Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

  Dorothy followed them out with a more-than-slightly annoyed expression plastered firmly on her face.

  As was required of the more coherent patients, she had been forced to attend yet another mandated group therapy session, and was most certainly not amused. Instead of being enlightened and unburdened, she found herself in a foul mood after more than an hour of obnoxious rah-rah, feel-good therapy.

  “No wonder these people are insane,” she grumbled as she filed out of the room with the others. “These meetings are enough to drive anyone over the edge.”

  “Dorothy,” a voice called after her.

  It was Pam, the rotund, middle-aged woman in an ill-fitting cardigan tasked with running the group sessions.

  “I really hope you’ll share with the group next time,” she cooed, resting her moist hand on Dorothy’s shoulder.

  Yeah, like that’s going to happen, Dorothy thought, finally breaking free from Pam’s clammy grip and seizing her chance to make an escape down the hall.

  The sight of Doctor Vaughan performing his illusions as she walked toward the rec room refocused her attention. In a flash, she felt her annoyance zero in on a new target.

  He was nearing the climax of his routine, twisting and turning his hands, flourishing a red handkerchief with delight. As Dorothy crossed his line of sight, his eyes flicked to her for a nanosecond, a brief expression of extreme annoyance flashing across his face, immediately replaced with a showman’s grin, of course.

  It was fast, but Dorothy saw.

  Saw, and was not amused.

  He moved his arms in small circles, then, with a quick flick of his wrist, the red handkerchief disappeared. His audience of lunatics was amazed and looked as if they were about to burst into applause, and Doctor Vaughan reveled in that moment.

  “It’s in his sleeve,” Dorothy said, loud enough for all to hear.

  Snapped rudely from his moment of glory, Doctor Vaughan shot her an openly angry look.

  Dorothy just walked on by, not even slowing her stride.

  He tried to regain his composure and continue, but already, the patients had started murmuring amongst themselves.

  “What did she say about his sleeves?” asked one man.

  “She said he put it up one.”

  “Really?”

  Discomfited, Doctor Vaughan did his best to ignore them and continue with his routine, moving on quickly to another illusion, but one of the glassy-eyed patients curiously tugged on his sleeve.

  “Where’s the hanky?” the lunatic muttered.

  “Get off of me, you idiot!” Doctor Vaughan growled as he shoved the man back into his seat, then continued with his show, eyes shooting daggers at Dorothy as she walked away.

  For her part, Dorothy really didn’t care about him or his impromptu magic show. She just didn’t like his malicious nature and welcomed the opportunity to toss a monkey wrench in things. Still, she knew speaking out had been impulsive, and likely not the brightest thing she could have done. It would be wise to distance herself from him for the time being, and thus, she plopped down in a chair far away from Doctor Vaughan, well across the rec room.

  I always get a really bad vibe from that guy, she thought as she tucked her legs up under her and settled deep into thought.

  So, I’m trapped. Not only that, but aside from being stuck in human form, now it would seem my best bet to cross back is a Horseman of the Apocalypse, but he’s also trapped in the nut house. She sighed. “Small comfort knowing that at least I’m not crazy,” she muttered under her breath.

  No sooner had the word “crazy” passed her lips, than a patient she didn’t recognize came buzzing through the ward a red cape flapping behind him as he ran, his one good arm raised over his head. He didn’t raise the other arm, she noted, as it sported a fresh cast. She also spotted a fair number of bruises on his face.

  Are they beating this guy? she thought, her anger rising.

  She soon had her answer, though, as he rounded a couch, speeding up to a full run, then crashed right into the edge of the ping pong table, tumbling to the floor beneath it, making Curtis miss his shot.

  “Aww come on, Clark. Again?” he griped as the little white ball bounced merrily across the linoleum floor.

  Clark hopped to his feet, banging his head on the table as he did, then took off again, gathering steam, his good arm over his head just like a superhero.

  He’s trying to fly, she realized. But that still doesn’t explain all the bruises.

