Interpretation

by Dylan Callens

  The pause before she spoke again felt like an eternity. “I am the doctor,” she said with superb enunciation. “I am here to evaluate you.”

  “What’s wrong with me?” Carl asked, immediately wishing he had chosen different words. The question felt too lucid. He didn’t want to seem either too sane or too insane. He needed to stay in this institution. He and Chris had a plan. One that required him to be here a little longer.

  “You are defective,” the voice said with the same measured tone, emotionless, as if Carl’s defect was a matter of fact. “I am here to measure...”

  Carl jumped out of his seat and pressed his hands tight against his chest. Looking into the distance he muffled a sob, “I know, son. It’s going to be okay.” He gave the air a kiss where he imagined Liam’s head would be. Carl’s expression softened, followed by a confused look around the room, then he sat back down.

  The red light glowed bright again while the voice boomed overhead with perfect enunciation, “Carl Winston, there is no reason for you to fake hallucinations.”

  Carl looked down to his feet. “I’m, I’m not faking anything,” he muttered.

  “I know that you are lying, Carl Winston,” the voice said.

  The voice was so certain in its tone that Carl shrugged his shoulders and continued to look down, like a child that was caught stealing. “Sorry.” He hoped that whoever was speaking would answer one more question, “Where am I?”

  Another long stretch of silence caused Carl to believe that the conversation was finished. He peered over his shoulder to the orderlies who were too busy smiling at each other to notice him. The voice came back, “You are at the Albany Bedlam Institute.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “I have already answered that question, Carl Winston. You are defective.”

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  The long pause gave Carl a chance to regret the question, thinking that perhaps she hadn’t thought of sending him to the pit until now. Finally, the voice spoke out, “I have not yet decided.” The glow disappeared.

  Carl shouted, “No, don’t leave yet! What about Liam? What happened to my son?”

  * * *

  Chris stood in front of the dirty window when the orderlies brought Carl to the communal area. Without any hesitation, Carl went straight to speak with him, “We need to speed this up. That doctor, or thing, or whatever the hell just spoke to me, knew I was faking the hallucinations. It was like it knew me.”

  “Yer meeting didn’t go well?” Chris asked.

  “What do you think?” Carl retorted. “How were you able to fool it?”

  Chris shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I’m a better actor than ya,” he laughed. Chris turned around and put a hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Let’s go have a seat. I’ve been standing in front of this window too long already.”

  They sat at the chess table. Chris folded his arms together. With a half-grin, he nodded at Carl. “Lucky for ya, I was busy while ya were away.”

  “Oh yeah?” Hope sparked Carl’s attention. “Is it done?”

  “Close. I need to chip out a bit more cement. But I can see the lip of it; it’s almost there. I should be able to get it out tomorrow.”

  “Okay, so when it’s ready, how do we get them,” Carl pointed around the room, “to, you know, act like lunatics?”

  Chris laughed, “They are lunatics. It shouldn’t be hard. We’ll wait until the end of communal time, when the orderlies start comin’ in. Push someone into an orderly. That should get him zapped. That will cause a ruckus. When that happens, more orderlies will come in, so push more patients into them. Just don’t get caught. And don’t get electrocuted. That puts an end to the plan right there. Then yer definitely off to the pit. In fact, the only way yer not goin’ to the pit, I reckon, is if ya get through that window.”

  Carl nodded. The plan was simple enough. And there didn’t seem to be any other option. “What’s going to stop you from leaving without me?” he asked.

  “I don’t really know what’s out there,” Chris said, more serious than usual. “But I get the feeling it will be easier with two of us.”

  “James Verve,” an orderly called.

  A man came out from the crowd. “Yes,” he replied.

  “The doctor has reassigned you. Please come with me.” The room became still, except for Stan, who was still petting the air.

  James took a step back. “Me? No. This must be a mistake.”

  With his charged baton extended, the orderly replied, “There is no mistake.”

