Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

  “You will be expected to keep it clean,” he continued. “And you will have your bed made every morning before breakfast.”

  She looked around the room. There was a single tiny window high on the wall. Even if it wasn’t covered by a steel grate, she’d be hard-pressed to fit through it.

  “You will be visited by the floor charge nurse in the morning to get you acclimated and give you the new resident tour.” The orderlies smiled at one another, sharing an inside joke. “Welcome to your new home. If you need anything, just ring the bell.”

  She scanned the stark space.

  “I don’t see a bell.”

  “There isn’t one,” he scoffed.

  Very funny, asshole.

  The two men laughed as they stepped out, Larry pausing a moment to look Dorothy up and down once again, like he was assessing his new toy. She most certainly didn’t like the way he was leering at her, and felt a slight shudder run up her spine.

  In an act that might seem harmless from most people, the creepy man winked and blew her a little kiss as the door swung shut with a solid thud. She didn’t hear any keys turning in the cylinder, and though she expected the attempt would be futile, she still tried the door, just in case.

  It was unlocked.

  She pushed it open and peered out into the hall. Camview, it seemed, was an open-doors facility. At least this wing was.

  Interesting, she noted.

  Dorothy shut the door and stepped to the middle of her room, slowly turning in a small circle, taking in the confined space that was her new home as the nature of her situation truly sank in.

  Being trapped in a small space made her feel claustrophobic for the first time in her existence. She felt her chest start to grow tight as the stress of the day finally caught up with her. A small quiver tugged at her lips.

  Emotionally drained, she lay down on top of her perfectly made bed, curled up in a ball, and did something that Death does not do.

  She started to cry.

  Doctor Vaughan sat at his desk in the lush privacy of his office, his phone pressed to his ear as he forced himself to listen quietly to the man on the other end of the line. His face showed the stress he kept veiled so well when among the staff and patients. His furrowed brow and the slight sweaty sheen that glistened on his forehead betrayed just how much he didn’t want to be on this particular phone call.

  “I understand, sir,” he said, managing to get a rare word in edgewise. “But I’ve made adjustments and we—no sir, I’m personally overseeing—” He sighed.

  His boss, the chief executive of the hedge fund that owned the hospital, his hospital, never even bothered to come see how well he ran things with his own eyes. Rather, he relied on spreadsheets and patient logs, oblivious to just how much work it was to keep the facility in top shape. “Management without understanding,” Vaughan had called it. He had long said, if it were a surgical facility rather than a mental one, would a bean-counting fund manager without a lick of medical training dare stick his nose where it didn’t belong?

  Not likely.

  “Yes, sir.” Doctor Vaughan sighed, snapped back to the dreary reality of his phone call. “I understand what you want, and I know you expect retention rates to increase. You can rest assured I’m doing all I can, but—Yes, sir, what I was trying to say was that one example is how I’ve just taken in a new patient, one whose care is state mandated with full, undiscounted payment rates—But, sir, it’s—Yes, sir, I’ll make sure there are no disruptions.” A look of worry briefly appeared on Doctor Vaughn’s face. “No, no, I assure you, sir, there is no need for a visit from the board of directors. Everything is under cont—yes, I understand, I—”

  A shocked look flashed across his eyes as he held the phone away from his ear and stared at it in disbelief.

  He had been hung up on.

  As calmly as he could, though with knuckles so white the force of his grip could have likely turned a lump of coal into a diamond, he placed the phone back in its cradle on his desk, took a deep breath, and turned back to his stack of paperwork.

  CHAPTER 9

  Breakfast hour in the nuthouse was always an interesting time.

  Some of the patients docilely marched wherever they were directed, happy to be out of their rooms, and looking forward to receiving a bowl of oatmeal and a muffin. That clique cheerfully enjoyed their repast as if they were guests in a fancy bed-and-breakfast. Maybe their scattered minds actually believed they were.

