I won’t tell Alan and Joey any more about it, though. Alan seems bummed enough as it is. He looks like he’s about ready to kill himself just thinking how bad it would be to be me.
Alan says, “I’m sorry, Zach. Sorry you’re so screwed up. You’re a nice guy—it’s too bad.” He says this without looking at me, staring at the ground. Joey stares at the ground too. I think he’d almost like to say something, but he can’t. I know it’s hard for Joey to say anything nice to me; he reminds me of kids from school, who are scared to treat me different than their friends treat me, so they’re mean. I never know what to say to those kids. I don’t know what to say to Joey either.
I finally say to Alan, “I’m not messed up like that anymore, Alan.” I pause and think about it. “At least, I don’t want to kill myself today; I don’t want to die right now.”
Alan says, “That’s good, Zach. You’re doin’ better now, huh?”
Joey interrupts. “Everybody dies someday—most people whether they want to or not, you know? At least Zach still has a choice—not like Mom. It’s stupid for him to kill himself when he doesn’t have to die.”
Alan just looks at Joey. “Maybe,” Alan says, “but maybe Zach doesn’t have any more choice than Mom does about being sick.”
Listening to Alan, I remember more about being back in the hospital that second time. I remember Dr. Curt talked to me about the new voices, helping me to understand about Dirtbag and Rat, the meanest bastards anywhere.
“These new, mean voices might come after you again—especially if you don’t take your medicine. But if you’re brave enough, Zach, you can fight them. You probably can’t destroy them, but you can refuse to let them destroy you.”
Dr. Curt’s a nice guy, but he doesn’t know everything. He doesn’t know how bad Dirtbag and Rat can be, and I know that there’s only one thing that’s going to get rid of them for good! Only one thing that …
“Long gone … long gone … long gone …”
The phone rings and it’s the cops. Alan talks to them. Actually he listens; all he says is “Good.” Then he hangs up.
He turns to Joey and me and says, “Dr. Curtis is on his way.”
Clearwater Hospital is about eighteen miles south of Spokane, so it’s taking Dr. Curt a while to get here. I’m worried. I look at my watch. It’s five oh three. I’m an hour and a half late for my medicine. I’m scared of Dirtbag and Rat. I need to think about something else—anything else.
“I have an idea,” I say to Alan and Joey. “Do you guys think if we snuck out the back door real quietly, we could just get out of here? I could get my medicine and you wouldn’t have to worry about jail and—”
Alan interrupts. “What?”
I ask again, “Could we just sneak out the back door and—”
Alan interrupts again. “What back door?”
I point to the closet and say, “The one in there.”
Alan quickly goes over and opens the door to the little back room. He peeks inside.
“Jesus, Joey,” Alan whispers excitedly. “There’s a back way outa here!”
Joey says, “You kidding me?”
Alan answers, “No, for real, look at this!”
Joey hurries over and looks into the back room too.
Alan says, “Maybe the cops don’t know about this. Maybe we can make a run for it.”
I blurt out, “A run for your money …” although I’m not even sure what I mean or why I say it.
My head is starting to hurt real bad. It’s a feeling I know too well.
But Alan smiles at me and says, “A run for our money, yeah.”
19
Clinical note from Dr. Cal Curtis: Zachary Wahhsted’s second hospitalization at Clearwater State Hospital:
Patient is depressed and upset. The two new voices “attacking” him are very difficult for him to deal with. They are cruel and hateful.
Diagnostic impression: A second psychotic break occurring so soon after the first with these suicidal impulses shows a severe psychosis. Zach’s illness will be extraordinarily dangerous when stress and/or interruptions to his regular medication regimen occur.
“Long gone long gone long gone longgonelonggonelonggone.”
Everything begins to swirl—a terrible pain shoots across my forehead.
They’re here.
“Hey, Wasteoid, time to die,” Dirtbag whispers.
Rat laughs and screams, “Yeah, time to die, Wasteoid!”
Alan grabs me and pulls me toward the back door. Dirtbag and Rat circle me, whispering and screaming into my ears.