  James backed away with his arms extended outwards in protest. “Please, double check. I can’t,” his words stopped short, as the wand jammed thoroughly into his ribs. His body dropped to the floor; the orderly maintained pressure. While consciousness escaped James Verve, his mass jumped around from the electric current. Carl thought he smelled burning flesh.

  Finally, the orderly stopped. “Can someone help me reassign this man?”

  Two other orderlies came to his aid, each grabbing a leg to drag the man out of the cage. Once out of sight, the room went back to normal, as if nothing happened.

  “If we can’t pull this off tomorrow, that’s going to be us,” Chris said.

  Carl let out a long sigh. He knew that getting out of here would be a long shot. It was still a better option than dying in this place. And he did want them both to make it. Chris was right; there was no way to tell what was on the other side of that window. As much as Carl wanted to believe that it would be life as he remembered it, nothing in the last few days suggested that would be the case. He had to admit, some of Chris’ conspiracy theories might be more than the talk of an Untruther. If the world really was a horrible place, then having someone else with him would be welcomed.

  Carl held back one critical piece of information from Chris, though. He knew that Chris wouldn’t like it. The first thing that Carl planned to do was find his son. He wanted to bring Liam with them, wherever they were going. It was not negotiable.

  Orderlies started filing into the communal room to collect patients.

  “I guess we better make this work, then.” Carl nodded at Chris.

  “We better,” Chris agreed.

  Both Carl and Chris stopped talking as they walked with the orderlies. Carl gave up on the charade of being crazy. Or maybe he was crazy, just not the kind where you slip into different worlds. He didn’t know. Instead, Carl kept his head down and followed. He knew it was going to be a long night of waiting.

  Chapter 12

  476F696E6720746F20707269736F6E206973206C696B65206479696E67207769746820796F75722065796573206F70656E2E20284B6572696B29

  Autonomous Updates...

  Running update on 038.380

  Interpreting archival data...

  Extract: Notes from Philip Zimbardo on his Stanford Prison Experiment (1971)

  “...the twenty-four participants were chosen according to psychological profiles that suggested average intelligence and a sound moral disposition. Of the twenty-four that were chosen, half were assigned the role of prisoners and the other half prison guards. To help with creating an authentic environment, on August 14, 1971, the Palo Alto Police Department arrested the twelve participants, charging them with armed robbery. The police department took mugshots and fingerprints of each participant. The PAPD then took the group to the mock prison, strip searched them, gave them outfits, and brought the prisoners to their cells.

  While the prisoners were being processed, the guards held an initial meeting with me. It was the only meeting that I had with participants during the experiment itself. I laid out the rules for the guards, which were simple: they all had to agree on how the prison should be run, but they could not physically abuse the prisoners.

  Once their decisions were made, the guards went out to meet the inmates. Within the first few hours, the guards began showing signs of abuse towards the prisoners. The abuse was in the form of insults during the first day. By day two, however, the guards began
punishing prisoners by removing cots from their cells, forcing inmates to sleep on the cement floor. From here, inmates were sometimes forced to strip naked as a form of humiliation. Soon after, they were forced to clean toilets with their bare hands.

  Keeping in mind that inmates were merely performing an experiment and that all guards had to unanimously agree on any form of punishment, it was quite surprisingly that a) the inmates never refused any punishment, falling into their roles with relative ease and b) the guards’ sadistic tendencies came to light very quickly, which leads me to ask questions about human nature and the corruptibility of power.

  On day four, one inmate showed severe signs of emotional distress and had to be pulled from the experiment. A replacement was quickly found. During his briefing, he was given the instruction to start a hunger strike in order to improve conditions for the inmates. The guards viewed him as a troublemaker for going on a hunger strike and was assigned to solitary confinement for the duration of the experiment. While in confinement, other prisoners shouted taunts at the newcomer, viewing him as someone trying to make things even worse for them.

