by G. E. White
“I need you to do something for me,” he croaked. “You have to swim. Swim as hard as you can till you reach the shore.”
Quinn dropped the stuffed animal in his grasp and, uncertain, returned the hug, vaguely aware of nodding his consent.
The man pulled away, his lips trembling, as he attempted to suppress his grief.
“I’m sorry,” he sobbed.
But before Quinn could ask what for, the man lifted him, dropping him over the side of the bridge, the water below rushing towards him…
Quinn was jolted awake by a splash of cold water to his face. Sputtering into consciousness he wiped the water from his eyes to see a bug-eyed man in his twenties looming over him with a now empty plastic cup in hand.
“Oh good,” the mystery man said. “I thought you were dead.”
“What the hell?! I was sleeping! Didn’t you notice I was breathing?” he shouted back as he continued to wipe the water from his cheeks and eyes.
“Sometimes after a person dies the air that vacates the body makes it look like they’re exhaling,” the man explained.
Quinn opened and closed his mouth as words formed in his head, but refused to make it past his lips.
He blinked up at the skeletal young man. He was obviously malnourished and his lanky brown hair was thinning in places.
“And you didn’t think to wait and see if I inhaled?” Quinn asked, reaching to grab a towel from his bag.
The other cocked his head to the side, bird-like. “I guess I didn’t think that far… Regardless, I’m just happy you’re alive. If you’d died I’d probably end up sharing a room with Paul again and that man is a slob, but then what do you expect from a hoarder? I’m Jeremy by the way.”
Did the guy even pause to breathe?
“I’m Quinn.”
“Yeah, I know,” Jeremy said, moving to sit on his own bed. “This is my first-time rooming with an honest-to-god schizophrenic.”
Surprised, Quinn paused from toweling off his shirt. “You know about that?”
“Oh please, everybody knows.”
The sensation of utter dread that he had felt before intensified.
“Anyone who is not completely off the deep end makes it their business to know what everyone else’s problems are. Keeps our minds off our own problems for a while,” he explained.
Quinn studied the older youth in front of him, a question in his gaze.
Jeremy rolled his abnormally large eyes, giving a huff of exasperation. “Before you ask or jump to conclusions: I am not anorexic or bulimic. I don’t have body image or self-esteem issues. Yes, I do have an eating disorder, but not because I’m worried about getting fat.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
He sulked. “I’m just worried that there might be something sharp in my food that could cut my throat.”
Quinn nodded, gazing at the blankets he sat on. After a moment, he looked up, “Have you tried mashed potatoes?”
Jeremy barked out a laugh. “That’s what they’ve been using to keep me up and running, but I think they switched the actual mashed potatoes for some sort of high protein gruel.”
The comment pulled the first genuine smile from Quinn since he had arrived.
“Speaking of which, it’s six o’clock – meal time,” the older male continued gesturing for Quinn to get up.
“You have a problem with eating, yet you want me to go down to get dinner with you?”
“If I didn’t, I’d get in trouble from Nurse Carl,” he said.
Quinn nodded absently as he stood and followed along behind Jeremy.
“Is that the only reason? To stay out of trouble?” Quinn asked.
Jeremy had the decency to look guilty as he shrunk down into himself. “Well there is one thing I could use your help with…”
~ Chapter 5 ~
Quinn dragged his spoon through the puddle that had originally been Jeremy’s mashed potatoes. “Dude I don’t see anything,” he said.
“You’re sure?”
“These are no longer mashed potatoes, its potato soup. There is nothing even remotely sharp in this,” Quinn assured.
Jeremy raised his gaze from the plate in front of him, his expression sadly serious. “You think so?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” he said. “Now if we’re done dissecting your food, perhaps I can eat mine?”
“Oh, yeah, sure, go ahead,” Jeremy replied, eyeing his spoonful of liquid mashed potatoes like they had insulted his mother.
Quinn sighed heavily. He supposed he wasn’t in any position to judge. He bit down on his own spoonful of peas, his face twisted in displeasure.
Great, they were already cold.
He put his spoon down, dejected, and turned to the garden just outside the window.
It was almost the end of March. There were still some small clumps of snow clinging to the last days of winter. Already various plant-life was reawakening springing up from around the yellowed grass. Quinn tried to take some sort of message from the view before him: that he should be resilient in the face of his confinement, but could hardly bring himself to care.
Evening was starting to fall, so when a small light fluttered around from leaf to leaf, Quinn couldn’t help but notice. March was hardly the time for fireflies and the strange blue light didn’t seem natural for the luminescent bugs.
He peered intently at the light as it drew closer until it was right up by the glass.
It was at this point that Quinn began to seriously consider that he was right where he belonged. For there, as if ripped from the pages of Peter and Wendy, on the window sill stood a faerie.
Cloaked in fresh green leaves, his tiny body gave off a soft blue glow that matched his sapphire hair. He plastered his itty-bitty self against the window pane looking in at the patients.
Making eye contact with Quinn, the faerie waved his small hand in greeting.
