The Humanist

by Kenneth James Allen

  “Hell, I don’t know. Everything’s a little fuzzy up there at the moment. There’s a lot of chitter chatter. A lot of voices. No one really knows that the hell is going on here.”

  “I see,” Galdini says.

  “Yeah,” I say. “People been talking.” I tap the side of my head. “Up here, you know. And boy, you guys are in deep shit.” I pick the chair up off the floor and take it to the table, turn it around and straddle it. Rest my hands on the table. “So,” I ask, looking around the room. “What are we doing here?”

  Galdini shifts uneasily in his chair. “Well, Sloan. We wanted to talk to you about something. A piece of information that someone might have told you. Perhaps they said it was secret.”

  I look down at the table, searching my memory banks.

  “Think,” Galdini says.

  Nothing

  “Think harder,” Kolton adds.

  Less than nothing. I look up. “Nah. I’d remember something like that. And even if I did remember, I probably wouldn’t tell you assholes anyway. A secret is only good if three people know about it, and two of those people are dead!” I point at them.

  “Wait,” I say. “Is this something The Devil is after? He’s not here, is he?” There’s a hint of fear in my voice, for very good reason. “I’ve heard the stories,” I say, and my stomach churns at the thought of them.

  The two men share glances with each other, and then back to me. “Yes, Sloan,” Galdini says. “The Devil. He will be here soon. And if you haven’t told us what we want to know, things will get ugly.”

  “How the hell can I possibly tell you something if you don’t tell me what it is you want?”

  “We thought Atlas might know.”

  I feel a pang of recognition, but then it’s gone, falling through my fingertips. “Who the hell is Atlas?”

  Kolton stands. “I’ve had enough of this shit!”

  Galdini jumps up, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Kolton, take it easy.”

  “No, doc!” Kolton says, shrugging the doctor’s hand off his body. “Your shit isn’t working. I’ll do this the old-fashioned way.”

  He moves before I can blink. Kolton leans over the table, his fists around the neck of my gown, hauling me toward him, his face growing in my vision. In a split second, I’m out of my chair and pulled up onto the table.

  It’s the perfect distraction, and I reach for it. I push it up under my gown and squeeze my legs shut to keep it in place. It isn’t pretty nor comfortable, but you’ve got to do what you’ve got to.

  Between flailing limbs and a red face, between the spit-laden threats, I hear Galdini call out. Everything is in slow motion. The world is fading slowly, disintegrating before my eyes. And then I hear other voices. They are familiar, yet distant, somewhere deep. But they’re growing louder. I can hear them. I can feel them.

  I sense movement in the background. The door opens, and I catch glimpses of two burly men as they enter the room. Barrel-chested orderlies dressed in white. One is Hispanic and the other African-American.

  Commotion. Everyone is yelling. It’s doing my head in, making the colors swirl into a dull gray. I am drowning, and the deep voice below me is rising. My legs weaken and I concentrate to keep them together. Who are you? I am here to protect you.

  Kolton releases me, and I fall backward, landing flat on my backside. I stay rigid as my vision clears, and the room hits me like a bus. Clarity. I shake my head. Who are you? Where did you go? Are you Atlas? But there’s no reply.

  I look up at the two orderlies. I know them. Different place. Out of context. Santiago is holding a jacket, the buckles and straps hanging from it. Darnell looks like he’s ready for a fight.

  “Did you hear them?” I ask.

  They ignore me and tell me to get up. I want to, but I’m still confused as hell. Plus, if I move, the object will drop. The jacket is placed on the table and they lift me to my feet in one swift motion.

  “Arms!” barks Darnell.

  I stand as instructed, and they get the jacket on me. I don’t struggle. Fighting only makes it worse. Much worse. Plus, I have bigger things on my mind. Something is happening to me, and I don’t know what it is.

  “Hey,” I say to Darnell, “do you know how I hurt my head?”

  He ignores me. Everyone ignores me.

  I hear the detective and the doctor talking in hushed tones. I see their words as colors.

