by Mike Kilroy
“It’s time for group,” Ratched yelled, a distraction that caused his to miss the Ping Pong ball.
Gingivitis Dude smiled and clapped.
“It’s time for group, I said,” Ratched yelled again.
Thank God.
Solo put the paddle down on the table and walked briskly to a circle of chairs near the corner—anything to stop playing table tennis against his fragile, decaying-mouthed opponent.
The usual suspects sat in a circle: Brown Robe Guy, who was still mumbling Brown Robe Guy nonsense; Normal Looking Gent, who appeared out of place because he insisted on wearing nice clothes instead of robes and powder blue pajamas and was always calm and lucid; Suicide Girl, her wrists bandaged and her eyes sullen, staring blankly ahead like she always did; Vegetable Guy, who Solo wondered why was even part of group—he was in a catatonic state, after all, and thus could never contribute; and, of course, Gingivitis Dude, who stared at Solo through his droopy, creepy eyes, and smiled his rotten, swollen-gum grin.
On this day there was a new member of their nonplussed inner circle. Solo called her Sunglasses Girl for obvious reasons. They were large, round and dark and hid most of her wan face, dropping down over her cheeks. Her bangs, died bleach blond like the rest of her hair, obscured her forehead.
She wanted to hide, it seemed.
Solo couldn’t blame her.
He didn’t see the point of group therapy. They were all different and their problems diverse. What could be gleaned from hearing the trials of others, except perhaps that they were worse off than you, which would make you feel better, certainly. But even that was depressing to Solo.
He listened as Dr. Hu blabbed on about how everyone there was making great progress and how everyone there needed everyone else for support to get them through the storm and into the calm. Vegetable Guy certainly wasn’t doing better. Solo had a hard time taking his eyes off the poor man. His eyes were open, blue like marbles, but they were dead. The corner of his lip drooped down and his hand, a tattoo of an X deeply drawn across its surface, loosely gripped the armrest of his chair.
Solo thought it strange that the man had a tattoo of an X on his hand. He’d ask him why he had such a tatt, but Vegetable Guy was clearly not in a talking mood.
Dr. Hu introduced Sunglasses Girl as Peggy, but Solo was terrible at remembering names, so he decided to just call her Sunglasses Girl.
She didn’t speak, just stared through her shades at the floor.
BRG spoke, but made little sense as usual. He chattered about Babylon again.
“Morris, would you like to share?” Dr. Hu asked, breaking Solo out of his intent observation.
Startled, Solo stammered. “Sh … share? Share what?”
“You had a pretty significant breakthrough. Perhaps the group would like to hear about it?”
“Nah, I don’t think so. Why would they care?”
“C’mon, tell us,” Normal Looking Gent said, his voice deep and commanding. Solo wondered again why he was here. Perhaps he was a spy integrated into the hospital by Dr. Hu, a part of his insidious plan.
Solo shrugged and then cleared his throat. “Well, okay. As most of you know, I was in a catatonic state for awhile, like this dude,” Solo pointed at Vegetable Guy. “Some kind of trauma. I forgot my twin sister, but I finally remembered her. The memories are coming back slowly, but they are still a little weird and hard to piece together.”
Dr. Hu smiled. “And don’t forget you have realized this is your reality.”
“Oh, yeah. I constructed this whole other world where just about everyone—all but like one percent—had disappeared. Poof. Gone like a fart in the wind.” BRG chuckled and pointed as Solo continued. “I wandered around from place to place, looking for food and water and my sister and got beat up and found a cool silver construction hat and a dog named Uno, and then got ambushed again. Glad I’m back here, though. Much less drama here.”
“You’re such a loser,” Suicide Girl said. That prompted Brown Robe Guy to point at Solo and launch into a string of “Babylons” again.
“How do you know there’s only one percent of the population left?” Normal Looking Gent asked, inquisitively. “How could you know that? Did you take a census?”
Solo cocked his head and stammered. “No. What? No. No census. Tom told me. Tom knows everything.”
