity and concern for me in the subtle curve of her mouth. I stand up. The man looks me over, Reynolds still scowling at me from the corner.

 “I see you incurred an injury today.” He takes my arm in his hands, examining the skin. To my surprise, I look down and see red slashes dashing across my flesh. I remember the sound of breaking glass but nothing more. “How did this happen?”

  “Broke a vase full of flowers when he made his attack on me.” Reynolds says with a cynical twist of his mouth.

  “I see.” The low rasping voice comes again. The older man’s gloved fingers trace the outline of my wounds causing pain to shoot up my arm. He looks up at me, studying my reaction. “This fellow either has a very bad nerve system or a very high pain tolerance. Or maybe he’s been trained not to show weakness, like a Special Forces man as you suggested Doctor.” He pulls a pair of scissor-like metal prongs from a tray on the table and with them he begins extracting the glass shards from my arm. “He looks about the right age to be an ex-service man. Eh, probably a bit too young. There wasn’t any ID at all when he was first brought in?”

  “You oversaw the case, Dr. Hamilton. Remember, it was the couple who found him wandering outside their RV. There wasn’t anything linking him to anyone, anywhere.”

My Nurse speaks up, her soft brown eyes still fixed on me. “His face stays like that. No sign of pain, no sign of emotion. But there are times, rare it’s true, but there are times when he shows a great deal. A little before the incident with Dr. Reynolds I’d asked him to play on the piano in the hall downstairs. I had no idea he could play. He never has before. But it was beautiful, and not just a random assembly of notes either. It was a definite tune. Something from his memory. When he finished, he was in tears, Doctor.” She pulled her gaze away from me with the reluctance of a dog savoring an intriguing smell. “That kind of emotion doesn’t stem from someone with no working brain cells.”