  The less medicated patients, on the other hand, had an uneasy, institutionalized look to them, hunched over their trays, guarding their food from invisible thieves like paranoid inmates in a bad prison movie.

  Then there were the select few who started the morning combative, kicking and screaming all the way to the dining hall. That habit was quickly noted by the staff and broken up post-haste.

  Patients learned very quickly that violent or disruptive behavior was not a wise choice in Doctor Vaughan’s facility.

  It was a bit of a balancing act, staying off of everyone’s radar, but Curtis and his loose-knit group had managed to find a comfortable groove, making things easy for the staff, which, in turn, meant they were pretty much left to their own devices.

  Dorothy sat alone at a table, a glazed-over look on her face as she absentmindedly picked at the food in front of her. All the utensils nearby were lined up by size, satisfying her sense of order, even if she was drugged to the gills and unaware she was even doing it.

  Curtis caught sight of her sitting there all by herself. Just as importantly, he noticed her untouched muffin, so he finished loading up his tray and headed over toward her table with a jaunty hop in his step.

  Stein, a wiry man plagued by germaphobia so bad that he ceased being able to function in the outside world, tagged along, attracted to Dorothy’s table, not for free muffins, but rather, because it was empty. Empty meant less people spreading their germs if he sat there. For him, the antiseptic tinge to the air of Camview was actually calming, though he still took care to not touch anything the other patients had laid hands on whenever possible. He even went so far as to have his own sterilized dice stashed away for game time, so he wouldn’t have to share cooties with the others when his turn came up.

  “Heya, new girl, welcome to the loooooony bin!” Curtis greeted her as he flopped into a seat. “Hey, you gonna eat that?”

  Not waiting for a reply, he deftly swiped the muffin from her plate, peeling the paper back from one side and biting into the treat.

  “Blueberry. Man, I love blueberry.”

  “That’s not sanitary, you know,” Stein piped up. “You could catch hepatitis like that, or maybe necrotizing fasciitis.”

  “Don’t mind Stein, he’s a bit of a hypochondriac.” Curtis laughed. He held out his hand to Dorothy. “I’m Curtis, and you are?”

  She blinked her glazed-over eyes, struggling to focus, then slowly turned her doped-up gaze to the man beside her.

  “Ah. Obviously drugged out of your mind. Looks like somebody got a visit from the morning nurse and hasn’t learned to palm her meds yet. Don’t you worry, new girl, Uncle Curtis will look after you. Just think of me as your guardian angel.”

  His words didn’t really register with Dorothy, at least not much, anyway, though there was a slight flicker of understanding behind her glassy eyes.

  “Oooh, if you’re not going to finish that,” he said, and without missing a beat, reached over and started eating off her plate.

  Stein winced. “I’m sure it’s possible for humans to transmit rabies. Salivary transmission by food is not unheard of, you know.”

  “Come on, Stein, live a little. Am I right, new girl?” he said with a smile. Dorothy had just the slightest of reactions in her brain as something told her that the crazy guy stealing her food was a good egg. Then she went back to focusing what little awareness she did still possess on not drooling all over herself.

  After breakfast all the patients were herded into the rec room, where th
ey could play games, watch the few TV channels allowed, or just nap on a couch, as many chose to do.

  The lighting was warm and calming, the sounds largely muted, partly because of the padding installed here and there, partly because of the overall calm of the mostly drugged patients. As long as they didn’t raise a fuss, the staff didn’t much care what they did.

  Curtis spotted Dorothy sitting on a small sofa near a barred window. She was quietly enjoying feeling the sun warming a spot on her legs as she tried to clear her head. She was much less dazed as the drugs metabolized, but she was still pretty out of it.

  A nurse began making rounds, handing out small paper cups with pills in them, watching each patient as they swallowed their drugs.

