Chapter 41

Two weeks later, Jesus was unceremoniously transported to Green Mountain Mental Institution.

He wasn’t given prior notice, but later he would learn that Dupree and Heinz had appeared in court on his behalf, and, much to the dismay of the district attorney’s office, won the judge over to delay the case by declaring Jesus unfit for trial and committing him to Green Mountain’s Institution for the Criminally Insane until which time, and if, he would make a recovery and be deemed fit for trial.

During processing, he was de-loused, hosed down, and stripped of any remaining humanity and individuality that he had managed to retain. Then, he was asked a series of intensive personal questions and given a thorough medical examination, taking blood and urine samples, a full physical, and filling out a medical history questionnaire. After processing, he was sent before the classification board.

The classification board was made up of a dozen aged, white intellectual-types. They sat at a semicircular table around Jesus, so that he couldn’t see all of them at once, without turning his head. It was meant to intimidate the patient, as they referred to him as.

Patient is an improvement from detainee.

“Mr. Castillo, you’ve been charged with First Degree Murder, Especially Aggravated Assault, Assaulting an Officer, and Resisting Arrest. Do you have any explanations for your actions,” The most senior of the men spoke.

“I wasn’t myself, sir. I had a psychotic break,” Jesus said.

The Other laughed, pacing behind the board, “Tell them the truth, why don’t you? Tell them that I’m here now. They’ll shoot your ass full of drugs and then we’ll be able to be together for good.”

“That is no excuse for your actions. This board will see to it that you never hurt another human being in your life, even if that means you will never see the light of day again. What do you think about that, Mr. Castillo?”

“I want to get better, sir,” Jesus said.

“We will make you better at no fault of your own,” Said the man, “My name is Bernie Brazen, and you are now my property. You will never leave this place without my approval. Do I make myself clear?” Brazen said.

“Yes, sir,” Jesus said.

“Good. Medium security. Next,” Brazen declared.

Jesus was led to an elevator that brought him to the fourth floor of Green Mountain’s huge residential ward building.

“I’m head Orderly Abraham Faber, but you can call me Abe,” He was a square jawed, short haired, young dark skinned man with an inviting smile and a warm gaze. Abe showed him the sleeping room, where he was assigned a bed, and the day room, where patients could watch TV or play games.

Three of them were staring wide-eyed at the flashing televisions, another two were playing dominos and others were meandering about the dayroom. Jesus spotted an Indian man who was muttering to himself darkly. As soon as he looked at him, the Indian man looked up and followed Jesus with his eyes until Jesus looked away. It was unsettling at best and frightening at worst.

“We pass out medication three times a day, in the morning, at noon, and in the evening. Don’t try and hide your medication, don’t try and harm or steal from any of the staff members or patients, and shower daily and you’ll do fine. Welcome aboard, Mr. Castillo,” Faber said.

This can’t be any worse than jail. It’s certainly better than the hole.

“Have you seen my aunt Georgia? I need to talk to my aunt Georgia,” Said an emaciated man with long, eczema-laden white hair.

“Please, I have to talk to my aunt Georgia,” The man said.

“I don’t know your aunt Georgia,” Jesus said.

“She’s a fine lady, my aunt Georgia is. My aunt Georgia is a fine lady, yes she is. Did you know that she’s the only one who believes me? You know, about the houseflies and all. Do you know about the houseflies? Come here, I’ll tell you a secret.”

Jesus did not come any closer. The man leaned in and said, “They’ve been following me, but I know their steps. I’m on to them. I think they’re Russian,” the man looked at him and cocked his head to the side, “Have I told you about my aunt Georgia. She was a fine woman. Maybe the finest woman to …” Jesus walked away and sat down in front of the TV. They were watching what appeared to be a religious show of some nature. The host was calling for donations. A fat man leaned over from the next chair and said, “We watch Allie every Thursday.”

“That’s good,” Jesus said incredulously. Beside the fat man was a disheveled man who was stroking a patchy wisp of beard, and another man, much younger, with a shaved head whose panicked expression gave Jesus the notion that he might fall over dead at any given moment.

At least no one is yelling bloody murder.

“Medpass!” Yelled an Orderly. Everyone lined up in front of a desk with a water cooler and stack of plastic cups. Jesus followed suit obediently. When he got to the counter, the lady who passed out the medication gave him a fat orange pill in a small plastic pill cap.