Quinn tore his gaze away from the windows, his heart pumping and his eyes as buggy as Jeremy’s. In his peripheral vision, he saw the little guy tap on the window a couple of times, trying to regain Quinn’s attention. No one else appeared to hear or see the small creature, and after a minute or two of being ignored the faerie’s shoulders slumped in disappointment before he flew off.
Quinn took a quick glance at the window to make sure his small visitor was gone and whipped around to face Jeremy.
“Did you see that?”
“See what?” Jeremy asked, raising his focused gaze from his plate.
After a moment Quinn simply shook his head. “Nothing, never mind…”
Jeremy’s face lit up. “You just had a hallucination, didn’t you? That is so cool! What was it?”
“Are you mental?!" he hissed.
Jeremy just stared at him with his bulging eyes as if Quinn had grown a second head.
"Okay, bad choice of words. But seriously, how is having hallucinations cool in any respect?"
"It's not really,” Jeremy conceded. “Actually, it's a pretty bad sign, but I've never met anyone who's had them... and I've been here four years."
Quinn slumped in his seat; the knowledge that something was truly wrong with him weighing heavily on his mind.
The following days and weeks passed in a blur of off-white rooms, inane chatter and cold meals, courtesy of Jeremy’s need to have his food thoroughly inspected before being consumed.
The dream that Quinn had experienced his first day repeated often, never any clearer, but identical in its repetition.
Quinn found himself passing most of his free time in the library. The words that he read from both reference books and fiction alike were a balm on his troubled mind. Any time he felt himself beginning to fray around the edges, or overwhelmed by the reality of his situation, he would retreat to the corner of the small library. With a book in his lap he’d escape, at peace for the time being.
It was a state of mind that baffled both Quinn and his therapist, Doctor Salazar. Even though Quinn had continued to see small fae-li
ke creatures out in the garden or courtyard, he didn’t feel out of control, nor did he have the growing paranoia common in most schizophrenic patients. As for the catatonic excitement that landed him here, Quinn had not experienced a single episode.
Other than the common bouts of depression and his strange hallucinations, Quinn would have considered himself a fairly sane individual.
Yet a fateful day in late May soon shook this belief to the core.
Quinn fell into a routine where after every lunch he would play a game of chess with Jeremy out in the courtyard. Two months had passed and by now the teen knew all of the names of the patients, nurses, orderlies, doctors and even the regular visitors. So when an unfamiliar young man appeared in the courtyard Quinn took notice.
With his stylish raven locks, frosty blue eyes, designer clothes and sports jacket, the young man was far too well put together to be a patient at Cedar Hills.
Despite his striking appearance, no one else seemed to pay him any mind; not even enough to glance up at him. He moved silently as a shadow among them, as he approached one of the elderly patients, Marvin Jacobs.
Marvin looked up from where he sat in his wheelchair. The young man said nothing but placed a hand on Marvin’s shoulder and smiled.
“I didn’t know that Marvin had any grandkids,” Quinn commented continuing to stare at the stranger across the courtyard.
Jeremy scowled, pondering over what move to make next, though he was starting to believe that there was no hope for it. In all the matches he played against Quinn, he had yet to win a single one.
“He doesn’t,” Jeremy replied.
“Then who’s that?” Quinn asked, gesturing with his chin to the dark-haired man.
Jeremy looked over and frowned. “Who are you talking about? There’s no one there.”
“But…”
“Dude, you are losing it. If I were you I’d seriously reconsider taking those drugs Doctor Salazar told you about.”
Quinn pulled his feet up onto his seat, hugging his legs closer to his chest. He glanced back over at Marvin and sure enough the young man was still there.
The elderly man smiled up at his mystery visitor as if seeing an old friend. The young man leaned forward whispering something in the old man’s ear. Marvin’s smile grew.
The stranger then turned and walked away, around the corner of the building and out of sight.
Once he could no longer see him, Quinn glanced again at Marvin. The old man was slumped in his chair appearing to be asleep save for the fact that he didn’t stir, not even to breathe.
“Marv?” Quinn called from across the court.
Nothing.
“Marv!” he said more sharply, standing up.
“Geez, Quinn, let him sleep,” Jeremy scolded.
“He’s not sleeping,” Quinn insisted, worry evident in his voice.
Quinn’s yelling had attracted a couple of the nurses who now rushed to the still man.
“Mr. Jacobs?” one of the nurses asked, lightly shaking his shoulder; getting no response the young woman’s face drained of color.
“Jenny I need you over here,” she hissed to the older nurse.
In a matter of minutes several orderlies were ushering the other patients back inside. The doctors placed a white sheet over the now deceased Marvin, preparing to take him down to the morgue.
In the following days, it was announced that the old man had died of natural causes. Knowing that no one else had seen the blue-eyed young man, Quinn didn’t mention him again.
Depression pressed down on Quinn as the thought he truly was losing his mind seeped deeper into his brain.
The days turned monotonous as Quinn just went through the motions of living. Neither his games with Jeremy, nor his beloved books brought him any joy or comfort.