  “Oh,” she said, moments later.

  He had bent his knees mid-stride and leapt into the air, but his attempt at flight, needless to say, was far less than a success.

  Oh sure, Clark stayed aloft… for a millisecond that is, before he hit the floor hard, knocking the wind out of himself upon impact with the polished linoleum, then sliding headfirst into the wall.

  He was dazed, winded, and writhing in obvious discomfort.

  Well, that answers that question.

  The pair of orderlies who had been watching his antics took their time walking over to him, apparently quite familiar with his shenanigans, finally dragging him to his feet and helping him limp out of the room to the nurse’s station to get cleaned up.

  Again.

  Dorothy felt a tingle in the hairs on her neck. The feeling of eyes firmly upon her.

  Shifting her gaze from the commotion and scanning the room, she noticed Doctor Vaughan staring at her, a particularly evil look beaming from his eyes as he wrapped up his magic show.

  Dorothy was just thinking of some snarky observation to amuse herself when she was interrupted by Larry, the creepy orderly who had harassed her when she first arrived. Apparently, he had decided that this would be the perfect moment to hover near her.

  Really near.

  It was quite uncomfortable.

  Oblivious to the effect his presence caused, or possibly very well aware of it and enjoying her discomfort, he stood there, right next to her chair, his crotch at face level, hips slightly thrust forward in her direction.

  Whether it was done consciously or not, it was a seriously creepy move.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he finally leered, after hovering far too long. His hot-shot schtick struck her as a socially inept man acting in what he must have thought was a casual bad-boy way.

  Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.

  She, did her best to ignore him, hoping he’d catch the vibe and just go away, but, unfortunately, guys like him never seem to take the hint.

  “How’d you like to come join me for a drink in the staff lounge?” he propositioned.

  She quietly ignored him.

  No, I wouldn’t, you idiot. Take a hint and just go away!

  But men like Larry always seemed to have a problem with subtlety. Like, they missed it entirely.

  “You know, if you’re real nice to me, I could even show you the new linen closet up on the third floor. It’s really cozy. And really private.”

  She just couldn’t take it anymore and fixed him with an icy-cold look.

  “Hitting on a mental patient? Really?” Her gaze burned, and she noted his cheeks visibly flushed.

  “Oh, you think you’re so special?” he stammered. “Think I’m some kind of loser, don’t you?” He was getting worked up, which was drawing attention to his plight. This wasn’t going as he had planned. Not at all.

  “I didn’t say that, but now that you mention it, if the shoe fits…” she fired back. “Now go run along and play with the other creeps. Go on, shoo.”

  A few patients within earshot chuckled.

  “I’ll remember that,” he said, face red, and glaring at her as he stormed off in a huff.

  I’m just making friends left and right in this place.

  A gravelly voice spoke in her ear.

  “From what I hear, back in the old days, you would have just killed him with a glance.”

  Pestilence had quietly slid into the chair beside her while she was focused on her altercation.

>   Sloppy. I should have sensed him.

  “I thought you were locked up,” she said, for some reason only mildly surprised to see him out of confinement. “You know, I’ve been trying to find you.”

  “Yeah, I traded my antibiotics with one of the staff to let me out. His kid is sick, and drugs are really expensive, what with the crappy health plan they offer here. Of course, I made sure to cough on them first.” A gurgling chuckle rumbled from his chest. “To thy nature be true, right?” he said with a crooked smile, then noticed something across the room. Something that made even him seem uncomfortable.

  He twisted where he sat, shrinking in his chair, trying to blend in with the aged upholstery.

  Dorothy looked over and realized Doctor Vaughan’s angry gaze was now firmly fixed on Pestilence, eliciting the scab-covered man’s worried reaction.

