Hitting Bottom

by Ryan Scott

  When the company commander calls me to his office, he tries to trick me by saying my mother died. I know he’s lying so I don’t go along with the trick. I just smile and thank him for the good news. I have to be careful with this one; I think he’s against me.

  He looks at me for a moment and says, “Lieutenant, there’s someone I want you to see. Please report to Major Smith at HQ. He will be expecting you.”

  “Why, Sir? Have I’ve done something wrong?” I reply, trying to anticipate what Otis is up to next.

  “No, you’ve done nothing wrong, but it’s a good idea for you to have a talk with the Major. He’s a psychologist.”

  I’m afraid, but I follow my orders like a good soldier and report to HQ. The major acts real friendly. He offers me a cigarette and we smoke for a little while. Finally he says, “Clyde, I’ve been receiving disturbing reports. You can be honest with me. What’s going on with you?”

  “I think you all ready know,” I say, avoiding the trap he’s trying to set.

  “Maybe I do, but let’s talk about it, man to man.”

  “Ok!”” I blurt, suddenly feeling reckless. “The Army is manipulating my mind by putting false memories in my brain. Otis is behind all of it!”

  The doctor studies me and nods his head. He knows I’ve called him out, and I’m on to his little game.

  “Lieutenant Barge, you may retire to your barracks while I discuss the matter with your Company Commander. He will be summoning you in a couple of hours.”

  When I report to my company commander, he hands me a thick folder. “Clyde, these are your Medical discharged papers. You are now a civilian and can go home.”

  At first, I think he’s joking, but he assures me he’s not joking. Clyde your emotional problems make you unfit for military service, but you will receive severance pay.”

  Just like that; they throw me out. That slime-ball Otis is more devious than I realized.

  When I get back to Austin, I rent a furnished apartment in the Hyde Park district and immediately go to work to block the electronic waves the CIA are focusing on me. With his connections, Otis has arranged my surveillance.

  I first go to a pawn shop and buy a small pistol, but I have to wait 48 hours before I can pick it up. Then, I go to the hardware store and buy a big can of 3 in 1 oil, pliers, screwdrivers, hammer, wrenches and the local paper. I pay cash, but when the clerk drives to give me a receipt, I don’t fall for that ruse and quickly walk out of the store before anyone else sees me.

  As soon as I get home, I smear oil over all the glass surfaces including the mirror. There, that’ll confuse them I think, but it don’t. I spend that night researching the news, looking for clues. I finally decipher a message. They want me to stand on one leg at the corner of Congress and 6th streets with my body at a 37 degree angle to the Capital Building at 3 in the morning. If I clap my hands every 15 seconds I will be given instructions. I wait there for 2 hours, but no one gives me a message. Otis must have gotten word and fucked it up for me.

  When I get home I call him before daybreak. If he’s going to keep me up for nothing, I’ll give him a taste of his own medicine, that bastard. When he picks up the phone. I say, “You slime-ball shit-eater, how many people did you butcher today, you fucking quack.”

  He hangs up, but that’s all right. I’ll keep calling him every night until he leaves me alone.

  I call him the next night, but he hangs up. When I call him on the third night, he has blocked my call. Now I realize my phone is monitoring me so I take it apart looking for the listening device, but it’s too small to see.

  For the next three days, I’m busy removing all the electrical outlets, looking for secret devices. I leave the wires just hanging to let them know I’m on to their game, but I take a chance and leave one outlet in the living room intact for the lamp and TV.

  Next, I shut off the water to my apartment and methodically remove all the plumbing including the toilet. I’m very thorough, but I don’t find those damn devices. They must be in the furniture somewhere. My apartment is on the second floor with a balcony. After I’ve thrown all the furniture over the rail, I go to work on the stove and refrigerator. I throw them out as well.

  As I’m pulling up the carpet I hear people talking outside. Some of the neighbors are impressed with my work heaped in a pile, but just in case there’s a spy, I turn the TV to a test pattern and drag it to the window so they’ll know I know what’s going on.

  Someone is shouting and pounding on my door. When I open it, I see my landlord with a scarlet face and bunched fists. What the hell are you doing, you moron,” he screams.

  When I show him my gun I had just picked up, he backs away with his hands held up. I don’t say nothing, but I kick the door shut. He ain’t got no right to bother me, especially since I’m getting to the root of the problem.

  Things have just calm down when my door is blown open with a lot of smoke. I can’t see nothing, but three cops grab me and throw me to the floor on my stomach. They snap cuffs on me and drag me up.

  “OK you nut job; we’re taking you to the funny farm.”

  Chapter 7

  The jail downtown is old and crowded and scary. “Why are you taking me here?” I keep asking, but no one tells me nothing.

  After they take my picture and fingerprints, they swab my mouth with a cotton ball. Then they take me into a room with bright lights and start asking questions. “Where were you last night?” one of them asks.

