Unfit

by Karma Chesnut

  Just then, John saw someone approaching in his periphery. The first thing he noticed was the red clothing, so, assuming it was Buck finally back from wherever it was he had disappeared to, John turned to greet him. But it wasn’t Buck. It was the man John had seen lurking around the asylum and whispering in the corners with Laurence just the other night. The man with the bandaged arm.

  As he approached, John noticed he seemed on edge, as if steeling himself in preparation for something unpleasant. John greeted him, but the man didn’t so much as look at him. His focus was concentrated on Tim, who smiled and waved apprehensively at their unexpected guest.

  Then the man drew back his leg and kicked Tim squarely in the chest.

  “What are you doing?” John shouted as the man continued kicking Tim again and again.

  Tim was in a ball on the ground, pulling his legs to his chest and tucking his head between his knees to try and shield himself.

  “St-stop!” Tim screamed between cries of pain.

  Pounding his fists against the fence, John yelled, “Get off of him!” But the man continued to kick Tim over and over again.

  A keeper appeared in the corner of the courtyard, turning his attention to Tim and the man now beating him. Finally, someone had come to put an end to this, or so John thought, but the keeper simply folded his arms and leaned against the brick wall of the asylum, an amused smile creeping across his face.

  “John!” Tim cried out, helplessly trying to ward off the blows with his hands and legs. “P-please, st-stop!” But the man’s foot caught Tim in the mouth, smothering his cries and sending a spray of blood across the dirt.

  A crowd was gathering on both sides of the fence, now, drawn by the commotion. They all stood and watched as this man beat a helpless child and no one moved to stop it.

  Without thinking, John scaled the fence and swung over the top, landing in a cloud of dirt on the other side.

  “Get the hell off of him!” John screamed again and slammed the side of his body into the man, sending him flying.

  Regaining his footing, the man charged and took a swing at John, who easily dodged it and, grabbing the man by the collar, pinned him against the fence.

  “What is going on here?” a voice rang across the courtyard. Skinner stood at the entrance, Laurence at his side.

  The man immediately pushed away from John and stood at attention, like a soldier being addressed by his commanding officer.

  “I asked a question,” Skinner reiterated. He stood in front of them now, his presence freezing John in place.

  “I’m just taking care of this retard,” the man said, a hint of pride in his voice. “His kind don’t belong around here, it’s an insult to the rest of us.”

  Skinner’s eyes narrowed. “And what exactly makes you think you get to decide whose presence is tolerated and whose is not?” he asked, his voice dangerously calm.

  “I…,” the man said, his confidence melting away.

  “I excused this boy years ago. He is still here because I allow him to be here.” Lowering his voice, Skinner asked, “Are you questioning my judgment?”

  The man shook his head, too terrified to speak.

  “And you,” Skinner said, turning to John, “what’s your role in all of this?”

  “Just trying to help.”

  “Ah, so we have a good Samaritan within our walls. Tell me, Samaritan, what do you think of our friend here? Do you think we can trust him to behave after this?”

  “I don’t know,” answered John.

  “There’s one simple solution,” Skinner said. “I’ve always believed that if you have a grievance with someone, you deal with it, one on one, like a man.” Reaching into his shirt pocket, Skinner produced a small, crude knife.

  He held the knife out to John. “Stab him.”

  Surely, John must have misheard. “What?”

  “Take the knife, John, and stab him,” Skinner repeated casually as if he was relaying the instructions for the simplest task in the world.

  The man across from John widened his eyes. “No, Skinner, please,” he begged, his voice trembling as the color drained from his face. “You don’t have to do that.”

  If Skinner heard his pleas, he didn’t respond. His gaze was fixed intently on John. “This is how we handle problems in the terminal ward,” explained Skinner. “This man attacked you and now I’m giving you a chance to defend yourself.”

  John looked past Skinner into the crowd, as if silently asking someone to give him a hint at what to do. He immediately picked out Buck’s face. He was standing at the back, straining to look over the crowd. He was pale, the side of his face covered in blood from a bad gash at his temple.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” said John, shaking his head.

  “You don’t have to do this, Skinner,” the man said again. “I was just trying to—”

  “Trying to what?” Skinner roared, his face twisted in fury.

  “I’m—I’m real sorry,” the man said. “I didn’t mean to disrespect you or nothin’.”

  Skinner laughed out loud, a cold, contemptuous sound that rang throughout the yard. “Oh, you didn’t mean to disrespect me?” he said. “So I shouldn’t take it as disrespectful that you took matters into your own hands?”

  The man’s face turned white. “No, sir, of course not,” he said, looking anxiously towards Laurence for help, but Laurence glared back coldly. “I just thought—”

  “You just thought that since I’m not capable of running my asylum the way you think it ought to be run, you’d take it upon yourself to fix everything.”

  “No, no,” and as the man’s demeanor crumpled, he began to sob. “I’m so sorry, Skinner,” he wailed. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t know. He told me—” He turned towards Laurence, but his sobs choked out his voice before he could say any more.

  “Shhh,” Skinner said, wrapping his arms around him and pulling the man against his chest in a tight embrace. “There’s no need for all of that.”

