Living the Good Death

by Scott Baron

  “Oh my God, that’s not sanitary!” he shrieked, trying not to gag. “Is that a cold sore?” Stein snatched up a napkin and viciously scrubbed at his skin. Quite unintentionally, he gave Curtis an idea.

  Across the room, Stan nodded at his boss’s orders, then flagged down another two orderlies before turning toward the hall leading to patient rooms.

  Out of nowhere, food started to fly, a direct hit landing on Stan’s bald head.

  He turned to see who the culprit was, but the other patients immediately took the cue, and an all-out food fight quickly ensued. The orderlies scrambled and ducked flying oatmeal and muffins, having to momentarily forego their task to help stop the high-calorie mayhem.

  Several minutes later, Doctor Vaughan, Stan, and his two underlings, all splattered with food and looking none too thrilled about it, yanked open the door and stormed into Dorothy’s room.

  Dorothy rolled over under her blanket, face a bit red and sweaty as she calmly gazed at Doctor Vaughan.

  “You!” he growled, his voice cracking in his anger.

  “I’m sorry, Doctor Vaughan,” Dorothy said. “I wasn’t feeling well this morning, so I thought I’d skip breakfast and just stay in bed. I’ll just eat at lunchtime. Thank you for your concern, though.” She rolled back over, hoping he’d just leave.

  No such luck.

  Doctor Vaughan lunged forward, and ripped the blanket off her bed, flinging it across the room as he did. Dorothy was still wearing her outside clothes, having not had so much as a spare second to change when she had sprinted back to her room.

  “Take her!” he cried.

  The burly men grabbed her, easily yanking her from her bed and out her door. Dorothy struggled futilely as they dragged her down the hall. Curtis poked his head around the corner and watched, horrified but powerless.

  Vaughan called over the nearest nurse. “I want every room locked down. All of them!”

  “But, sir, we don’t have the extra staff. We—”

  “Just do it!” he shouted in her face, his rage clear in his eyes. It was abundantly clear she’d be wise not to say anything other than, “Yes, sir,” if she wanted to keep her job.

  “Good,” was all he said in reply before he turned on his heel and stormed down the hall to room forty-two.

  They hadn’t even bothered to remove Dorothy’s street clothes before strapping her to the table, and had only just tightened the last restraint when Doctor Vaughan burst into the room.

  “Hook her up! Now!” he yelled. No one said a word, but just quickly did as he commanded, attaching electrodes to her head and strapping a bite plate into her mouth.

  “Doctor Vaughan,” the nurse on hand began, “should I set the—” He pushed past her and flipped the power switch on, then without hesitation cranked the dial far to the right. Dorothy screamed as electric current flowed through her body.

  Patients flinched as her cries echoed down the hallways.

  A week later Doctor Vaughan seemed quite relaxed as he walked down the hall carrying a few files under his arm to review in the peace and quiet of his office. He paused at the rec area to give his patients a once-over.

  There was a buzz among the residents, a sense of nervous calm, as he strolled through his hospital with the air of a king walking amongst his frightened serfs. Word of what happened had quickly spread, and everyone with a pair of ears knew what he’d done. Even the normally combative patients toned their antics down a notch, not wanting to meet the same fate as the girl who had pushed Doctor Vaughan too far.

  Curtis looked up from his jigsaw puzzle as he strode by. “Hey, Doc, come on, it’s been a week all ready. She didn’t mean anything by it. She’s a good kid.”

  “A good kid?” he rebutted, his anger quickly returning. “Let me show you something about this ‘good kid’ of yours.” Doctor Vaughan flipped through the files he was carrying, stopping on the newest one.

  Dorothy Maitland, the tab read.

  He opened it, showing the contents to Curtis.

  “Hey, isn’t that covered by HIPAA confidenti—”

  Doctor Vaughan glared at him, and Curtis, wisely, clammed up.

  “Um, never mind.”

  “As I was saying,” Vaughan continued. “Dorothy Maitland.” He pointed to her grainy police scan. “Kicked out of the linguistics program at Oregon State for intoxication and assault. Attempted suicide three times while under care in Portland. Prior history of drug abuse stretching back to her teen years.” He paused for effect, looking at Curtis like a snake would a mouse. “Let’s see, what else? Oh yes, prone to violent outbursts, and this one’s great. It says she even stabbed an orderly with a pen.” He shut the file, utterly satisfied with himself. “So this is what you call a good kid?”

  “That’s not her,” he quietly replied.