  “Did Odis send you?” I ask, knowing he’s the one trying to get me locked up once again.

  Just answer the question. Where were you last night?”

  I don’t want to give them too much information so I tell them I was at the Salvation Army, but I don’t mention the bridge or the laundry mat.

  “Don’t play games with us. After you left the Salvation Army, where did you go?”

  I tell them I was at the laundry mat.

  ”Where are your shoes?” the second cop asks.

  “The Mexicans stole them.”

  “That’s bull shit! Were you under a certain bridge last night?”

  I don’t want no trouble so I shake my head.

  “All right, Mr. Barge, that’s all for now, but I promise we will talk some more later. You are allowed to make two phone calls.”

  I don’t know who to call, and then I remember the scrap of paper the blind man gave me. It’s still in my pocket.

  When I call him, he says, “The police were asking about you. They said they found your shoes with a Goodwill sticker on the bottom. That’s the way they traced you back to me. What’s going on?”?

  “I’m in jail. They think I stabbed someone, but I didn’t. Can you get me out?”

  He don’t say nothing, and then he says, “Do you have any relatives?”

  “No, the only one is my brother Otis, but I don’t trust him.”

  “Well, I’ll do what I can. Good luck,” he says and hangs up.

  They take me through some locked doors, and then they shove me into a cell where an old black man is sitting on an iron cot.

  He looks up and says, “Welcome to my home. Were you busted for not bathing? You sure stink!”

  I don’t like blacks, young or old so I sit down on the other bed and ignore him.

  After a while, a guard brings us lunch. The old black man spits it on the floor, but I like the baloney sandwich. It’s a lot better than what I usually get.

  Then, a guard comes for me, saying, “Your attorney wants to talk with you. I’ll take you there.”

  In a small room, I see a little man with a big nose and thick glasses opening a briefcase. “Good afternoon Mr. Barge. My name is Isaac Silver. I’m your court appointed attorney,”” he says acting like he smelled something bad.

  Can you get me out of here?”

  “Well, we can ask the judge to set your bail at the arraignment, but my best guess is that you will have to come up with a minimum of $5,000.”

  “That ain’t fair! I ai
n’t got no money and I didn’t do nothing!”

  “Mr. Barge, I don’t think you’re aware of the seriousness of your situation. They’ve found your shoes at the scene of the crime. Your finger prints were on a whiskey bottle and the knife. Blood from two sources was on the knife. If the DNA test reveals your blood, they will have an open and shut case against you. The victim is in critical condition and he’s in a coma. If he dies, you will be charged with murder. Under the circumstances, I recommend we plea bargain.”

  “What’s a plea bargain?”

  “If I can strike a deal with the DA, you will confess to a lesser crime, and they will drop the murder in the first degree charge.”

  “But I didn’t do nothing. I ain’t going to say I did something when I didn’t.”

  “Mr. Barge, that’s your decision. I’m just trying to save you from a death sentence. I have to go now, but I’ll see you at the arraignment.”

  When they took me back to my cell, the old black man says, “Well, Mr. Don’t Take Baths, what did your lawyer say they do?”

  “They want to kill me. I know my brother put them up to it, but I didn’t do nothing,” I say and then I’m sorry I talk to him. You can’t trust the colored.

  “That’s bad; when the man gets you, poor folks get the rope.”

  I tell him to shut up, and then I sit on my bed with my back towards him, the bastard.

  That afternoon the guard tells me I have a visitor. When I see the blind man sitting in the visitor’s area, I ask him if he’s there to get me out.

  “I’m sorry Clyde. I’m not able to get you out. I talked to your brother after our phone call, but he said he’s through with you and not to expect any help from him. Tell me what happened.”

  I decide to tell him the truth; everyone else thinks the worst anyway. “Two guys got in a fight under the bridge, and one of them stabs the other. Then he ran away and so did I.”

  “I believe you Clyde, but your finger prints are on the knife and a whisky bottle they found at the scene. How do you explain that?”

  I think for a moment and then I remember what happened. “They gave me a swig from their bottle of whiskey, and then one of them let me use his knife to cut my shoelaces.”

  “The detective believes some of your blood is on the knife. If that’s so how did that happen?”

  “I don’t know. I cut myself a little. See, right here.”

  “Have you told your attorney about this?”

  “Hell no. He’s a Jew!”

  Listen Clyde, if that man dies, they’re going to try to pin the crime on you. You have to tell your attorney what happened so he can build your defense.”

  I think to myself I ain’t going to trust no damn Jew so I don’t say nothing. Maybe this blind guy is working with Otis to keep me locked up just like before.

  Chapter 8

  I find out my fucking brother told a judge I was crazy and a menace to myself and others and got me indefinitely committed to this lunatic asylum. I don’t like it here. I’m locked up with a lot of weird people who shuffle around and throw shit at the TV. Sometimes a fight breaks out between hot heads, but I keep to myself. I’ve learned to sit in a certain chair in the day room, stare straight ahead and let my mind go blank.