  “I didn’t mean it,” the man cried again into Skinner’s shoulder.

  “I know,” Skinner consoled. “I know you didn’t.”

  “It will never happen again, Skinner. I sw-swear it. I swear it.”

  “Everything is going to be fine because you’re right. It won’t ever happen again,” Skinner said.

  With one arm still embracing the man, Skinner pulled the hand holding the knife around and, in one smooth motion, sank the blade into the man’s side. Instinctively, John lunged forward to stop him, but he was too late. The man’s face contorted in pain and his mouth gaped open into a silent scream. His legs gave out, unable to support himself anymore, but Skinner held him upright, forcing him to stay on his feet as he pulled the blade out and stabbed him in the side and back again. Then again. And again.

  When he was finally done, Skinner released the man, allowing him to fall to the ground.

  “We are not animals,” Skinner shouted to the crowd as he stepped over the man’s body. “We are civilized men. But if you insist on acting like animals, you will be disposed of like animals. This,” he said, pointing the tip of his bloody knife to the man bleeding on the ground, “does not belong here.”

  Skinner turned so he and John were face to face. He looked John up and down, looking at him almost as if he was disappointed, as if John had failed some sort of test he didn’t even know he was taking.

  Wiping the tip of the blade off on John’s shirt, Skinner whispered, “You should probably get back to your side of the fence.”

  Buck ran up to them now, and as he approached, Skinner grabbed him by the shoulder and pulled him aside. Even though they were whispering, John could still make out what was being said.

  “I let you keep the boy out of respect for who you were, but my compassion has its limits. Keep your pet on his leash,” Skinner hissed and roughly shoved Buck away from him.

  With that, Skinner headed back inside the asylum. As Laurence turned to follow his brother, Ski
nner held out his arm and stopped him. The two stood there in silence for a moment as Skinner shot his little brother a knowing and menacing look. Then, without a word, Skinner and the rest of his gang walked away, leaving Laurence alone in the yard.

  John knelt to inspect Tim’s wounds and gently wiped the blood off of Tim’s chin with his sleeve. Tim’s lip and chin had been split open, but, besides that, no serious damage seemed to have been done.

  Buck was upon them now.

  “Where were you?” John asked.

  “I don’t know what happened,” said Buck. “The last thing I remember is walking out of the mess hall. I guess I must have tripped or something.”

  John looked across the yard. With Skinner long gone, the crowd had begun to disburse. All but one man.

  Laurence, jilted and humiliated, stood in the exact spot Skinner had left him. And he was watching John.

  “Yeah, or something,” said John.

  Buck scooped Tim up in his arms, buckling slightly under the weight as he stood. “I’ll take him back to our room. He’ll be fine after he gets some rest.”

  “And what about you?” John said, nodding to the cut on the side of Buck’s head.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve been taking care of both of us for a long time. Thank you, John,” Buck said and carried Tim back inside.

  Laurence was still watching John. Still as a statue, he stared John down, his eyes filled with rage. As John took in Laurence’s presence, he knew that he had just gotten this monster of a man’s attention in the worst possible way. He also knew that, should it come down to it, he would be no match for Laurence. It would be like a little boy trying to defend himself against a man. As the uneasy feeling built, John scrambled over the fence back to his side.

  Dozens of temp patients had also gathered on their side of the fence to watch the fight, but they weren’t disbursing now that the entertainment was over. They all gaped at John as he crossed back over the fence, their faces a mixture of disbelief and disgust, conveying that John had just done something unspeakable, unforgivable.

  Amos stood at the front of the group, wearing the same look of revulsion as the rest of them, and as John stepped forward, Amos pulled back, unwilling to even get within five feet of him. Then Amos turned his back on John and left the yard.

  As Amos walked away, John got the definite feeling he was finally done with John for good, and John’s stomach fell. He was losing friends faster than he could count. First Skinner and Laurence—which was a relief as John had decided quite some time ago he wanted nothing to do with Skinner or his brother. But now Amos was gone too. It seemed that John’s only friends in the asylum now were an elderly man and a mentally-disabled boy. I guess it’s too late to keep my head down, John thought to himself.

  If Morgan did get through to the knifer, John had a feeling the next few months were going to be a lot rockier than he had anticipated.

  John made his way back into the asylum but was stopped by two keepers flanking the entrance.

  “Jonathan Hunter?” one of the keepers asked impatiently.

  “Yes,” John replied.

  “Dr. Smith wants to see you.”

  “Why?” John asked, dread broiling in his stomach.

  “Hell if I know, just follow us,” the keeper said.

  The keepers led John through the maze of the asylum towards the hospital wing. All of John’s fears were confirmed when the keepers opened the door to an operating room and instructed him to take a seat.

  Morgan hadn’t gotten to the knifer in time. Or maybe she had, and the doctor had outright refused to help them. Either way, the keepers had escorted John to be sterilized, to his unborn child’s execution.

  “No,” John said, refusing to step one foot inside the operating room. “I need to speak with Dr. Smith right now.”

  Just as he said it, Dr. Smith entered the room.

  “There’s been a mistake!” John shouted, realizing this may be his last chance to stop the procedure. “Did you talk to her?”