  “Oh, come on, Curtis, has she got you believing that too? The charts don’t lie. It’s all right here, plain as day, and neither her delusions nor yours make the facts any less real. Your little friend is a very sick girl, and I’m going to make her better,” he leered. “My way.”

  The way he said those last two words left no doubt what he meant by them.

  Drenched in sweat, exhausted from yet another round of shock-therapy, Dorothy was unceremoniously dumped on her bed, the door locked shut behind her. She tried to rise, but the effort was too great.

  What time is it? How long has it been?

  The light filtering through the window had changed, she noted.

  Okay, it must’ve been a few hours at least, she thought as her eyelids slipped closed.

  A jingling of keys outside her door a few hours later brought her to her senses, though her energy was still hovering near empty. The knob turned and a tray of food slid in, the door slamming shut immediately, the bolt locking in place once more.

  She was running on fumes and knew what she had to do.

  I have to eat, she thought. I don’t think I’ll be able to take much more of this if my energy gets any lower. Come on, legs, move! She struggled to sit, finally resolving to just slide to the floor and pull the tray closer.

  She was so drained that she didn’t even bother with the plastic utensils, but rather picked the food up with her bare fingers, barely managing to get it into her mouth. She chewed slowly at first, but when the first bite found its way to her stomach, her body went on autopilot. From that point, she wolfed down the rest of her meal like a feral animal, unsure it would ever see another bite.

  Sated and exhausted, she slumped back against her bed frame and drifted off into a restless and uncomfortable sleep.

  At the same time, across the city, Randy, too, was eating a meal, though with far less urgency. Food had lost much of its taste of late, he found.

  Since Dorothy had fled that night, he hadn’t heard a single word from her, and even Curtis had stopped showing up to the diner.

  Randy had tried a few of their favorite places, but no one had seen either of them in weeks. He thought back to that night and wondered to himself just how badly he had messed things up with her while he picked at his french fries, absentmindedly painting an abstract in ketchup as his mind wandered back to the girl who thought she was Death.

  She always heard the jingle of keys long before they reached her door.

  Dorothy had learned the pattern of her abuse, and was sure to be ready when they came, seated placidly on her bed as they man-handled her to her feet and down the hall.

  For some reason, on this particular day, they came early. She sat on the floor, working another fine rune into her chalk circle, when they arrived. There was no warning jingle before she heard keys pulled from a pocket right outside her door.

  Panicked, she quickly shoved her bed back into place, jamming her treasured book under her mattress and sitting atop it just as the door swung open. The orderlies pulled her to her feet and dragged her out into the hall.

  She allowed herself the slightest sigh of relief as they led her away. She’d managed to stash her book. Every
thing would be all right.

  But it wouldn’t.

  In the rush, Dorothy had failed to notice her piece of chalk had fallen to the floor and was sitting in plain sight.

  Doctor Vaughan made a point to free himself from whatever he was doing to personally supervise Dorothy’s “treatment” every single time, taking a sadistic joy in breaking the will of his most troublesome patient. Any other person and he really wouldn’t have cared. Hell, he would have never even dreamed of recommissioning room forty-two, for that matter, but then this one came along, and her antics jeopardized the order of Camview. Worse than that, she had jeopardized his very job.

  That simply would not do.

  Times such as these called for drastic measures, or so he managed to convince himself. Meanwhile, Dorothy received her daily session, writhing and screaming as the power arced through her body, while Doctor Vaughan calmly looked on.

  Dorothy was unceremoniously tossed back on her bed, sweaty and exhausted. She lay still for a moment, soaking in the blissful peace of not being subjected to electroshock, but somehow, despite her exhaustion, her senses tingled. She opened her eyes and looked around.

  Something felt off.

  Wait, I didn’t leave my bed askew like this.

  In a panic, she mustered energy she didn’t know she possessed and managed to rise to her feet and reach under her mattress.

  The book was still there.

  That was close, she sighed, relieved. Since the book was already in her hand and her adrenaline had given her a much-needed energy surge, she decided to move her bed frame and continue working on her intricate chalk project. As the bed slid aside, she was greeted by a blank surface. Her weeks and weeks of hard work had been erased, and nothing but a tiny trace of a chalk smear remained on the smooth floor.

  No! How could they have known?

  With what was left of her energy, she searched her room high and low, but her chalk was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t even start from scratch again if she wanted, at least not until she managed to steal another piece to draw with.