The hallucinated fae-creatures continued to visit Quinn, but often left disappointed. The teen barely paid them any mind, other than acknowledging they were a sign of his decreasing mental stability. It soon became obvious that he would not get better on therapy alone.
The next Friday Quinn steeled himself for his private therapy session. He would confess his persistent hallucinations and ask Doctor Salazar for the medication.
However, it appeared that the Fates had a different plan in store for Quinn; as at ten minutes after one Nurse Belamy approached the teen and spoke the words he had never expected to hear.
“Quinn, honey, you have a visitor.”
~ Chapter 6 ~
Quinn nervously rubbed the back of his left hand as he entered the visitation room.
Had the judge reconsidered his sentence? Maybe they were letting him go. Though with the luck he had been having lately it was more likely Officer Kendry’s condition had worsened and they were now going to send him off to prison. He shook his head – things didn’t work like that. He had already been sentenced; there were no take backs, at least not in this situation.
Besides, even if it was a possibility, Quinn wasn’t sure whether that would be an improvement or not.
The longer he stayed here the more convinced he became that he truly belonged here. What sane person saw little faeries or trashed libraries for no reason?
He couldn’t help but compare this room to the visitors’ room at the juvenile hall where he awaited trial. While the space had windows showing the outside world and was much more accommodating, the plain tables and chairs scattered in sets throughout the room betrayed its purpose.
What surprised Quinn, was the person waiting for him. Nurse Belamy had told him his lawyer was here to see him and so he expected to see his chubby and balding public defender, Artie McMullin.
There had been a time when he had been truly angry at the man for talking him into the insanity plea, which had led him here. But considering what he had seen and experienced since then, Quinn was more inclined to agree with the man.
Instead of old Artie, a dark haired young woman sat at the table closest to the largest window. She was probably in her late twenties to early thirties – late thirties if she was aging well. Her hair had lighter highlights that shone almost silver in the spring light. A pair of nearly opaque sunglasses in slick oval frames obscured her eyes.
The business suit she wore was typical for a lawyer. Despite the fact that it had been obviously tailored to her sleek frame she wore it with the awkwardness of a football player in a tutu, occasionally shifting and pulling at the skirt hem.
Quinn slid into the chair across from her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“You’re not my lawyer,” he stated.
“You were expecting Mr. McMullin. Unfortunately, he was called away. I’m your new lawyer, Surina Malik,” she explained, sticking out her hand.
Quinn noted her voice had an almost musical hiss. Taking her offered hand, he felt calluses on her deceptively dainty looking fingers and palm as he shook it.
“So why exactly are you here?” he asked.
“You’re being released,” she answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Released?” he asked, skeptical.
“Yes, the terms were, you would stay here until you were deemed well enough to re-enter society.”
“It’s only been a couple months.”
Surina threaded her fingers together in her lap. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”
“Of course,” he said standing and moving closer to the window. Outside in the garden Quinn caught sight of one of the small pixie creatures that had plagued him the last few months.
The little figure outside, took notice and flew closer. Pressed against the glass she started twisting and pulling her face in weird positions mockingly.
Quinn sighed. “I’m just starting to think this might be the best place for me.”
“Why? Because that stupid faerie out there keeps making faces at you?” Surina asked coolly.
The teen whirled around to face her. “You can see her?”
She snorted. “Of course I can see her. And i
f she knows what’s good for her she’ll beat it before I come out there and rip her wings off,” she said, directing the comment to the tiny fey outside.
The crimson-haired faerie on the other side of the glass stuck her petite tongue out at the woman before flying off.
Quinn continued to look at Surina in disbelief as she glared after the retreating figure.
“Yeah, you better run!” she called after it. “God, I hate those things.”
“You’ve seen them before?”
She nodded. “While they’re not overly common in the Second Realm, they usually hang around places like this, where people are more likely to see them and interact with them, but won’t be believed if they talk about them.”
“Lady, I’m starting to think that you belong here just as much as I do,” Quinn said.
Adjusting her sunglasses Surina leaned across the table, “I’m perfectly sane, as are you. You just have a keener sense of perception than most people. Just because a dog can hear things we can’t, do we automatically assume its crazy?”
Quinn slowly sank back down into his seat, his clear gray eyes scrutinizing her intensely. “I’m getting the distinct impression that you’re not actually a lawyer.”
“And what would make you say that?”
“The fact that we’re having this conversation for one, but there are other signs.”
“Really? Like what?” she asked, intrigued.
“Well, you’re not comfortable wearing a suit like the one you have on, which, if you were a lawyer, would be like a second skin. Then there’s your hands, you obviously work a lot with them – not exactly typical for someone who spends most of her time behind a desk or in a courtroom. Plus, with the sunglasses you’ve got this whole ‘Agent Smith’ thing going on, so I’m thinking you’re a part of the military or some other government agency.”
“Now you are starting to sound paranoid,” she said with a chuckle. “I don’t work for a government agency; at least not any you would be familiar with.”