  Dr. Smith stopped, his face inscrutable. John had no idea whether or not the knifer knew what he was talking about, if Morgan had been able to contact him, but John knew explaining himself any further in front of the keepers could potentially cause more problems than it solved.

  “The bastard’s been kicking and screaming the whole way here,” one of the keepers explained. “Have any idea what he’s talking about?”

  “No idea,” Dr. Smith said coldly, and John’s heart froze. “Hold him still please so I can administer the anesthesia.”

  “No!” John shouted as the keepers lifted him into the room and pinned him down against the operating table. “Don’t do this!”

  Dr. Smith slipped the breathing mask over John’s mouth and nose.

  “No,” he tried to shout again, shaking his head furiously, but one of the keepers grabbed him by the jaw, immobilizing him. The faces and shapes around him blurred, running together until all he could see was one big ball of light above his head. “No, please.”

  The last thing John remembered was Dr. Smith’s silhouette leaning over him as the world went dark.

  John awoke in the recovery room, blinking hard to try and clear the last bit of haziness from his head. He had been doing something, something important, but couldn’t remember. His head felt heavy and full of fog.

  The room was empty except for a man sitting in the corner, staring at him, and as the world finally came back into focus, John realized it was Dr. Smith.

  “Good morning, beautiful,” he said.

  In one horrific moment, everything came rushing back to him. Throwing the covers off himself, John wanted nothing more than to see the beautiful sight of his stained, dirty jumpsuit, but what he found instead made his chest seize.

  He was naked, wrapped in bandages from his waist to his thighs.

  His heart quickened and his head felt light as he struggled to breathe. Through his panic, he could only manage to utter a single question. “What happened?”

  Dr. Smith smiled, completely calm and relaxed. “You just took a little nap was all,” he said. “I gotta say, you nearly gave the game away with all that hooting and hollering you were doing. Luckily the keepers here are dumb as rocks or else they might have suspected something.”

  “You talked to Morgan?” John asked. “She told you the plan?”

  “Good heavens, you’re like a dog with a bone. Yes, of course, I talked to Morgan.”

  “So, I’m not – ?” John barely dared to ask.

  Dr. Smith let out a laugh. “No. You’re not.”

  A wave of relief rushed over John. He looked down at his bandaged body again. “Then, what is all this?” he asked.

  “I had to make it look convincing,” Dr. Smith said with a smirk. “And I gotta tell you, this is terribly inconvenient. I had everything on track to get you home in two days. Then that girl of yours shows up and tells me to throw all that hard work away.”

  “Something came up,” John said, swinging his legs over the side of the hospital bed.

  “So she said. Said it was for personal reasons, but it’s none of my business so long as I get paid,” Dr. Smith stretched out his arms, bringing them to rest behind his head. “One thousand to speed things up the first time, and another thousand to drag ‘em out.”

  John cringed. He hated that Morgan was draining her savings, draining her future, for him.

  “So it’s possible?” John asked. “You can transfer me to the terminal ward?”

  “Darling, the plan has already been set in motion. You’ll stay here overnight, just long enough for people to think you’ve been fixed and everything. Then the keepers will be here first thing in the morning to take you to the terminal ward.”

  “It’s that simple?”

  Dr. Smith laughed. “That’s the easy part. The next part is going to be much more complicated. Once I transfer you to the terminal ward, I’ll have to make sure your file stays buried. If no one notices, then no one will ask questions
, right? So you have to make sure you don’t draw any unnecessary attention to yourself. Then, once Morgan gives me the okay, I’ll conveniently spot the error, bring you in for your actual surgery, and send you on your merry way.”

  “Isn’t someone going to get suspicious I was brought in for surgery twice?”

  Dr. Smith shrugged. “We perform a dozen surgeries every week. No one is going to remember if you’ve been here before. Plus, no one made a record of the surgery. If there’s no record, then it didn’t happen.”

  “Thank you,” John said.

  “Don’t thank me. You can stay in here until the asylum rots around you if you want, so long as I get paid. But, just out of curiosity, you don’t happen to know how long it will take for these ‘personal reasons’ to sort themselves out, do you?”

  “A couple of months.”

  “A couple’a months,” Dr. Smith repeated to himself. “Funny thing is, I’ve been racking my brain tryin’ to figure out why in Haven anyone would intentionally want to get transferred to the terminal ward. I just don’t see any benefits. You guys wouldn’t be trying to do anything illegal by chance, would ya?”

  John’s voice turned cold. “Would it matter if we were? Nothing you’ve done for us so far has been exactly legal, and you said yourself that it’s none of your business so long as you get paid, right?”

  A tense moment passed. “And I did get paid at that,” Dr. Smith finally laughed. “I’m going to be living like a king when all of this is over. I may even get myself another wife. Not sure I can say the same for your Northridge sugar momma, though. I’m afraid I may have cleaned her out.”

  John remembered his last conversation with Morgan. He had told her to do whatever was necessary to set their plan in motion, and it seemed she had done just that.

  “As I said, you’ll stay here tonight, and the keepers will be here for you in the morning. Oh, and try to limp for the next day or so. You know, make it look believable.”