“What is it?” Jesus asked.

“Your medicine,” The woman replied.

Jesus swallowed the pill and showed the orderly his open mouth, as he had seen the other do. She seemed satisfied. After half an hour on TV, he began to feel increasingly tired, and made off to go to his bed.

“Hello, my friend,” Said The Other, “I’m glad you could join me.”

The mirror. He had to find the mirror. Despite the wooziness of the medication, Jesus managed to stumble into the bathroom, where reflective sheets of metal were placed on the walls above the sinks.

They were somewhat shinier and newer than the ones in the hole, and had the added benefit of not being surrounded in constant near-darkness.

There he was, smiling back at him with the deadly predatory grin of a jungle animal, smirking to himself of how clever and powerful he must be to hunt the most dangerous prey- himself.

“What do you want?” Jesus asked.

“I want us to be together,” He answered.

“We are together. I’m stuck with you, but you can’t hurt anyone here. They won’t even give us proper toothbrushes.”

“We’re all together,” Said Andrea. She was wearing her sultry nightgown Jesus knew all too well. “Why don’t you come to bed?”

Jesus wiped the sleep out of his eyes, suddenly acutely aware of how drowsy he was. He fought it off.

“Can’t run forever,” Said John, “We’ll catch up to you in your sleep.” I can’t sleep. I have to stay awake.

“We’re all one, man,” Stars said, “Just like it’s meant to be.”

“You’re just tuning into another perception of reality,” Said Justin.

Jesus could hear the faint sound of drums. He could feel their deep vibrations in his hands and his chest, rattling his bones. Lily was dancing to them, swaying her hips seductively and holding her long black hair with her arms raised behind her head. Jesus could feel Andrea’s eyes on him.

“No, it’s not like that!” He pleaded, “It was never like that!”

The drums grew louder as the smell of smoke filled the air. Someone screamed, a primal howl of cathartic release. Sleep was coming.

“Are you ready?” Said The Other.

“No,” Said Jesus, “I don’t want to go, I can’t go, I won’t let you in.”

“Don’t fight it,” Said Stars, his long dreadlocks swaying to the pounding rhythm. The whole bathroom was undulating and oscillating, waving back and forth between fantasy and reality.

“Go!” Screamed Rodrigo, his voice filled with unmistakable malevolence, dripping with violent unfettered hatred, “Go on and sleep, boy! You can’t run forever.”

“No!” Jesus yelled back, but he had already taken a step back from the sink. He looked at the door, and then back at the mirror. His reflection seemed closer now, clearer and more distinct. Is that the reflection, or am I that reflection, and the mirror holds the true image?

“Go!” Hissed The Snake. Jesus could feel the strong hands of the crowd pulling him towards the door. The drums were growing louder by the second, a steady thumping rhythm with pitters and patters rising above and throughout the porcelain tiles, reflecting and reinforcing sound waves in a confused rancor, calling him into restful sleep and resignation.

“Help! Help me Winston! Help me Sophia!” Jesus called out.

“I can’t help you on this one, son,” Winston said.

“You have to do this on your own,” Sophia said, nodding in solemn agreement.

“Come join us,” Andrea and Lily said together, taking his hands and pulling him into the darkness.

“We’re alone now,” The Other said. Jesus was paralyzed. He couldn’t move. The Other was sitting on a chair, calm and passive as a Buddhist monk. He could feel the drugs coursing through his system, gripping a hold of him, pressing down on his chest and arms with incredible weight.

“You thought you could run. You thought you could hide. You can’t run from me. I’m inside of you. I am The Becoming,” The Other said. He rose from his chair. Jesus was looking at a spitting image of himself, except that the other carried with him a tainted energy, a dark connotation. He slithered closer, not taking a direct route, but pacing back and forth like a tiger. Jesus tried to produce words, but the words choked and died in his throat, withering like frozen flowers after a late springtime frost.

“I am everything you hate; I am everything you are,” The Other said. “I am your hate, your resignation, your anger. I am your sadness, your rejection, your failure. I am every time Miriam looked at Christian. I am every time Andrea fucked Leroy. I am your broken bone, and I am the imperfections in your nearly healed flesh.”