“Time to die, Wasteoid!”
“Time to die!! Time to die!!”
“Are you ready, Zach?”
I nod. Talking hurts too much.
We start out the back door, Alan first, now me, and Joey last, all of us bunched together. Alan and Joey are carrying their guns, holding them up like they could really shoot. The alley is dark.
Alan whispers, “We’ll move slowly until we know it’s okay.”
“You’ll die slowly.”
“Yes, finally! Die, die, die!!”
“If it’s safe, if there aren’t any cops, we’ll run.”
“You can’t run—you need to die!”
“Yes, yes!”
“It’ll be all right if we stick together. The cops don’t know who is who …”
“Kill the wasteoid, kill him good....”
“… so even if they see us, they won’t shoot....”
“Shoot the wasteoid, finally, YES …”
“Just stay close together....”
Dirtbag says in his horrible voice, “You know what we need here?”
Rat screams, “Blood, blood, we need wasteoid blood!”
As we take our next steps into the dark alley, I can barely open my eyes. The world is all black and red, and I feel sick.
“DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE.”
“YOU NEED TO DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIE.”
Dirtbag says softly, “You know you are worthless, Wasteoid. You know you are nothing, worm shit, a dead nothing—less than nothing, you are shit—you gotta end it all.”
Rat laughs, screaming, “Yes, yes, yes … end it all!”
Right now, this second, I want to end it all, once and for all, end it all. My body feels like it’s on fire. I force my eyes open and see my reflection in the window of the door—flames lick my face, and my eyeballs melt down my cheeks—I quickly close my eyes again. When I force them open and look back at Joey, slimy bugs crawl out of his nose and ears, and when he opens his mouth to scream, his lips peel back and start to swallow him....
My head feels like it’s cracking in two. God, make it stop!
I shake all over, trying to catch a breath. Sweat pours from under my arms and down my chest and back. My tongue is thick. I hear nothing but the voices of Dirtbag and Rat. I’m like a bug stuck on a pin.
“Stop there!” a voice yells at us from out of the darkness.
I look up and see a man dressed in black. He’s holding a rifle. Is he Dirtbag? Rat? I’ve never seen them before! Maybe they’re not just voices. My god, maybe they’re real!
“Halt!” the voice yells again.
Now another figure comes around the corner of the building, also dressed in black, his rifle at his shoulder. He yells, “Backup, position two!”
Alan and Joey swing around quickly and race back toward the coffee shop.
“Halt!”
“Kill them, slaughter them all!”
“Kill them! Kill them!!”
Alan and Joey race back through the door. I am alone. My head feels like it’s splitting open.
“Kill him … KILL HIM!”
“KILL HIM!”
“Freeze or I’ll shoot!”
“Shoot!”
“Wait, is he the hostage boy or one of the perps?”
“Who cares, shoot him.... Kill him!!”
“I don’t know!”
“Kill him NOW!!”
“Does
he have a weapon?”
“I can’t tell!”
“Hold your fire!”
“NO!!! FIRE, FIRE!!!!!”
I think, yes, please, fire. Once and for all, please fire.
“FIRE, FIRE, FIRE …”
A second later someone grabs my shirt and pulls me from behind. Dirtbag and Rat are ripping me down to hell. I’m too weak to fight. I stumble backward, letting myself go.
There’s a sharp cracking sound, and a bright blast of red and blue.... I hear someone cry out in pain.
My eyes are still closed tight. I can’t tell where I am.
Now I’m falling into a chair. My head hurts so bad that I think it might explode for real.
When Dirtbag and Rat have me like this, all I can do is to hold on and wait for them to go away.... But I’m afraid that one day maybe they won’t leave.
“Zach.” I hear a voice calling to me. “Zach,” the voice says again. I force open my eyes, squinting to keep the pain away. I see Alan’s face.
I hear Joey’s voice somewhere, calling Alan’s name. Joey sounds afraid.
“Zach.” Alan’s lips move, and I hear my name again. “Are you okay?”
I try to answer, but words won’t come.
Joey keeps calling to Alan over and over. But Alan keeps asking, “Zach, are you all right?” He looks scared and pale.