  Curtis strolled over and casually squatted down in front of her. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching, then, satisfied he was unobserved, held up one hand. In it was a paper cup like the nurse was handing out. He opened his other hand, revealing several Tic Tacs. He made sure Dorothy was watching as he dropped the mints into the cup, which he tilted back to his mouth, making ‘yummy yummy’ sounds, then opened his mouth to show ‘all gone.’

  Dorothy wondered what on Earth this crazy person was doing. Smiling at her, Curtis dramatically looked both ways, then spit the Tic Tacs out into his hand, tucking them into his pocket.

  “Got it?” he asked.

  Ah, I see, she managed to realize through the fog clouding her brain.

  Dorothy nodded.

  “You’ll be okay,” he said, giving her a wink.

  Jumping to his feet, Curtis firmly reattached his crazy face and made a beeline for the ping pong table, beating his chest like an ape as he strode across the rec room.

  “Who dares challenge King Pong? Any takers? Come on, I welcome all who would try to unseat the king!”

  To Dorothy’s slowed senses, a white-haired man appeared to her left, seemingly out of nowhere. Had she been more lucid she would have seen him enter from the opposite door. One thing was certain, he was extremely animated and quite worked up about something.

  “Eureka, I say! I’ve solved the world’s energy problem!” he yelled.

  “That’s great, Professor. How did you do that?” a nearby social worker humored him.

  “Why, cold fusion, of course. It was the only logical way.”

  “So how’d you do it?”

  The professor looked puzzled by the question, then upset. “Well it’s surprisingly simple, you just… no wait, first you… Damn!” He stormed off, muttering to himself about fusion.

  The staff looked on, amused, and let him go on his way.

  His name was William Ford, but everyone just called him Professor. He’d been a big-wig scientist before being committed when he had developed some mental “issues” later in his career. Nowadays, he would invent amazing devices in his head, or solve some daunting equation, but try as he might, he just couldn’t hold on to his results. Worse, he would forget how he did it, sometimes just moments after his revelations.

  Doctors said it definitely wasn’t early onset Alzheimer’s that was causing it. In fact, nobody could figure out what exactly he suffered from.

  Fortunately for the professor, he’d forget he was upset just as quickly as everything else, and would refocus his attentions to solving another of the world’s problems.

  The room settled back into a quiet buzz after his departure, leaving Dorothy time to sit and think. At least as much as she could until her head finally cleared.

  Evening fell, and Dorothy found herself seated alone once more, though with the drugs finally out of her system, she found her appetite had returned with a vengeance. As she hungrily dug into her meal, Curtis, Stein, and the odd white-haired man from earlier strolled over and joined her at the table.

  “Hey, new girl has her appetite back!” Curtis beamed like a proud parent watching his kid take her first steps.

  “Thank you for your help. What were they giving me?”

  “Depressants. They like to keep folks calm around here. I’m actually kinda surprised they don’t just start prescribing Bluetooth earpieces to everyone while they’re at it. I mean, at least then it wouldn’t look like everyone was just walking around talking to themselves.”

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  “I’m Curtis. I know technically I already introduced myself, but you were a little out of it. This is the Professor, and that’s Stein.”

  “Hello,” she replied, feeling the last remnants of the drug-induced haze from earlier clearing by the minute.

  “And you are?” Curtis raised an eyebrow, waiting for a reply. Dorothy, however, didn’t answer. She simply sat there, somewhat overwhelmed by her situation.

  “Everyone around me is a total stranger,” she muttered.

  Curtis smiled and broke into song. “Everyone avoids me like a psyched Lone Ranger, everyone.”

  Dorothy looked at him, confused.

  “The Vapors? Turning Japanese? No? Okay, not a music fan, I see. Well, let’s try this again. Hi I’m Curtis, and you are?”

  She left him hanging once more.

  “I don’t want to get into it.”

  “Don’t want to get into your name?”

  “We already know it’s Dorothy. We were just making conversation. Jeez,” Stein grumbled.

  “My name isn’t Dorothy.”

  “And you sure aren’t in Kansas anymore.” Curtis laughed.