  By day six, the guards engaged in bursts of physical abuse, while all inmates showed signs of serious psychological distress. Forms of abuse included, but was not limited to, withholding meals and beating inmates with their batons. A graduate student, Christina Maslach, came to interview other students that were helping with the experiment. She noted how poor the conditions were for the inmates and strongly suggested that the experiment be terminated immediately. Upon closer inspection, I had to agree with her analysis. At this, I was surprised that I, and the other graduate students, did not see how critical the situation had become. The experiment, which was supposed to be two weeks, ended on day six.

  Furthermore, the experiment failed to prove the initial premise that people will fall into prescribed roles, despite their personal moral compass. Instead, we are left with more questions about this darker side of human nature.

  Creating new parameters...

  Purpose: To determine what role defective individuals will assume if they are placed in a mental institution. Also, data will be gathered from orderlies, as they are left with very little instruction about how to do their job. The orderlies, however, will have optimally working Micoms.

  Method: Approximately fifty-five subjects will be used to fill the role of patients, while optimized individuals assume the position of orderlies. Subjects will be chosen from three different pools: those with defective Micoms, those with Micoms that are shut off for experimentation, and those that have ‘rolling’ Micoms (Micoms that are turned off and on at random intervals).

  Patients will be given vague hints about what has happened to them. In these messages, it will be suggested to forty-seven percent that they could be rehabilitated. Forty-eight percent will be told that rehabilitation is unlikely. The remaining five percent will be led to believe that their death is imminent.

  All subjects will be allowed time to mingle with each other. Close observations will be made during this communal time. Furthermore, each subject will meet with me once.

  All subjects will be held at their respective Bedlam Institute for observation. When the subject no longer proves useful for gathering new data, the subject will be reassigned.

  Desired outcomes: There are no targeted outcomes for this experiment. While seeing subjects respond in a consistent manner is preferred, there is no expectation of this. One point of interest will be to see if the Micoms are effective in this situation, or if the orderlies will take on the role of prison guard, similar to the Stanford model.

  Chapter 13

  Nothing is more sad than the death of an illusion. (Koestler)

  Carl kept himself strategically placed between the orderly watching the room and Chris, trying his best to keep Chris out of sight. With every passing minute, Carl’s body trembled a little more, ready to get out of here, ready to run, ready to see his son. He glanced back to see Chris resting his head against an arm, appearing to stare into the thick grime that protected all inmates from seeing the outside world. While it looked like Chris was simply resting, Carl knew that he was busy chipping away at the cement with a small nail.

  When Chris first showed Carl the nail, Carl couldn’t help but laugh at the idea, that this was his key to escape. It was a tack. Not even two inches long. Carl joked that if the plan was to apply acupuncture to the orderlies, Chris might want to rethink the strategy. But Chris spent three weeks at Bedlam diligently chipping away at the cement encasement around one bar in front of the window before Carl arrived. Despite how unlikely it seemed to Carl, Chris was able to dig out enough cement so that the bar was loose. Both were optimistic that it would come out today; a great relief to Carl, considering how his meeting with the doctor went.

  Carl turned around again to see Chris casually pull the bar forward. The top portion came free. While the hunk of metal did move, there was still another inch before it would come past the outer edge of the sill. Carl spun around to ensure that the orderly couldn’t see what was going on. She had her back to the room, chatting with a colleague.

  Carl still hadn’t told Chris that once they were out, he intended to find his son. He hoped that Chris would understand and come with him, despite the warnings. Even if Chris wasn’t willing, Carl knew what he had to do. After being at Bedlam for at least nine days – longer, if he was blacked out for an extended period – Carl needed to know that his son was okay. He feared, however, that his dreams weren’t merely expressions of paranoia. He feared that something happened. And as Liam’s father, Carl must fix the problem. After that, they could go wherever Chris wanted. With Liam.