He was drawing closer now. Jesus struggled to move, straining against the invisible bond that held him strapped down to his bed, but it was no use. He was held fast, anchored to his resting place in a paralytic chemically induced spell. The medicine must have weakened whatever thin bond still held Jesus to reality. The Other moved casually, without definitive purpose, but Jesus could feel his intention. He could feel his eyes on his throat, the target. the prize. The Other was a predator, as ancient as time, and Jesus was the helpless prey. He laid there in terror, trying to scream, but there wasn’t any air to push out of his unresponsive lungs.

“You can try to fight me, but I’ve already won. I’m already inside of you, driving you towards madness with every moment that you fail to reconcile yourself with what you’ve done. I am the stone you used to take Rodrigo’s life; I am the gun, the cartridge, the bullet, and the target. I am the predator and I am the prey. I am every feeling of discontent, anger, and hatred you have ever felt. I am your failure, your weakness, your tragedy, and your misfortune. You cannot escape me until I become you.

Until I am you, and you are the reflection,” He said.

“Look at you now, quivering like a frightened child in your bed, waiting for your death. I will take you, and I will end your life the way you ended theirs,” Rodrigo and Leroy were beside him, visages of death as his flanks. They stared at him knowingly, a stare that shouted through the ineffable silence, “You are me now, I am you. I am.”

He was poised to strike now, his body coiled like a cobra, his face transformed into a predatory cat’s. The moment was drawing nearer as The Liar’s smile grew infinitely wide, filling the space of the void, tormenting him as his strong hands wrapped around Jesus’ neck. He was choking now, unable to breathe. Panic coursed through his body.

“In death, we will become one,” Said The Becoming.

They tortured him, lurking around every corner in the daytime. Jesus would go days without sleep, keeping his eyes peeled open in terror of The Other, but eventually his body would surrender itself to sleep, and They would torment him ceaselessly in his horribly vivid nightmares. Jesus despised sleep, and tried everything he could do avoid it. During the day, he didn’t watch TV or play cards, he just paced endlessly, trying to outrun The Other, who was always one step behind him, watching him over his shoulder. When he used the bathroom, he could feel His eyes on him. Jesus hated that feeling. He hated himself for what he had done and was terrified of himself of what he was becoming. The thought crossed his mind of telling Abe.

Who can I trust?

No, that would only result in an increase of dosage in the medication, which would only bring Him closer. So Jesus ran. He walked and walked until his feet blistered and his ankles felt within an inch of breaking. His injured leg hurt greatly. With each passing day, he could feel its state, as the state of his entire body, degenerating and withering into nothing. Jesus never looked in the mirror, but when he touched his face, he could feel the gaunt, skeletal outline of a man who was at war with himself.

Weeks later, they changed his medication. A small, pale green pill laid next to the familiar orange one. Jesus looked at it like a man staring down the barrel of a gun.

“What is this?” He asked the orderly.

“Your medicine. Take it,” She said. He took it. He could already feel The Other creeping up beside him, his snake eyes affixed on him like a predator stalking its prey.

Who am I?

An hour later, the voice started, full and unrestrained. Everyone was speaking at once in a disorienting maelstrom of sound. Jesus hid under the blankets, but the voices carried through their protection.

“Come to us, come to us,” They chanted. The Other was there, watching, waiting, like the next act in the wings.

“No!” Jesus screamed, “You can’t take me.”

“We already have,” Chanted the twisted chorus.

“Leave me alone!”

“We are alone, Jesus,” Andrea said. Leroy smiled knowingly. Jesus lashed out, blindly punching at the dead man’s visage.

“You can’t take me! You’ll never take me,” Jesus yelled. The Other laughed as the orderlies came into the room.

“I won’t go! You can’t make me!” He screamed as they held him down to the ground.

“Leroy said, Leroy said … ”

Who am I?

I am death. I am life. I am alone and accompanied. I am Leroy, I am Rodrigo. I am terrified and vilified. I am The Becoming. I am Jesus. I am Winston. I am fifty CC’s of Thorazine being injected straight into the thick glute muscles, relaxing, relieving, relapsing, and replaying those fateful moments, the fire, the lapping ocean waves mixed with a scarlet stream that marred the perfect white purity of fresh snow fall. I am the chair, the straps bound so tight that even blessed wakefulness cannot save you from The Other within my padded walls. I am solitude. I am helplessness. I am sleep.