  When they try to make me swallow a pill, I hold it under my tongue, and then flush the poison down the toilet. The others are too dumb and swallow the pill. Afterwards they act like zombies.

  I don’t like the attendants who work here, especially the colored ones. They’re everywhere plotting against me; just like the so-called “doctors” who are always trying to pry information from me. I’m on to their game, and I ignore them.

  Some times when I get bored, I like to make fools out of young interns who want to practice being a therapist. When a young female student acts all professional-like, asking me about my childhood, I point at her chair and yell, “There’s a big rat under your chair.”

  I laugh inside when she jumps up and scream. After she settle down all embarrassed-like, she scribbles in a notebook I’m having a visual hallucination. Just for the record, I don’t have visual hallucinations. The voices that mock me and ridicule everything I do are real.

  Once I happened to be alone with a chunky patient who tells me she hasn’t had sex in 36 hours. She reaches for my cock and says, “I want you to fuck me right now.”

  I get a hard on, but I’m afraid she’s trying to trap me so I tell her to fuck off.

  She pulls up her skirt, bends over, shoves her bare ass in my face and farts. “Who needs you anyway? You’re too ugly, and I can find someone much better,” she yells.

  After that incident I avoid her, thankful I didn’t fall for another one of Otis’s lousy tricks.

  An older woman with short grey hair tells me she’s a social worker. She says they have a variety of programs to help me get better, basket weaving, art, beading, and some other stuff I don’t give a shit about.

  I say, “I don’t need to get better; I just need to get out of here.”

  “Well, your fastest way to get out is to participate in our programs.”

  Fuck you, I think, but I don’t say nothing. When I go to basket weaving, I piss on the material. The teacher yells, “Look at what you’ve done! Why did you do that?”

  “I don’t need no fucking basket!” I say and zip up my pants.

  When I’m at the art class, I draw a picture of a big dick and write “Fuck you,” but the teacher ain’t impressed.

  Every afternoon right after lunch, I go to group therapy. The leader is a Mexican. I think he wants my shoes so I keep my feet close together. He says, “Welcome; when you come in here, leave your anger at the door. We are free to say whatever we want, but there’s to be no fighting.”

  I see 8 people sitting in a circle. The chunky farting woman is sitting next to three black men so I sit away from them on guard.

  The Mexican says he wants each of us to tell our name and why we’re here. I don’t give a shit about them so I let my mind go blank, but when the old man next to me says his name is Jackson and his brother was the one who committed him, I take notice. He says he’s been living here for 25 years.

  Later, when I see him in the day room, I ask him how come he’s been here for so long.

  “At first, I wanted out, but this place is my only home and now I’m afraid to be out there.”

  “Well, I ain’t going to spend the rest of my life here. I’m going to escape the first chance I get.”

  “Yep, I thought that once. You ain’t going to get beyond these locked doors, but if you do everything they say and don’t make no trouble; they’ll let you walk on the grounds. There’s an 8 foot hurricane fence, but I figure you could climb it.”

  After some months pass, I’m allowed to walk around the hospital grounds. I like that privilege because I can go to the little store and buy candy and coke from the $25 account Otis pays each month, but they don’t sell beer. Every now and then, he tries to visit me, but I refuse to see him.

  One afternoon I get ready for my escape. I walk to the back of the hospital and look to see if there’s anyone around. Good, no one is in sight so I walk to the part of the fence that’s half hidden by bushes. At first, I try to climb with my shoes on, but they slip on the fence so I take them off and try again. This time I grip the wire fence with my toes and boost myself up. I can feel the wire cutting my toes, but I’m almost over so I continue to climb. When I drop to the outside of the fence, I look for my shoes, but they’re on the inside. I get up and limp away, with no one after me. I’m free! Fuck Otis!

  When I walk to the drag, I see young hippies begging for spare change so I join them. All I need is enough to buy a can of Bud.

  Suddenly, this white van stops next to me; and two big black men quickly get out. “All right Clyde, your little adventure is over. Get in and we’ll go back to the hospital.

  I know I can’t escape so I get in the back.

  The other one asks, “Hey Clyde, what happened to
your feet? They’re all bloody.”

  Fuck him. I wish I was dead.

  That night at dinner, I feel so disheartened I don’t eat nothing. The voices are relentless. “Stupid! Loser! Retard! Your life ain’t worth living!”

  I feel empty and hopeless. I wait for everyone to fall asleep, and then I tear the hem of my sheet into a flimsy rope. When I stand on my bed, I can just reach the pipe that runs along the edge of the ceiling. I tie the sheet to the pipe and around my neck. I take a deep breath and jump. The rope holds me by the neck as I try to breath. My body starts jerking and I piss my pants. After agonizing minutes, everything goes black.