  Kolton’s face is red. “Goddamn it, doc. You said this shit would work!”

  “We’ll try again tomorrow, and the day after if necessary. We’re getting close, I’m sure of it.”

  “Christ, we haven’t got the time for that. We need something different, and we need it done now.”

  “We?” Galdini responds. “Or you?”

  Kolton squares the doctor up. “Hey, don’t forget what I’ve got on you, what I can do to you. What he can do to you.”

  One nurse zips my jacket up the back and tightens the buckles while the other stands in front of me, uncomfortably close.

  “We will get it,” Galdini pleads. “I just need some more time.”

  “Well, I don’t know how much more time I’ve got.” They stand close to each other, in each other’s space. “I don’t need to tell you what’ll happen if we don’t get it. To both of us.”

  Galdini sighed. “Fine. I’ll try something tonight to activate his trauma and get back to Atlas. He’s been the closest so far.”

  There’s the damn name again: ‘Atlas’.

  The two nurses strap my arms around my body. I hear the buckles. Sounds like the clanking of a cell door.

  “But what if he pieces it all together? What if he remembers everything? What if they bury it?” Kolton asks.

  Galdini sighs. “Don’t worry about any of that. There are many layers applied here, and the drugs seem to keep everyone in line.”

  “Fine. You just do whatever it is that you do so I can get what I need.”

  Galdini nods reluctantly. “This is the difference between science and art, and the huge amount of gray area in between. If the human brain was simple enough for us to understand, then we’d be so simple we couldn’t.”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ve seen the meme.”

  “We just need to push the right buttons and pull the right levers.”

  Kolton pokes a finger into the doctor’s chest. “All of this could disappear in an instant. So, if you don’t want to see the inside of a tiny cell with a very large cellmate, do what you have to do to get what we need.”

  Galdini waves his hands, ushering the larger man to lower his.

  I stand there, watching the scene, flanked by Santiago and Darnell. They’re showing me off, as if they’re proud of their efforts.

  Galdini looks me over, considers his words, and purses his lips. “Ten milligrams of Aripiprazole. Then take him back to his room. I will see him later for... further treatment.” Someone snickers, but I can’t tell if it comes from villainous thoughts or just disgust.

  The two nurses nod, then guide me out of the room under the careful gaze of the doctor and the detective.

  I have a feeling I will seem both again soon.

  Very soon.

  Chapter 35

  I shuffle down cream corridors and white hallways. I’m being guided by hands on my upper arms and back like I’m a dangerous criminal, like I could somehow escape my bonds and make a run for it. But where could I go? I don’t even know where I am. My escorts’ rubber soles squeak on the linoleum. Every other overhead fluorescent bulb is flickering. No wonder everyone in here is crazy. The pulsing strobes and associated clicking noises are enough to drive anyone insane.

  Some doors are open, others are closed. On my left, a nurse stands at a solid steel door, looking in through the plexiglass of the viewing portal. The prisoner—I don’t know any other term for who he is—patiently stands at the glass, peering out. As I pass them, the patient makes eye contact with me. He has long greasy hair and a thin, spindly moustache. His eyes widen an
d he bares his teeth, taking an imaginary bite of me. The nurse turns to see what that patient is looking at. He has a scar running down the right side of his face, from his eye to his lips. I wonder if he received the mark here or by some other nefarious means.

  Further down on my right, a door is open. Inside, an impossibly large woman is pacing between her bed and the wall—a distance of just two steps. She mutters incoherently to herself as she turns and takes the brief journey back to her bed. She then stops, as if she senses me. She turns her head toward me. Her eyes are dead, but she is muttering something. Talking to me. Then she blows me a kiss, winks, and continues her selfish conversation, recommencing her solo voyage.

  I watch her as we shuffle along, try to place her in my memory, but to no use.

  Santiago shoves me in the back. “What the hell are you looking at, freak? Just keep walking. This place gives me the creeps.”

  “Can’t wait to get out of here,” Darnell adds.

