by Emma Janson
Belinda didn’t care about her shirt this time, and leaned over her painting again to make sure Ignacio heard every word she was about to say. “Where is Juana? Tell your mom she tasted like dirty change.”
Ignacio immediately stood up, knocking his chair backward. The therapist stopped writing notes and the others in the room froze. “What the fuck did you say?”
Then Ignacio realized he was not in control of the movement in his arm. It had reached over to her side of the table, knocked the brush out of her hand, and then smashed his palm into her painting. After his hand was wet, it pressed and swirled red paint all over Belinda’s shirt. He viewed this action as if it was through a keyhole and he was unable to stop any of the motions. When he spoke again, it wasn’t his own voice he heard – it was the soprano again, the female voice of his mother.
Belinda laughed as she stood to her feet and touched the red color for no apparent reason. “You crazy bitch. Who did that?” She smiled as she leaned in further, as if she was inspecting Ignacio’s face. “It doesn’t matter, really. I can’t believe Maria had two chances to raise good people and fucked it up twice.”
The therapist running the crafting event pushed a hidden silent emergency button under a picture on the wall, but no one noticed, and no one moved.
Belinda flailed her arms in the air. “Let’s go, bitch! I know it was you! What are you trying to do, protect your son from being a fag?” she shouted as the wet paint on her shirt clung desperately to her skin.
Juana, standing with the back of her knees touching the chair, was completely thrown. However, she was not going to let this skinny white girl push her back into a body she was barely getting used to. Juana balled her fists and rubbed the back of her hand against the moons on her face. She was the Firestarter.
A rage burned within her that was so intense she could almost see floating embers dancing across her vision. She tried to lunge forward then, but suddenly her body felt heavy. There was a rumbling in her mind and then chaos erupted as if many people were arguing in the closed space of a car. Together, they agreed to pull Juana from the driver’s seat while her foot was on the gas. She thrashed and screamed as they maneuvered systematically to shut her down. Eventually, she was subdued.
Back in control of his body, Ignacio struggled to breathe as panic and paranoia washed over him. He had to put his hands on the table to stabilize his body. Sweat seeped from his pores as his cheeks filled with heat. The new fluorescent lights were obtrusive and somewhat painful. He flinched while trying to regain focus. Belinda was standing across the craft table from him, with open arms and one leg forward in a very aggressive pose. The blonde’s posture reminded Ignacio of the gang members in his mother’s birthday video. He hadn’t known white girls had that kind of attitude. It was impressive for some reason, and strangely, suggested an element of respect for him.
Ignacio shook his head and managed to utter, “What the hell?” while he rubbed his eyes and blinked as if it was painful. He scanned the room to see the therapist standing in the back of the room in fear. “What the fuck kind of pills are you giving me, man? I’m going batshit in here!”
The door to the craft room slammed open, making everyone in the room jump and jerk. Paper on a shelf behind the door slid off and fluttered to the floor. Every patient, plus the therapist, turned their heads to witness the culprit of the noise entering with his dominating presence. His voice alone required attention, pushing for everyone in the room to put their hands on the tops of their heads. Somehow, the elongated ‘S’ that accompanied some of his words disappeared in the seriousness of the situation, but the melodic southern twang carried through even over his angry demands. Three other men followed behind him with green uniforms that no one had ever seen before, each holding electroshock Tasers. One of them with a severely crooked nose, as if it had been broken many times, seemed to be the higher-ranking sergeant with additional embellishments on his shirt.
Having felt a great sense of relief when Buck walked into the room, Ignacio tried to speak first. “Something is wrong. My body – my fucking body is moving without me. I would never hit a girl!”
Buck told Mr. Cheyez to stop talking, and instead looked to Maggie, who was standing with slumped shoulders. She gripped the crucifix around the neck of the body she shared. She squeezed at it so hard that her knuckles were white. “Ms. Koontz, are you bleeding?” Maggie was crying. Her tears glistened under the horrible lighting as they pooled at the bottoms of her lids and then finally fell down her cheeks. She shook her head no and then mumbled that it was paint.
Ignacio scanned the room again to watch the reactions of the therapist and all the other patients, but no one was reacting the way he’d expected. As his frustration mounted, he began to run his fingers through his hair and grab a little of it to tug. He shook his head like a dog several times, as if to shake off the craziness before looking to Buck for help while lifting his hands as if he was going to be arrested. “I didn’t touch her. My hand did, but I didn’t.”
Without a response, Buck waved his thick fingers in the air, initiating the guys in green to go forward into the room to control the situation. The guy with a crooked nose waited for a visual cue from the therapist, who pointed a peace sign horizontally at Ignacio and Maggie. With his rank and authority, he directed the other two while he walked around to stand behind Maggie – who was still crying. He demanded she put her hands behind her back while he held one outstretched arm up to the group, warning them not to move. Maggie sobbed as she looked down to the craft room tiles, mumbling, “What did I do?”
The two men in green stood on the right and left of Ignacio, who’d initially jerked his arms away from theirs as they’d tried to bind them with rubber cuffs. Buck was the one who shouted for him to stop, which he did. Eventually, everyone watched as the two were escorted out of the craft room with ample distance between them.
