The Good Doctor's Tales Folio Five (9 page)

Keaton shook her head.  “You’re hiring me to go after the motherfuckers I’m going after because they
’re
going after me?”  She smiled.  “I think I’m going to like working for the Focuses.”

Phase Two
[Carol’s POV]
[expanded version]

I wasn’t coping well with what they
did
to me, and I knew it.  A full night of Keaton dreams left me tired and wasted, and the ‘murderer’ whispers were getting to me.  Pacing didn’t help.  Neither did exercise.

They had me, but they
didn’t realize
, and my job
would be
to convince them that they hadn’t broken me.  I just didn’t see how, with them cutting off all communications
,
and with me nearly ready to trade everything for some juice.  My juice monkey at
e
at my mind; if I didn’t get juice soon, there
woul
d be nothing left of me but a rabid animal.

I
realized
what the juice
w
ould do to me, of course.
The knowledge
was why I tried so stubbornly to escape, and why I tried to misdirect them away from my craving.
And
why I
had
cooperated.
I kicked myself for my earlier request to talk to Dr. Jeffers.
I
ha
d hoped to give a little ground and shift to a better position.
Instead, all I
ha
d done was betray a weakness.

I
now lived
in a room with no exits.

I needed juice.
I craved juice.
I had to have it.

I exercised, ate, drank, and futilely checked the room for
a way to
escape.
My distractions didn’t work
.
All I
thought
about was the juice.
If I had been on my own, I would have been hunting long ago.
I would have found a kill by now and be high on juice again.
I would be safe in my home with Bobby.

Within a few hours, even thinking about my predicament began to hurt
.

One day.
I told myself that if I h
e
ld
my mind
together one more day, Dr. Jeffers
would
reestablish communications and I
would be able to
talk myself out of this trap.
I was good enough to last another day.

No one came.
Every few hours food
appeared,
slid under the door.  I waited, but I ran out of distractions.
I had
nothing to do.
I couldn’t even surrender!  No one would even care if I decided to tell them everything they wanted.

I
needed
juice, dam
m
it
, a
nd
nobody listen
ed
or
care
d
.
Not counting
the damned cameras with their never-sleeping eyes
, of course
.
I picked up a ten
-
pound dumbbell and fired it at the camera to the right of the door.

The dumbbell
hit dead-on.
My strike sh
ould have shattered any camera
, b
ut
instead the
dumbbell bounced off the steel bars
in front of the recessed camera and clattered to the floor
.
I hadn’t done anything but make a futile gesture.

I needed juice.

When I tried to meditate, I slipped into a nightmare instead.  Keaton had me.  She was closing in on me, to torture me.

I woke up shaking, with my heart pounding
in
stark terror.

I looked around at me at my cold cell, the light glaring overhead, with the oppressive presence of the building around me.
Why had Keaton put me here?
What new torture
awaited me
?
I couldn’t remember.
Whatever
she had planned
, it was awful.
Why couldn’t I remember?

I tried to
bring
my heartbeat down.
I had to control myself.
Keaton might come back any minute, and I didn’t dare be
so
vulnerable.

I couldn’t get my heartbeat down.
I couldn’t control
my
shaking.
What was wrong with me?

L
ow juice.
I suffered from low
juice.
I needed
juice
.
I had to have
juice
.
I should have been hunting long ago.
What was Keaton doing?
She beat me and she tortured me, but she almost never played games with my juice count.
Why now?
What
did
I do wrong? 
I needed to be
out
hunting.
She knew I needed to hunt!

F
inally, I
remembered. 
Keaton
wasn’t
playing games with my juice.
I was
a captive of the CDC
.
All m
y memories flood
ed
back
in
.  No
Keaton.
My fears came from a
nightmare.

It was bad when I couldn’t bring myself out of a nightmare.
My mind was starting to go.

I threw myself into another round of exercise, desperately trying to fight off the demons eating at my mind.
Desperately trying to fight off th
e
horrible driving craving.