  We enter an open doorway. The room is expansive, with tables and chairs arranged around the space. It’s some kind of rec room, or eatery, or gathering point. There is a window at the far wall, frosted and open. But it’s not a portal that allows people to look out at the brown grass and dead flowers—instead it frames an older woman, sitting there, smoking a cigarette. She’s in conversation with yet another nurse. His hair is black, slicked back. Is he trying to pick her up? She must be three times his age. Maybe beggars can’t be choosers. Judging by the bored expression on her face, he won’t be successful. But what do I know? She could blow him in the store room twenty minutes from now. I wonder if she would remove her teeth first.

  We pass a table, where five people are engaged in a game of something that isn’t immediately obvious. They don’t notice me—or, if they do, they don’t draw attention to it. They mostly ignore each other. Some rock back and forth in their chairs; others are drooling. Some are restrained, wearing a straitjacket, as I am; others fidget wildly. The first has bright green eyes staring out from her emotionless face. Every now and then, she jerks her head toward the lights, like a dog that has picked up on a scent.

  The second is grimacing. At regular intervals, he swears at one of his companions, then turns to an open space and starts jabbering, spit flying from his mouth.

  The third person is a midget, although I’m sure that’s somewhat derogatory. Perhaps little person is better. Anyway, she’s entirely proportional, the size of a child. Her feet don’t touch the ground. She watches everything, saying nothing.

  The fourth person is a guy, and he is morbidly fat. The chair barely holds his form. He is also in a straitjacket; that is, to say, they’ve attempted to restrain him. His bulk stretches the device beyond its limits. They’ve used additional attachments to secure the jacket buckles in place. He stares through me. A thin line of spit connects his mouth to the table.

  The final person is a man with a beard. He frantically rubs his hands, then plays with the strands of his beard, plucking out stray hairs. He constantly looks over his shoulder. I don’t know what he’s waiting for.

  Why these five people are together is beyond me. Maybe Elton by the window is charged with looking after them for a period of time, or maybe visiting time has just ended, or maybe they’re busy cramming drugs down their throats. Possibly they’re here for his entertainment—maybe he’s hoping one of them will kick something off that will give him absolute discretion to respond.

  They remind me of characters in a story, like I had seen them or heard their descriptions somewhere else. I shake it off. As I look over them, I can hear whispering.

  “Do you guys hear that?”

  “Keep moving,” Darnell responds. “Just keep walking.” Then he mumbles something like “I hate this fuckin’ place.”

  “I hear that,” Santiago responds.

  I reach the window, escorts at my side.

  She extinguishes her cigarette in an ashtray. “Hey there, Jason, or Sloan, or Atlas. Or whoever the fuck you are.”

  I smile, but she doesn’t. She pops two small paper cups on the counter.

  “Bon appétit,” she grunts, mispronouncing it, most likely on purpose.

  I look down. My arms are useless, restrained against my body. I lift my head and look at her as if to ask: How am I supposed to take that, Tessa?

  She looks back with an I-don’t-give-a-shit look.

  Santiago picks up the first cup and tips the contents into my mouth. I can feel the pills on my tongue. Before I’m ready, Santiago tips a small amount of liquid into my mouth. Darnell shouts, “Swallow!” and I obey the order. There’s a joke here about spitting or swallowing, but I’m in no mood to tell it.

  I stare at Tessa, watching wisps of smoke border her features before dissipating into nothingness. Her eyes sink into her skull. Her skin tightens against her face, revealing bones, then tears.

  Jason. Jason. “Jason!” I jolt my head around. Santiago is there. “Stop fucking around! I don’t have time for this. I want to get the fuck outta here.” He looks around, disgust on his features. “Hate this fucking place.”

  A few steps from the dispensary, the pills’ effects kick in and Santiago and Darnell take my full weight in their arms. I try to concentrate but the world skews off center, and my legs feel like jelly. Keep them together. My extremities tingle. Distorted sound interweaves with the minutiae of the universe.

  Down the rabbit hole I go.