  “Why do people keep saying that to me? I am not named Dorothy. I am Death, Reaper of Souls!”

  Curtis paused for a moment, stopped in his tracks by that one. He seemed about to say something, then thought better of it. Instead, he slowly pushed his chair back from the table, stood, and picked up his tray.

  “Okay, then, well… um, everyone have a lovely evening. I’ll just be sitting over, um… Hey, Molly, that seat taken?” he called across the room to a madwoman in her twenties muttering to her dinner as he hopped to his feet and left the group.

  Professor had been deep in thought throughout the whole conversation, focused on something entirely different. His face lit up as he broke from his meditative state.

  “I just devised a way to transcend the bonds of this space-time and pass our corporeal matter through other matter. We could walk right out the door. Well, through the door, technically,” he jabbered excitedly.

  Stein had heard it all before. “Yeah, Professor, and how do we do that?”

  “It’s easy, you just… Oh, wait. I mean…”

  Stein chuckled, but not in a mean-spirited way. “Ya see, Professor is always inventing things, but he never writes them down. He’s kinda like Tesla’s mentally ill kid brother.”

  Dorothy watched the older man mumble to himself, trying to recall the calculations he’d just had in his head moments ago. Stein swung his attention back to the girl who thought she was Death, not really seeming to mind having the Grim Reaper seated across from him.

  “It’s funny, people think labs are sterile, but they’re full of germs,” he blurted. “He used to be a big-shot science professor, you know. Before he lost it. Accidentally killed his kid, I hear.”

  “People die every day, why does it matter?” Dorothy replied indifferently.

  “Wow, that’s seriously cold. It was his kid.”

  Warren chose that moment to lumber into the room, scanning the tables as he decided who to visit with. He’d made a bit of a mess loading his plate for dinner, part of his meal gracing his shirt with an abstract made of protein and carbs, but that was of little concern to him. He just wanted to share his hilarious jokes with his friends.

  Stein shrank in his chair like a kid in a classroom who desperately doesn’t want to be called on.

  “Oh no, it’s Warren,” he hissed. “Whatever you do, don’t say ‘Who’s there?’”

  Of course, what always happens to the kid who doesn’t want to be called on? Warren beelined toward the poorly hidden man.

  “Knock-knock.”

  “No
t now, Warren,” Stein sighed.

  “Knock-knock,” he repeated. Wanting to continue the joke, he grabbed Stein’s arm, hoping to get his attention.

  “Oh God, don’t touch me, you’re all sticky!” he cried out. “Oh, that’s disgusting! I need to wash my hands. You could be carrying smallpox!” Stein jumped to his feet in a flash and quickly ran across the room to pump handfuls of sanitizer from a wall-mounted dispenser, leaving the simpleton to turn his attentions to the new girl.

  “Hello!” He grinned at her. “Knock-knock.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Evening washed over Camview, and with its arrival, the patients were ushered back into the rec room for some post-dinner activities and games. Certain residents were led to a secure wing of the building, away from the general population for a bit. It was the time of day when the staff actually had to pay a bit more attention to the residents. Like clockwork, a handful of patients would experience “sundowning,” a phenomenon where mentally impaired become increasingly disoriented and agitated when the daylight changes as evening sets in. This unpredictable twist in their otherwise predictable day tended to irritate the staff, as the unplanned outbursts just led to more work for them.

  Dorothy had no such problems as she sat quietly in a chair. Beckman, a former IRS auditor with a pretty serious obsessive-compulsive disorder, occupied the seat just to her left. She had been observing Larry, the creepy, buzz cut orderly, as he berated a timid patient on the other side of the room.

  This guy has got to go, she thought. Looking up, she pleaded to the skies, “At least let me do this one thing.”

  She raised her hand, reaching out, trying to use her powers to kill the man and take his soul. She furrowed her brow and concentrated her force, but unfortunately, despite all her efforts, it had no effect.