Before leaving the room, Buck grabbed the painting Ignacio had been working on.
After looking at the image, he ripped it in half, and then in quarters, and he continued ripping it until the pieces were small enough to flutter like large confetti into the trashcan. He rubbed his hands together to dry the wet paint from his fingers and turned to walk out into the hallway. He had to inhale and hold his breath there to hide the overwhelming disappointment he felt, because he couldn’t understand why the happiest time of his life had been painted in fire.
RAINBOWS AND WRECKAGE
By the time the Mexican had come to their area of Northern Lights, Hilda and Ute had been a part of Northern Lights for almost nine years. And after their rare disorder had financed the switch from bed and breakfast to an institution, it had been an odd request by Mr. and Mrs. Reed – that the facility be primarily dedicated to housing Dissociative Identity Disorder patients – but the request had been granted. Their request had enabled Northern Lights to serve as a controlled social experiment from which researchers could compile data and blow the medical communities away. As far as the government and researchers were concerned, it was a perfect set-up for a two-for-one expose. Additionally, the constant switching between personalities had kept the twins entertained. Then an unexpected symbiosis had happened, over time. The strange paring of disorders had led to a mutually beneficial relationship between people. The sisters’ behaviors that were negatively judged outside of social norms were acceptable within the mansion. Their antics neutralized the confusion of other patients’ personalities and their physical bodies. Researchers had theorized that the duality of the sisters’ minds and bodies working in a highly cohesive manner actually grounded the DID patients.
The bonkerhaus, as the twins called it, was constantly on thin ice with everything the patients did while under microscopic scrutiny from eyes around the world. Jack and Jill were responsible for detailed daily reports and financial logs. They had books for taxes, and the real books for researchers hidden somewhere in the mansion. It was very dirty under the carpet of truth, which
was helping people with DID live ‘normal’ lives. The Reeds knew this project was going to provide medical breakthroughs across the globe – even if part of it was unauthorized, illegal, and definitely under the table. It could cause an international rift, should something go wrong. One researcher had written: ‘Northern Lights is a sad attempt to create a false sense of normalcy among its trapped human Guinea pigs’ – before she pulled her sponsorship. It only took a few months before she’d returned. Despite her moral compass, the project was just too big to ignore.
Hypermania was far less interesting than the dynamic of the human connections among people who disassociated from themselves. And the impact of what the facility was trying to do was further promoted by the tragic and yet progressive story of Jason Reed – otherwise known as Buck.
Buck was an advocate and pioneer of his own disorder even though he didn’t know he suffered from it. When his parents had stopped traditional counseling, and moved him to the mansion, the butterfly effect thereafter had been nothing but positivity. He’d finally been happy.
This was what Jack and Jill wanted for all DID patients, even though the practices they pursued were unconventional. Patients were left to believe they were in fact their alter personalities. The idea was to simply let them live. Period. The different alters were accepted and nurtured as if they were in fact two different people. That was it. Simple, really; live and let live.
Getting patients there without disrupting what they believed was normal was another story altogether. The mental health facility, although partially real, was something patients could believe in and it was the thing that kept them from leaving on their own.
It had worked for eleven years. Files were held on each patient, as well as their alternate personalities. This proved to be very helpful with doctors, as some of the patients had created extensive backstories. Relationships were allowed to form even though the façade was that they were forbidden. And counseling was offered for their additional disorders and activities, but to keep them busy; anything to make it real and comfortable.
Everything had been going well until the Mexican arrived in the summer of 2013 via a transfer of the state. At that time, Ignacio had been a first semester college student who was considered hostile. He’d been placed in the farthest corner of the mansion, which was equipped with more security, a full-time medical staff, and scheduled activities. The patients in the clinical side had no idea that the other side existed at all.
“Juana” was a special case. She was an alternate personality of Ignacio Cheyez.
She was also his estranged real-life mother who’d been charged with multiple counts of premeditated attempted murder, arson, and even other charges entirely after turning fifteen. The real Juana had been institutionalized until she was 18 and then sent to a maximum -security prison in New York. Despite attempts at rehabilitation, Juana Cheyez had immediately thrown herself into the prison gangs. She’d been hanged by rival inmates by the time her son, Ignacio, was three and a half years old.
Ignacio had never known Juana, but a maternal obsession had begun when he was seven. It had continued and progressed throughout his childhood. Then, in his first semester of college, Ignacio had begun to show signs of an alter which quickly turned into the dominant personality. All parties involved in his life had agreed with the state to send him to Northern Lights. His loss of reality, along with his hallucinations, had put him in the clinical wing for nearly two and a half years.
The hostile nature of the alternate personality had required therapies of suppression, though. This was against the philosophy of Northern Lights, but it had been necessary. When the alternate personality had finally been repressed, Ignacio had been considered for release into the general population of other DID patients. It had been on a probationary period, of course, but all of it had also been at the suggestion and pressure of Buck. He’d felt a deep connection to this particular patient as he’d observed him from afar.