  Chapter 36

  The room is dark; I don’t know what time it is. Shades of purple and gray make up my visual landscape. There’s nothing in my room except the bed I’m lying in, and there’s nothing on the walls except a door. If I turn my head just right, I can see it. A block of black in a wall of gray. There’s a yellow glow under it—the light from the corridor. I wait for the shadow.

  I am restrained on my bed, wearing a straitjacket. Thick leather straps attached to the bedframe wrap around me, holding me down. I feel like I’m being punished, but I don’t know why. I don’t know what I’ve done. But I know I am here for him. I feel like I am living the same night over and over, and maybe I am. Perhaps I’m stuck in a loop.

  There’s a jangle of keys, metal scraping on metal, and the door swings inward. The influx of luminance makes me turn. I hear a figure step into the room—the squeaks of shoes on the polished floors, trying desperately, futilely, to be quiet. The door closes, and I turn back. A dark figure on a light background. It’s funny how color moves like that.

  He walks toward me, the darkness of his silhouette growing bigger, looming over me. I smell alcohol. He is drunk, again. He always comes when he drinks, or at least I think he does. The smell wafts from him, like cheap cologne. It mixes with his body odor. Sweat and bourbon.

  “It’s time for your medicine, Sloan.”

  I heard the unmistakable unzipping of a fly. It seems to echo in the darkness. I turn my head to face the wall, but I feel pressure on my head. Fat fingers around my cranium, turning me back around.

  “Come on, Sloan. I need to punish you, just like your daddy used to do.”

  I feel something moving on my lips, round and soft. They work their way in, rubbing against my gums. His fingers, edging closer to pry my mouth open.

  “Don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

  I can’t fight, my mouth opens.

  “That’s right. I want you to take it all. But you can’t tell anyone about our little secret. No one would believe you anyway, a little liar like you.”

  I can feel it coming closer, the moment closing in on me. I am powerless.

  “And don’t you even think about biting me, or I will give you the hiding of your life, you better believe it.”

  I can feel it on my lips, pushing its way inside. He groans. I am numb. I close my eyes. I am drifting away. Darkness, darkens evermore.

  And then, light. The setting sun over the coastline, orange rays exploding between palm trees that dot the side of the road. My hair waves in the wind, and I feel the gust wo
rk its way through the open buttons of my shirt. The top is down. I push my sunglasses onto my head and return my arm to the sill. My other hand is on the wheel as we power down a straight road, 350 horses chomping at the miles as we push toward the border.

  “What the hell are we doing to do when we get there?”

  I turn to Sonja. She’s wearing a scarf over her head. Strands of purple and black flutter in the wind. She’s wearing oversized, white-framed sunglasses. I see the star tattoo on the side of her head, and I reach out and touch it.

  “Did you hear that? What was that?”

  Ignore it.

  I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I’m thrust against the door. I pull down on the steering wheel and the vehicle swerves off the lanes. I regain control and look over to her.

  “Shit, did you feel that?”

  She looks at me and smiles. She shuffles toward me, as close as she can get, save for the center console. She puts an arm around my neck, playing with my hair. Her other hand is on my thigh, and I instinctively push down further on the accelerator. She comes in close, her breath on my neck, my ear.

  She whispers.

  “Can we do that?” I ask, innocence in my voice, my eyes on the road. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

  I feel it then. The cold blade under my fingers. Serrated edge. The handle has grips for fingers.

  She whispers again.

  It’s time to wake up. It’s time to kill.

  Now I know what I need to do.

  She always knows what to say.

  Chapter 37

  I snap my eyes open. Where am I? Last I recall, I was on my bed, restrained, constrained, tied down like an animal. This room has warm lighting—browns and oranges fill my vision. I sit up, free from all constraints, and look at the doctor.

  Galdini’s eyes are wide, his hands at the pen sticking out from under his chin. It’s his pen, the one I snatched away during the altercation with Kolton in that room. I can’t believe nobody saw me take it, can’t believe the nurses didn’t check my hands before they strapped that fucking jacket on me. And while I knew how I got it; I have no idea how it came to be impaled in the doctor’s throat.