  “All these new drugs,” he said in a hushed tone. “It’s getting harder and harder to do my job. I mean, look at me, I almost look healthy! Of course, Famine is doing quite well over in Africa, and War, well, I’m sure you’ve seen his handiwork in the Middle East all over the news. Man, that guy’s got it good. I heard he was even a presidential advisor. Of course, he had his fingers in the election too, so that doesn’t really surprise me—”

  “Look,” she interrupted him, staring intently into his bloodshot eyes, “my power is gone, and I need your help. I need to find out why I’m here, and how I can get back.”

  His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly as he reclined in his seat, a massively amused grin spreading across his features as he sized up the girl sitting across from him.

  Then he laughed.

  It started as a throaty chuckle and slowly grew into full-fledged howling, phlegm-rattled laughter, ramping up, getting louder and louder. Pestilence was not just laughing, he was crazy-guy laughing, and even in the nuthouse, people had started to take notice.

  Curtis saw what was happening and dropped his ping pong paddle.

  Pestilence was raving.

  “You haven’t figured that out yet?” he cried. “You, the great and mighty reaper! Ha, that’s priceless! I could get back any time I want. Hell, I could even tell you how to do it too, if I wanted. But you know what? I’m not going to give Him the satisfaction! No, sir, I’m not going to bow down to the man anymore!”

  Dorothy felt herself yanked from the chair, her feet slipping on the linoleum floor as she tried to gain her footing while being quickly hustled away from Pestilence as his raving grew worse.

  She turned as best she could in her attacker’s grip, ready for a fight, but it was Curtis dragging her away, a worried and determined look on his face.

  “What the hell are you doing? I need to talk to him!”

  “Shut up, and don’t move if you want to ever get out of here,” he hissed in an urgent whisper.

  No sooner had he spoken than she became aware of the rapidly approaching sound of rattling keys bouncing against a very large leg.

  A huge orderly she had never seen before came barreling through the open rec room door. He was enormous, close to seven feet tall, with a nasty sunburn making his bald head shed little bits of skin.

  As he grew near, she could see the name on his muscle-stretched shirt said Stan, and for just a moment the light caught his eyes in a way that made them glow ever-so-slightly red. She flashed a questioning look at Curtis, but he hadn’t seemed to notice the man’s unusual peepers.

  Huh, she thought. So that’s the infamous Big Stan. This is odd, and there’s a little too much space between the S and the TAN on that shirt, almost like there should be another letter there.

  Unlike the other staff, Stan ignored the lunatic’s scabby nastiness and grabbed the man calling himself Pestilence with his bare hands, yanking him unceremoniously to his feet.

  “Well, if it isn’t crazy Jerry,” he growled. “It’s been a while. I haven’t seen you since what? Was it over at Riverwood Psychiatric?”

  Pestilence/Jerry squirmed in his rock-solid grip, but wasn’t going anywhere. Not on Stan’s watch.

  “So who are we this time, then? You still think you’re a cowboy?”

  “I’m not a cowboy. I’m a Horseman of the Apocalypse, you mendicant!” he spat venomously. “You may think you can keep me down, but you can’t keep me out!”

  The huge man started moving toward the door. The poor fellow in his crushing grip had no choice but to move with him.

  “Oh, so that’s how it is? Well, how’d you like a case of the crabs? Or maybe the Black Plague!”

  Stan was clearly unimpressed as he shouldered past a group of doped-up wanderers gathered near the door and pulled Pestilence into the hallway.

  “Enough of your ridiculous babble. You’re going into isolation, little man.”

  When the screaming, flailing patient had finally been hauled out of the room, Curtis relaxed his grip on Dorothy’s arm, a relieved look passing over his face.

  “Trust me, you want to stay clear of Big Stan.”

  “How can he treat people like that?” she asked, still shaken from her encounter with the man claiming to be Pestilence.

  “Stan just thinks he’s doing his job, which includes roughing up your pal if need be. Some folks compartmentalize like that, know what I mean?” He looked in her eyes with both curiosity as well as concern and saw she was more upset than he’d first thought.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked.