“Who the hell is Tom?” Suicide Girl chuckled. “Your butt buddy?”
“No. Um. I’m not sure who Tom is. He isn’t exactly … in physical form. He’s kind of an … imaginary friend.”
Suicide Girl threw her head back and laughed. “Oh my God. Loser.”
Solo thought Dr. Hu would intervene, but he didn’t. He just observed the chaos carefully. The only two who didn’t speak were Gingivitis Dude and Sunglasses Girl.
Finally as the clamor stopped, Dr. Hu asserted himself. “We are all here to get better, aren’t we?”
The doctor’s question was met with a few grumbles and smattering of head nods. Solo simply stared at Sunglasses Girl. She was young, perhaps no more than twenty-two, but she sulked and brooded like a teenager.
From under her dark glasses she noticed Solo’s stare and the corner of her lip shot up.
She looks like a female Elvis. An angry female Elvis.
“What are you looking at?” she barked.
Solo veered his eyes away. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to stare.”
“Whatever.” Sunglasses Girl stood and stomped away. Dr. Hu let her go.
“I think that’s all for today,” the doctor said, culminating with a long sigh.
Solo was relieved.
He felt uncomfortable in group settings. He didn’t much like other people. Sure, there were exceptions. He liked Eye Lyds. He even kind of liked Dr. Hu. But for the most part, he held disdain for the human race. He didn’t even like himself all that much because he knew, deep down, he was just like everyone else.
Put two people in a room and they are nice enough to each other. They’ll make small talk. They may even share details about their lives to be personable.
Then tell those same two people in that room that only one can survive, that only one will walk out the door with lungs pulling in and pushing out air, that only one will depart with a heart pulling in and pushing out blood and a brain pulling in and pushing out thoughts, and the other will be taken from that room, dead.
Then, everything changes. No more small talk. No more pleasantries. Only survival.
In a way, Solo wished for his delusion to be real.
One percent was a good start.
***
Solo stared at the patterned ceiling tiles. They were yellow and looked like blooming flowers. Solo supposed they were there to calm the patients as they looked up at them.
It worked.
Solo closed his eyes and felt he was slipping into slumber, but his eyes burst open to the sight of Brown Robe Guy tugging on the sleeve of his powder blue pajamas. It startled him because Brown Robe Guy had never been one to make any kind of physical contact with anyone. Instead, he chose to babble, “Babylon,” and point and be a generally creepy, creepy dude.
“Hi,” BRG said, waving his other hand.
That was even creepier.
Solo smiled nervously. “Um, what’s up?”
“I have pills.” BRG reached into his pocket and pulled out of handful of drugs—round ones and square ones, yellow ones and white ones. “Want some?”
Solo sat up and shook his head. “Why would I want some?”
“To get back.”
“Back where?”
“To where you belong.”
Solo cocked his head. It was late and his mind foggy. It was a challenge enough to understand BRG with an alert mind, let alone one compromised by fatigue.
I should just tell him to go away and fall asleep, but I have to know where this is going.
“Where do I belong?”
“That other world that you talked about. Babylon.”
Solo rolled
his eyes. Not this again.
“Why would I want to go back there?”
“To get answers. You won’t get any here. You don’t belong here.” BRG held out his hand and sorted the pills by color. “I’d take one of the yellow ones. That should do it.”
Solo wasn’t sure why he entertained the thought, but he did. BRG was a million shades of crazy, but what he said made some kind of weird sense. There were very few answers to be had here. Perhaps escaping back into his delusion—to the After—would shed light on how his life had derailed so completely in the first place.
It was a mystery and Solo always had the urge to solve a mystery.
He reached out slowly for a yellow pill and pinched it between his index finger and thumb. BRG made a few encouraging grunts until Solo built up enough courage to swallow it.
BRG shoved the rest of the pills back into his pocket and clapped his hands giddily. “Yay. Lay back. It won’t be long now.”