I manage to say, “Okay,” softly.
Alan says, “You’re okay? You’re okay?”
I nod and realize that I’m telling the truth. As fast as they came, Dirtbag and Rat are gone now.
I feel a cold wet spot on my chin where I’ve been drooling. The top of my shirt is wet from drool too. My armpits and chest and the back of my shirt are soaked through with sweat. I feel like I might puke. My eyes sting, like hot needles are being pulled out of them. My skin feels raw.
Alan yells at me, “What the hell were you doing, Zach? You kept yelling ‘Die, die, die!’ Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
I shake my head. I can’t explain. I never can.
Joey stares at me from across the room.
Now Alan, who has been kneeling in front of me, sits back in a chair and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he looks down at the floor.
As I follow his eyes, at first I think I’m still seeing things, but now I realize why Joey is so scared. There is blood everywhere—bright, red blood splattered all across the floor.
20
Letter from Dr. Cal Curtis to Ms. Emily Wahhsted:
Zach’s prognosis, truthfully, is not good. Schizophrenia is incurable. While medication increases a patient’s ability to function, Zach is unlikely to ever achieve full self-care skills. I am sorry, of course, to have to report this, but to inform you otherwise would be unfair and inaccurate....
“It got me through the hand. Straight through,” Alan says, his left hand wrapped in a white towel, which is already soaked in blood and dripping onto the linoleum. I notice the streak of drops, some large, some smaller, that lead from the closet door, all the way across the room to where we’re sitting.
“Oh, god,” Joey says, tears in his eyes.
Alan says, very calmly, “It’s okay, Joey, we’re just back to plan one, waiting for Zach’s shrink.”
Joey starts, “But your hand, your—”
Alan interrupts, standing up as he talks. “It doesn’t even hurt that much. It did at first, but it’s kind of numb now, I can barely feel—”
The phone rings.
Alan picks it up with his good hand and says, “Hello?” He listens, then says, “What the hell do you think we were doing? Trying to go home!”
There’s another pause, a longer one. Then Alan answers, “Yeah, I got it.... You’ve made your point.”
After another pause Alan says, “Put him on.” Alan waits a few seconds, then says, “Hi, Dr. Curt.”
Alan looks down at the phone and says, “Yeah, there is, there’s a button right here for Speaker.”
Alan pushes the button, and the next thing I hear is, “Can everybody hear me?” It’s Dr. Curt’s voice coming out over this tiny speaker in the phone. He sounds crackly and loud.
Joey and Alan both say, at the same time, “Yeah, we hear you.”
I nod my head yes.
Alan looks at me and says, “He can’t see you nod, Zach, you gotta say something.”
Dr. Curt says, “Hi, Zach, how are you?”
I answer him, “I’m okay. Hungry. Kind of sleepy. Dirtbag and Rat have gone.”
He asks, “They visited you?”
I say, “Yes.”
Alan says, “Wait a minute, what’re you talking about, Zach? No one’s visited anybody—”
“Just a moment, Alan,” Dr. Curt says, then, “Zach, they’re gone now?”
I answer, “Yeah, they’re gone.”
“Good riddance, huh?” Dr. Curt says.
I think I smile as I answer, “Yeah.”
I know I should say something about Alan’s hand, about all the blood everywhere, but I can’t think of the words.
Dr. Curt says, “The police won’t let us go in there, Zach, but we’re gonna get you out and get you your medicine as soon as we can, okay?”
“Okay,” I say.
Alan says, “Dr. Curtis, if you’d just look at the promises they’ve made, we want to get Zach out of here, too. We all wanna get out of here.”
Alan’s voice sounds weak; he’s breathing fast, and his words sound more like little grunts.
Dr. Curt says, “I’ll read their agreement right away. Then give me a few minutes to talk to the police and I’ll call you right back, all right?”
“Okay,” Alan says.
Before Alan hangs up, I ask, “Does he know about the guns, Alan?”
Dr. Curt hears what I’m saying over the speakerphone and asks, “What about the guns?”