  “He said he knows how I can get back.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “I don’t know. Yes, I suppose. I mean, I have no choice, right? Nothing so far has worked, and believe me, I’ve tried. Do you think I’d still be in here otherwise? If there is a chance he really knows how I can get back, I have to find out. Eventually, the un-deaths will add up. There’s a balance to be maintained, and even with the others picking up the slack, the big question is, how long will it take?”

  Curtis studied his troubled new friend’s face for a moment. She was throttling back, but still rattled by the encounter.

  Dorothy slowly forced herself to calm down as the seconds ticked by.

  “Well, it looks like it really is going to be a while before you get a chance to talk to him again,” Curtis said. “I don’t think he’ll be bribing his way out this time. Isolation lockdown is pretty serious, especially since Vaughan saw the whole thing.”

  “Wait, how did you know he bribe—”

  “Word gets around,” he replied with a wink. “C’mon, let’s do something to cheer you up. What say you to a nice late dinner out tonight? Stan’s obviously on day shift today, so we should be able to swing it.”

  After that little ordeal, getting out for a few hours sounds wonderful.

  “All right, you’re on. I’ll even wear my best Black Sabbath T-shirt.”

  “Great, meet me after bed check. Tonight will be something special, I promise,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “Oh, and I found you something nice to wear.”

  CHAPTER 17

  The restaurant Curtis selected for their much-needed outing was one of the trendy new places that had recently opened as the area’s shift from urban blight to hip arts district had accelerated.

  A multitude of interesting establishments had sprung up, like those hearty wildflowers that somehow take root in a rocky terrain. What they offered was an adventurous and staggering variety of cuisine, ranging from traditional, to fusion, all the way to obscure molecular gastronomy cuisine.

  Moving in lock-step with the changing neighborhood, older go-tos had begun recreating themselves into more trend-friendly establishments. It was a sound business tactic, though not always popular with the locals, who watched their favorite eateries and bars transform from comfy neighborhood joints into flavor-of-the-week gastro-pubs and hipster-overrun dive bars. Dive bars that now served fifteen-dollar drinks, and weren’t really dive bars at all any more.

  The invasion of hipsters had brought with it a freedom of dress, and Curtis’s early eighties outfit, which would have
been out of place just a few years prior, now fit right in.

  He had also managed to score something nice for Dorothy to wear, and the knee-length black dress she sported was not only tasteful, but also quite stylish. Even without makeup, her defined cheekbones and contrasting pale skin and dark hair made her stand out in the crowd of hipsters in overpriced vintage clothes mixed with Botoxed bleached blondes with heavy-handed makeup.

  Curtis, always a gentleman, held the antique patina door open for his friend, then approached the hostess, flashing his brightest smile.

  “Good evening, sir. How many in your party?”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  The hostess looked confused. “Um, that isn’t a yes or no question, sir.”

  Dorothy rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the ribs.

  “Two, please,” she said.

  “Right this way,” replied the hostess, giving Curtis a curious sideways glance as she showed them to their seats.

  As they slid into the tastefully styled booth, Dorothy couldn’t help but notice the subtle but unmistakable smell of new vinyl. The table top was a mélange of dried flowers and foreign coins, sealed in a thick layer of resin. Small candles in colored glass holders flickered softly, giving the whole place a rather cozy ambiance.

  “Okay, you did good. This place is really nice,” she had to admit.

  “I had a feeling you’d like it,” he replied, before being distracted by an overly made-up woman staring at her phone as she texted, carrying a teacup dog in her handbag.

  “Lady, the dog has four legs and you only have two. It should be carrying you, not the other way around!”

  Dorothy shot him a quieting look, but it merely bounced off him, like water off a duck’s back, as his attention shifted focus to the man the dog’s owner had come in with. A sugar daddy, most likely, he was many years older and sporting a broad-collared shirt that was open a few buttons too many, showing off his rain-forest-dense thatch of chest hair.

  “Will ya look at that guy. Damn, he needs Head, Shoulders, Neck, Back, and probably Ass shampoo! What is he, a Yeti?”