Page 22 of Brainwashed
I don’t even know who he’s talking about. I assume one of them is probably thisDr. Johanssonhe mentioned. But who are the rest of them?More doctors?
This whole thing is preposterous. I knew from the moment I arrived here that the Warden—Manuel Blanco—was going to treat me like some sort of sideshow act. It makes sense, I guess. This is where they bring you when the world thinks you’re dead. The last resort for criminals so heinous, they don’t even want to trust the U.S. judicial system with us. They’d rather take matters into their own hands.
That’s what I was told after I was arrested. I spent a full week in a secret holding facility beneath a maximum-security prison upstate while they fought over what to do with me. Until one day, Governor Russo himself paid me a visit.
“The world thinks you’re dead, Felix.” He’d grinned with the words. “Thank God you’re not. We’ll get much more out of you this way.”
After that, I was transported to Alabaster Isle, where no one was shy about the fact that I was a high-profile inmate, and that it wasn’t necessarily agoodthing.
The memories dance on the edge of my flickering consciousness for what feels like hours before I hear another sound. It’s much quieter in here than in solitary. Solitary is quiet, sure, but there’s always a soundtrack of dripping water and far-away screams. Noise seems to be muffled outside of this bizarre little room.Maybe it’s soundproof?
Not fully, though, because I do hear doors opening and closing from somewhere in the distance. Then I hear footsteps, a group of them. It sets me back on alert.
Only a moment later, three men are standing outside my door. They peer inside at me through the plexiglass windows, murmuring amongst themselves before coming in. Their appearances are distinctly different, though they’re all wearing white lab coats.
One of them is very tall and slim with reddish hair. The other is shorter and brown-skinned, with black hair in a crew cut and a trimmed beard. And the last one, who immediately looks to be in charge just from the air about him, is visibly older, with silver hair and glasses. And a curve to his lips, as if he’s very pleased to see me.
My eyelashes flutter and I strain my neck to look at them while they file inside the room. They’re all still whispering to each other, the redhead and the short guy holding clipboards. Finally, they stop chit-chatting and surround my chair.
“Hello, Felix,” the older-looking one says pleasantly. “My name is Dr. Johansson.” He gestures to the others and introduces them. “This is Dr. Templeton and Abel Figueroa. We are here to examine you.”
“Examine me…” I mumble, bemused. “Like a physical?”
Dr. Johansson huffs a chuckle, shaking his head. I already don’t like him. “Not necessarily, though we will be taking your vitals throughout, performing occasional blood tests, monitoring your brain activity, blood pressure, things like that. Actually, we like to monitor your entire body’s reactions during the process.”
“Throughout what?” I ask softly, my palms immediately sweating. “During whatprocess?”
Dr. Johansson leans in a bit. “Felix, we are tasked by the Warden to examine inmates who are special cases of psychopathy. And you are one of his more intriguing finds. We have much to learn from you.”
It’s interesting that I’m momentarily flattered before the unease seeps in. This was inevitable, sure, but I’m still unable to ignore the way my body feels weighted and heavy with despair. I heard the rumors about the kinds of things they do down here in the East Wing… The experiments on inmates, like the practices of some old-school insane asylum. But for some reason, part of me held out that Manuel Blanco was better than that. That he loved having me here, like a prized pony, and he might not feel inclined to ruin me,One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Neststyle.
I guess that was a naïve notion.
So I simply lift my chin, accepting my fate.Let’s get this over with.
Not that they were awaiting my consent, but after that, the three of them begin meandering around the room. I can’t see much, since my neck is shackled, but I hear keys jingling, drawers opening and closing. And then Dr. Figueroa steps up to me with some devices in his hands.
Electrodes.Yippee.
I swallow hard as he attaches them to my temples, and Dr. Templeton wheels over some sort of monitor, then attaches something to my arm. I’m hooked up to all kinds of things, and they’re still just taking notes on their little clipboards.
“This is Dr. Jarvis Johansson, along with Dr. Kenneth Templeton and Abel Figueroa…” Dr. Johansson begins speaking as if he’s recording this, stating the date and time, while I’m stuck on the fact that apparently Figueroa isn’t a real doctor…You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.“Patient’s name is Felix Harmon Darcey. Twenty-three years old, approximately six feet, one-hundred and eighty pounds.” He stops and mutters something before resuming. “One-seventy.”
I’ve lost ten pounds since I’ve been here… Awesome.
“Patient has not consumed food in five days. We will now monitor meal consumption.”
My forehead lines as I gawk up at them. “Monitor meal consumption? What the hell is that gonna do?”
“Felix, please remain quiet during this phase,” Dr. Johansson scolds me. I roll my eyes.
Figueroa brings over the paper box of food and I can hear the beeping of the cardiac machine speed up. It would be embarrassing if I wasn’t literally about to croak. Honestly, I’m so hungry the thought of eating is almost turning me on.
Let’s not tell these creepy doctors that part, though.
He opens the box and sure enough, there’s a cheeseburger and French fries inside.I think I just came in my pants.
Figueroa lifts the burger and brings it to my mouth, which is already open and waiting. I take a huge bite anddear God… It’s euphoric.