Was this some new torture of Keaton’s
?
Maybe these people were her people.
This was such a horrible place.
Such pain, such fear.
Keaton
was the source of all misery
.
Any minute now
I would hear her footsteps.  Any minute
now
she would be there at the door, ready to take advantage of my helplessness.
I found myself listening, sometimes, for
her
heavy, powerful tread.
She was coming.
Sometime soon, she was coming.

I realize
d
where my thoughts
led
, and I
shook
my head
to
bring myself back to reality.
I
reminded
myself of
my real
location
.
My hell was bad enough already.
I didn’t need to add Keaton to
this appalling place
.

Not long after,
I
start
ed
thinking
about
the building, alive and cruel, digesting me alive in its stomach.
The “murderer” whispers started. 
I knew
the building wasn’t
alive, but the presence took life and personality
as I let myself believe
.
  Officer Canon stalked around behind me.  A princess all in white sang dirges for my soul, now consigned to
the eternal torment of
hell.

My mind was going.
  Arms lived life too fast, about three days’ worth of life experience for every calendar day.  At times, when
circumstances trapped me and
forced
me to inactivity
, hours
became
days
to me
.  Bad things happened in the minds of Arms in such predicaments; these stuck periods were where Keaton’s psychotic breaks lived.

T
hrough all
of
my mental ills stalked
the burning need, the consuming craving
, for
juice.

Wednesday n
oon came
slowly
.  N
obody contacted me.
I had to do something.
I had to convince Dr. Jeffers to negotiate.
I needed the juice.
I
would
give him some real information
,
enough to keep me alive
, enough to
get me juice.
If
he would
just
come
in here
,
I
would be able to
convince him.

When they slid
lunch
under the door, I yelled out “Tell Dr. Jeffers I want to talk to him.
I have some things he
needs to know
.”

No answer.

“Take my word for it,” I
said
.
“He’ll want to hear this.”

No answer.

“
Tell Dr. Jeffers,
you fucking idiot!”

No answer.

“Fuck!”
I sat down on the sleeping bench and held my head in my hands.

Too late, I remembered the cameras.
They watch
ed
every move I made, and
my excessive
reaction wouldn
’
t go unnoticed.
I
needed to
pull myself back under control.

I felt so awful.  My juice monkey had me, and had
ridden
me for
far
too long.
The need for juice overwhelmed all other considerations.
The pain, the hunger, even the slow poisoning of my body from this crazy place was nothing compared to
my
need for juice.
I needed juice.
I needed
a
Transform body, glowing with beautiful, o
verwhelming, life-saving juice.

I
hated my
cell.
I wanted to go home.
I wanted a simple kill with no complexities involved, and then I wanted my nice warm house with Bobby in it, in my city where I knew the people and the place
, someplace
mine
, where
I didn’t have people screwing with my juice supply.

“Murderer,” the voices whispered.

I wanted to go home.

P
eople watch
ed
me,
alert
for every sign of weakness, waiting to take advantage
.  Slowly,
so slowly, I brought myself under control.
I lifted up my head and looked proudly at the cameras.
Satisfied,
I la
y
down on my bench and pretended to sleep.

I couldn’t handle
the pressure
.
I didn’t want to handle
the pressure
.  My headache had gotten worse, the lights were too bright and my skin was sensitive.
I was cranky and depressed and the juice craving
became
a constant nagging thing, eating at me every moment.
I couldn’t think of anything else but the juice and how badly I needed the juice.
The need for juice
ache
d
, a hunger.
I had to have juice.

How
w
ould I get them to talk to me?
I needed them to give me juice.
I knew t
here had to be a way, but I was tired, and my brain
little more than warm
molasses.
I couldn’t think past
my
desperate need.
Every time I tried to form a thought, the overwhelming, persistent longing for juice
consumed
my thoughts
whole.

No one came.

After I gave up pretending to sleep, I remembered the cameras again.
I sat on my bench and talked to them.
I explained I had information they needed, but they needed to come and talk to me.
I waited and waited for someone to come.

N
o one came.

I tried to exercise.
I couldn’t summon up the will to
exercise
properly.
I judged my juice level to be about 97 just then, possibly 96
,
too low to exercise
properly
.
I needed juice with every pore I had.
I shook with the need for juice.