It had been an elaborate logistical nightmare to organize a false sense of liberty in a human being. Ignacio Cheyez had had to believe he was self-admitting.
Ignacio’s caseworker, Lydia, had spent a lot of time with him to implant certain details of believability. She’d coordinated the whole event. It had been important that his brain stay on track with his perceived reality, or the plan would have blown up on everyone. Buck’s file had to be part of the lie. Lydia had assured the Reeds that, since both Ignacio and Buck were stable, everything would work out. It took a genius to manipulate minds, and yet there had been rumors among staff that she’d used sex as a tool. Maybe she had, too, but everything had gone as planned until she’d left.
Buck – who was protective of his heart for reasons he couldn’t remember – had let go. Ignacio – who hid his sexuality under his maternal obsession – had let go. The intense connection between the two of them had pushed Ignacio’s instability to the forefront. For Buck, it had been too late. His heart was committed.
Being in love with a DID patient took things to a whole new level, but what he felt was true and wonderful; it filled his mind, body, and soul with indescribable warmth and comfort. It healed every wound in his heart with hope and laughter. When they were alone, it was as if they were handmade by God himself to be together. They understood each other without speaking and enjoyed silence. They didn’t need to fill it with entertainment or meaningless conversation. Their alone time was invaluable, as was their connection and ability to understand each other.
Great relationships were built on communication. Not just the verbal, but other non-verbal cues like winks and nods that could mean so much more than the quick action itself. And emotional connections, with this nonverbal communication between Buck and Ignacio, had blanketed their love with confirmation that they were in fact soul mates.
Researchers had convinced the Reeds to let their love work itself out. Everyone had been curious to determine who loved who. Was it Buck who loved or was it Jason? Was it Juana or Ignacio? Although these questions were interesting, the Reeds had deeper concerns. Jack and Jill just wanted their son to be happy.
The records on the tumultuous relationship between Samuel and Belinda were shattering theories, though. There seemed to be an element of symbiosis when love entered the equation. Belinda and Samuel were quite the odd couple, but they loved hard. The love had transferred itself into Mr. Jenkins and Maggie’s devoted friendship. This balance created improvements in their destructive behaviors. And knowing all of this made it all the harder for the Reeds to decide what to do about their son.
The Reeds conflicted with what part of Northern Lights was actually helping. So many elements played a role in a patient’s stability that it proved to be nearly impossible to categorize. Then, though, the question became, did it really matter?
It did, apparently, when love got messy.
The harder Ignacio fell in love, the more he tried to run from it and the more Juana appeared to protect his fragile heart. But Buck loved her, too. He wanted nothing more than to show her a way to love without destruction.
Inevitably, the heartache it had taken for him to push Ignacio away had been altogether too much to handle. What he’d thought would be best for them both had resulted in a backfire of torment and anguish. He knew what he had to do was to surrender himself to love. No one ever said that doing it would be easy.
Over the past week, Buck had prepared to express himself and his love to everyone. He was ready to take the next leap of faith and fully commit himself to a relationship that, although unconventional, was perfect. He struggled with his decision to leave Northern Lights, but concluded that he was tired of living this way, under the watchful and strange eye of his employers. It was time for him to step out of the comfort zone that had been his reality for many years, to experience what could be a long future with Ignacio, if he would have him. He was certain that they should be together – somehow.
Buck was tired of maintaining the lies at Northern Ligh
ts. The original intentions, to let DID patients live as normally as they could, was turning into the biggest grand manipulation he had ever known. He’d fallen in love with a patient now, and he simply wanted a fresh new beginning with the truth. He’d concluded that he needed to leave his beloved Northern Lights job.
It was Thursday, Ignacio’s craft day, when he was compelled to quit analyzing the complexities of their relationship and quit repairing what wasn’t broken. The plan was to tell Ignacio later that night in his room, that he was giving everything up to be with him. When a man made a plan that was as concrete as the wall he’d been banging his head against, things changed. He welcomed and bathed in the calm that washed over him.
He was happy all day. Smiling all day. He actually enjoyed laughing with the twins and listening to them chuckle through stories that he had heard a million times before. His vision seemed vivid and clear; the floors looked shiny, almost new, and the white on the walls brightened as he walked by them. Happy people saw the world differently, and Buck was no different.
When he got the call that there was a problem in the craft room, he didn’t really think too much of it. He was sort of on autopilot. Securing tense situations with Samuel had prepared him for pretty much anything anyway. Except this. When the second alarm was triggered, alerting security to the requirement for additional guards on Juana Cheyez, his heart sank.
When he walked into the craft room with extra guards, his heart pounded irregularly with blended emotions as he made eye contact with Ignacio. He wondered if anyone noticed his cheeks beginning to blush under his dark skin. He felt an odd sense of pride for a moment because he was looking at his man, and relief that it was just a spat between him and Belinda. Ignacio looked good that day for some reason, in his stupid are you a Mexi-can shirt. But Buck had to be professional. He had to give the signals to move in and forward to control the situation.