Even before Solo could place his head back down on his pillow, the room began to spin. He felt light, as if he were floating and felt his eyes close.
His breaths became shallow. He felt as if his arms were floating and then his legs.
He was at peace.
***
“We can only help you if you want to be helped,” Dr. Head Shrinker said. He was young and handsome with a chiseled jaw, deep blue eyes and cropped brown hair that laid perfect on his head—not a strand out of place.
He had impressive diplomas on the wall, a picture of a gorgeous, blonde wife on his desk and a key that turned the ignition to a Lamborghini and a key that opened the door to a lovely home.
Solo thought, what does he know about struggle, about loneliness, about pain?
“Maybe I can’t be helped.”
“Everyone can be helped.”
“No,” Solo said, glumly, peeling the cracked skin off his raw knuckles. “Not everyone.”
***
Solo’s eyes stared at the two men as they walked menacingly toward him. Solo backed away as far as he could, his back pressed up against a poster of a teen with six-pack abs.
“Why are you doing this, Mar?” Solo screamed. The words ripped and burned his vocal cords. Solo didn’t feel much like getting another beating, even in a possibly imagined world.
The men drew closer. Spindly Guy held a 3-iron in his hand. Solo peered down at the club head that sparkled in the light and then caught a glimpse of the surface of the hand that gripped it: an X tattoo stared back up at him.
“You!” Solo pointed. It was enough to stop the men’s approach. “You were in a catatonic state, weren’t you?”
His eyes, blue like marbles, grew large.
But before he could answer, he dropped the club and blood spilled from his mouth as he collapsed. Standing behind him was Mar, holding a knife that dripped crimson blood.
“You little bitch,” Stocky Guy growled and approached Mar. She swung the knife at him, but he was able to grab her at the wrist and squeeze the blade from her hand. He grabbed her by the throat and shoved her against the desk, toppling the stack of notebooks onto the floor.
Solo froze as he heard her grunt and gasp for air.
“Let him kill her,” Tom said. “Then you can kill him. It’s a win-win. A double-whammy.”
Solo had another plan.
He picked up the club and squeezed the handle, twisting his hands over the grip. He clenched his jaw, drew the club back and swung it as hard as he could. He could hear the crack as the club pierced Stocky Guy’s skull. He dropped quickly.
Mar coughed and held her maroon neck.
Blood flowed from the gash on the side of the man’s head and mixed with the blood from Spindly Guy, the former Vegetable Guy, to form one big, disgusting swirl of red.
“Oh my God.” Mar’s voice was horse and she coughed violently again. “You saved my life.”
“You saved mine.”
Solo looked down at the man with the X tattoo and wondered how he could be here, in his head, in his delusion. He looked different. He had more hair, more flesh on his bones and wasn’t a flower of broccoli, certainly, when he was wielding that 3-iron with the intent to bash him in the head with it. Solo examined him until Mar finally interjected.
“Solo, you okay?”
“This man,” Solo paused, staring at the lifeless body with the lifeless eyes that looked coldly at him. “He’s in the hospital with me.”
Mar laughed. “Oh, yeah, in your reality,” she made air quotes when she said reality.
“I’m serious.” Solo backed away from the carnage, feeling his stomach rise into his throat.
The blood. So much blood.
“You don’t look so good, Morris.”
***
Solo’s eyes burst open again to the sight of Brown Robe Guy tapping him on the shoulder. He was out of focus and spinning. So was the room.
“You don’t look so good, Morris. It must have worked.” BRG said, grinning.
Solo sat up and his head complained of the sudden movement. “Yes. It did.”
“Come with me,” BRG whispered.
Solo was unsure about following. BRG had nearly left the room before he noticed Solo was not in his company.
“Come with me, Solo. You’re going to want to see this.”
Solo slowly rolled out of bed and tried to steady his wobbly legs. He took a couple of shuffling steps toward BRG. “Why did you call me Solo?”
“That’s your name in the Before, right?”
“You know about the Before?”
BRG chuckled. “Just follow me.”