  It dawned on Carl that he never asked Chris where they were going to go. If the cities were too dangerous, what was the plan? Why hadn’t he asked before? Carl glanced back and thought that perhaps he should ask right now. Instead he shrugged, knowing that this was not the time. Besides, Chris seemed to understand the dangers that lay ahead, even if Carl didn’t want to admit his crazy ideas as possible. If the last few days showed Carl anything, it was that the world might not be the happy place that he remembered.

  Carl shuffled to the right as the orderly paced. The way she floated across the floor without much care reminded Carl of his wife. The lively step didn’t suit her role at Bedlam, but then again, all of the orderlies seemed to be somewhere else most of the time, except when they were electrocuting patients. This woman, though, with that smile firmly pasted on her face, allowed Carl to visualize his wife. He hadn’t been able to do that since waking up at the institution. He welcomed back the sight of her long brown hair and green eyes. When she smiled, deep crow’s feet gathered at the corner of her eyes from squinting. But when she relaxed, her face was as smooth as a child’s. Innocence shone through her eyes, incapable of any malice.

  Carl wished she was alive. As much as he wanted to believe his wish was for Liam’s benefit, he also wanted to feel her soft hands soothe his skin. He wanted to hear her melodic voice tell him that this nightmare would be over soon and that everything would be okay. Carl closed his moist eyes; he could hear her singing. The words became clearer. What songs did she sing? Carl listened closely.

  “Ninety years without slumbering, tick tock tick tock, his life seconds numbering, tick tock tick tock.”

  She never sang that song.

  Carl swung around to see the same guy as before muttering the words to himself. Each time he ended the second tick tock, he paused briefly and stared down at the ground, as if searching for lost words, only to give up and start the song over again. Carl took a step towards him, desperately wanting to know more about these lyrics, but the orderly looked straight at Carl; he couldn’t move from his post. A woman standing a few feet behind the muttering man chimed in with an off-key attempt at the next part, “It stopped short – never to go again – when the old man died.” The two delivered their lines over top of each other. Neither one paid any attention to what the other was saying.r />
  Carl’s mouth dropped open. The desire to identify this song overwhelmed his need to stay in one spot. He took a step towards the woman when an orderly standing on the other side of the communal area’s gate called out, “Carl Winston, the doctor has reassigned you.”

  Chris stopped chipping the cement, hiding the nail in his fist. His eyes met with Carl’s. He shook his head. “It’s not ready,” he said.

  “We’re out of time. We have to try,” he called back while two orderlies approached the crowd of inmates, both with primed batons.

  Chris ratcheted the bar. The cylinder moved more than he thought it would – half of the bar exposed beyond the sill’s ledge. “Okay, go for it.”

  Carl stepped behind the mumbling patient, waiting for the orderlies to get closer. “What is that song?” he asked.

  The man stood silent, unable to answer Carl’s question.

  As the dumb smiles came closer, Carl wondered if the orderlies even knew what was really happening in this room or if this was a distant dream to them.

  Carl whispered in the man’s ear, “I’m sorry,” as he shoved the mumbler into the orderlies, knocking one over. Snapping out of his daze, the patient swatted wildly into the air, connecting with the female orderly’s forehead. As she fell to one knee, the electrocution rod flew under the man’s chin. The wand hit the ground, with the man tumbling on top. A steady stream of electricity caused his body to flail uncontrollably.

  Another, more lucid patient ran to remove the baton from under the sizzling pile of flesh. Realizing what was in his hand, he called out, “Looks like no one’s getting reassigned today!” He tapped the female orderly on the shoulder, rendering her unconscious. The man laughed to the ceiling, embracing his new-found power.

  Carl hid himself behind the singing woman, while he carefully watched a handful of orderlies pour into the communal area. “What is that song?” he asked.

  She turned to meet Carl’s gaze. “What song is that, dear?” she asked with a rubbery grin. Carl shook his head and looked up in time to see two more orderlies coming towards him. He pushed the woman at them, wishing there was a better way to do this. He didn’t like hurting people so that he could escape, but finding his son held more importance.