I start to answer, “Do you know about the bullets and—”
Alan interrupts me. “We’ll tell him everything in a few minutes, okay, Zach?” While he’s talking he puts the pointer finger of his good hand up to his lips in a signal for me to be quiet.
You know how people always do that, put that finger up in front of their lips like they could stop the words from coming out of their mouths? This never makes any sense to me, because it’s always the other person they want to stop from talking, so how does putting their own finger in front of their own mouth do that? Still, since I know what the signal means, I shut up. I glance at Alan’s other hand, the one wrapped in the bloody towel. It’s lying on his lap, and now his jeans are bloody, too.
Alan turns back toward the phone speaker. “Call us when you’re ready, okay, Dr. Curtis?”
“Okay,” Dr. Curt says, and the phone goes dead.
“Jeez, Zach!” Joey immediately snaps at me. “What were you gonna do, tell ’em we didn’t have any ammunition?”
I answer, “Just Dr. Curt.”
“Damn!” Joey says, rushing over to me. He grabs the front of my shirt and pushes my face, hard, with the side of his gun. He doesn’t really hit me with the gun, but the metal bumps hard against my lip and it hurts. He screams, “You idiot, don’t you think the cops are listening?”
“Are they?” I ask. I mean it. I never thought of it.
“You’re so stupid!” he yells, spit flying out of his mouth and into my face. He pulls his hand back to hit me, the hand with the gun in it, and starts to swing at my head.
I close my eyes and wait for the gun to smack me. After a few long seconds of waiting to get hit, it doesn’t happen. I open my eyes and see Alan pulling Joey away.
Joey yells, “I’m sick of this retard! All day he’s messed us up. He should have killed himself back when he had the chance.”
Alan says, “Shut up, Joey, just shut your goddamned mouth!”
The two brothers stand frozen, staring at each other. After a few seconds Joey lowers his arm and Alan lets go of Joey’s wrist.
The towel around Alan’s hand slips down suddenly, almost
falling off. Alan winces as he grabs it, cradling his hurt hand in his good one. I can see, for just a second, the place where the bullet has gone through Alan’s palm. It looks terrible. The hole looks red and sore and like hamburger before it’s cooked.
Alan looks at me and says, his voice tired, “It’s okay, Zach.” He glances at my lip. “Are you hurt?”
I reach up and touch my mouth with my finger. It’s bleeding a little. I answer, “My lip hurts.”
Joey yells, “If you’d learn to shut your stupid mouth …” His face is almost as red as Alan’s hand. He turns away and just stares at the wall.
Alan looks at me and says, “Joey’s right about the cops listening when we talk to Dr. Curtis. You need to just be quiet when we’re talking, okay?”
I nod.
Alan is still looking at me. “Zach, who are Dirtbag and Rat?”
I don’t answer.
“No one was here before except us.”
I say nothing.
Alan doesn’t say anything for a second either. Then he asks, “You can’t tell what’s real, can you, Zach?”
I ask Alan, “But you’re real, right?”
Joey yells, “Look at his hand, moron! He got that saving you!” Joey makes a mumbled, angry sound and says, “I’d have let ’em blow your head off!”
Alan ignores Joey and says to me, “Yeah, Zach, I’m real.” As he talks, he carefully rewraps the bloody towel around his hand, squinching his face each time the towel goes across the wound. When he’s done, he looks over at me. “This is all real.”
I ask Alan, “Your guns are real, too, right? Only they won’t shoot except for when Joey shot the drawer.”
Alan says, “Yeah, the guns are real, all of this is real. But what if I’m lying? You’re never sure about anything, are you?”
I think about it for a second, then answer honestly, “I guess not really, nope.”
Joey says to Alan, “What’s Zach being an idiot have to do with us? He’s a retard!”
Alan says, “No, he’s not a retard, Joey; that’s just it.” Alan pauses a second, thinking, then says, “Zach’s brain is all upside down and inside out, but he’s not a retard—”
Joey interrupts, “Retard. Crazy. What’s the difference? He’s messed us up all day.”
Inside Out Page 6