Solo slid his bare feet flat across the cold floor and stared at BRG, who looked at him expectantly with raised eyebrows. The floor was always cold here and the staff was negligent in giving him clean socks. Solo hated dirty socks. He had drawers filled with all sorts of varieties of socks in his cottage. Some people collected stamps and baseball cards and shot glasses and other trinkets.
Solo collected socks.
“Okay,” Solo said. “I’m right behind you.”
Solo wished he had socks as he padded his way behind BRG. Part of Solo was still convinced this was a bad idea and that some form of peril was waiting for him wherever BRG was leading him.
They slipped through a door undetected and descended a flight of stairs and into a basement that smelled musty and dank. Solo wondered how BRG had found this place and how the hospital staff could allow for such wanderings.
Solo shrugged it off as underpaid employees not giving a shit. That seemed to always be the explanation.
“Where are we going?” Solo felt compelled to ask at this point. It was dark, which only added to his disorientation, and he could hear BRG’s wheezing become even more labored.
“Keep your panties on. We’re almost there.”
BRG fiddled with a lock on a door and finally was able to turn the knob and swing it open. He pulled on a chain and light cast from a single, dangling light bulb illuminated the small room that looked to be some long-forgotten storage closet.
Thousands of playing cards were arranged intricately on the damp floor, stacked high to form different geometric shapes. Red yarn was stretched from card structure to card structure in the shape of a cross.
Solo eyed it with amazement.
“I figured it out,” BRG whispered and smiled proudly. “I figured it all out.”
“What did you figure out?” Solo asked.
“God is angry with us. Oh, he’s so mad at us. Babylon is where we are living. Ruined, ruined, Great Babylon ruined! She made all the nations drunk on the wine of her whoring!”
Solo had no response to that.
“It’s coming. I heard you speak of it. Ruined, ruined, Great Babylon, ruined. A ghost town for demons is all that’s left!”
Solo still had no response even though it appeared BRG was waiting for one.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Um, not really.”
“It’s comin
g. God will take the good into heaven and leave the damned on Earth in Babylon. That’s what’s going to happen to us, isn’t it? In that world of yours with no one around?”
Solo shook his head. “It’s a delusion. It can’t be real. This place and that place … can’t both be real.”
“But it is. Mark my words. It is. The Mayans predicted the end of the world in their calendar,” BRG pointed at his intricate playing-card sculpture. “It’s coming. I can see it. I remember it now. I remember it all now.” BRG tapped at his temple with his index finger. “I figured it out. I figured it out.”
Solo spoke slowly and deliberately in the hopes it would help make his point clear. “It’s. Not. Real.”
BRG was unmoved. He displayed the same knowing grin. He was proud of himself, it seemed. Smug. Delighted in his insight. “How can you say that after all you have seen? We’re forsaken, Solo. We’ve done bad things. Very bad things. And we are being left behind in purgatory. It’s okay, though. I’m at peace with it. The world will be ours. Tell me. What’s it like?”
Solo shook his head and rolled his eyes. There was no reasoning with BRG. Solo wasn’t sure why he tried. He turned to leave and the room shook violently again. “We better head back before I pass out again. If they catch us down here, we’ll be in trouble.”
“We’re already in trouble. Great trouble.” BRG pulled on the chain and the light went out, plunging them into darkness. In that void, Solo lost his bearings and wobbled.
He heard a voice that wasn’t quite BRG’s. “Are you okay, Solo?”
***
“Are you okay, Solo?” Mar’s voice was couched in concern as she shook him. Solo lay on the floor in a pool of blood, staring at a patterned ceiling that looked like flowers. His stomach was sour at the sight of the sticky blood on his hands and the smell of it. Blood had a smell.
“Babylon.” Solo muttered.
“What?”
“This is real. There is real, too. How can they both be real?” Solo said as he sat up and pried his fingers apart.
For so long, Solo was convinced his two worlds could not be reconciled. One had to be real, the other a figment, a delusion, a fantasy.