  Hot tears welled in her eyes. All that effort, all that study, and now her most promising chance to get back home was gone in an instant. It was looking as if Pestilence had once again become her best bet, but now she was the one locked in isolation.

  Exhausted, she couldn’t take any more and finally gave up, at least for the day. Caving to her body’s wishes, she flopped down on her bed, passing out almost immediately into a sleep so deep, she didn’t hear Curtis talking through her door.

  “Dorothy,” he whispered, “can you hear me?”

  Nothing.

  “We’re all locked down at night, and I haven’t been able to get out to tell Randy what’s going on. I need to know if you know his phone number. I want to try and sneak out a call from the nurses’ office. Are you there?”

  But at that moment the girl who thought she was Death was sound asleep, and quite dead to the world.

  CHAPTER 25

  Standing on a street corner, Dorothy felt a sense of calm familiarity wash over her as she watched the drunk stagger to his car. Everything in the world was as it should be.

  The man reached his destination, fumbling in his pocket for his keys as she raised her hand, slowly plucking his soul from his body. The man’s eyes widened in shock as his legs got wobbly.

  His life force was slowly pulling free of his chest, when, for no visible reason, it stopped.

  Stuck.

  Then it started to pull back.

  Dorothy strained, both arms now outstretched as she tried with all her might to pull his soul free.

  Stubbornly, it simply wouldn’t come out.

  Then, in one quick motion, it snapped back into his body, slamming her to the ground as it did.

  Dorothy lurched awake in her bed, sweat beading on her brow, her breaths coming hard and fast as her heart raced from the nightmare. She looked around, realizing, gradually, where she was. Still locked in her room in Camview. Still powerless, but in a different way, and if she didn’t get back soon, the world would be in big trouble.

  The crowd was thick in the gallery that night, the scores of art patrons mingling shoulder-to-shoulder as the local food trucks fed the hungry among them out front, while those seeking adult libations sidled up to the bar conveniently set up inside.

  The high-ceilinged gallery was dimly lit for the most part, creating a mood of intimacy, while the artwork was illuminated by bright beams shining from meticulously aimed track lighting hanging from the exposed rafters high above.

  The show cards said eight p.m. to eleven p.m., but by the looks of things, it was going to be another late one, which was quite all right with Gary, so long as art was sold and connections were made.

  “Randy!” he called out as he approached his friend, a drink in one hand and a young man with an SLR camera in tow. “This is Todd McClure from Low Saccharine magazine.”

  “Nice to meet you. I love the mag, it’s one of the few that has really committed to getting exposure for new artists these days.”

  “Thanks man, we try, but it’s mostly up to you guys to find them in the first place. You going to be around later? I was hoping to discuss the show when it calms down a little.”

  “Yeah, I’m here until the lights go out,” Randy said with a little chuckle.

  “Excellent. I’m going to get some candid shots of the crowd. Let’s catch up in a bit.”

  “I look forward to it,” he replied as the young man waded off through the crowd to capture the essence of the evening through his lens.

  Gary grabbed Randy by the shoulders, a happy smile plastered to his face.

  “You’ve outdone yourself this time. Really, this is the best turnout yet. You went balls to the wall for this one.”

  “Yeah, I wanted it to be special.”

  Gary would have to be blind and dumb to miss the shift in mood.

  “Ah yes, the new girl you’ve been talking so much about. Where is she? You’ve got to introduce me.”

  “She wasn’t able to make it tonight.” Randy kept it together as best he could.

  “Aw, shit man, I’m sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to meeting her finally. She sounds like a real keeper.”

  “Yeah…” Randy’s mood fell further.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah, she just… something came up. No worries. Sorry to be a bummer.”

  “Then don’t look so down.” Gary shook his friend playfully. “There will be plenty of other openings you can bring her to. Don’t sweat it so much. Now wipe that frown off your face and get out there and schmooze! I want to see lots of little red ‘sold’ dots next to those paintings!” He gave a friendly slug to Randy’s shoulder and wandered off into the crowd.

  Randy reflected for a moment, sighed, then took a deep breath and forced a cheerful salesman’s grin back onto his face before heading once more into the fray, immediately spotting one of his long-time collectors.

  “John, great to see you. So glad you could make it!” he chimed. For a moment, the big smile on his face looked almost real.

  Much later that night, after the opening finally wrapped up, Randy found himself sitting alone at the familiar linoleum counter, nursing his woes with a slice of pie and a cup of Angie’s finest coffee. Lucky for him, he’d built up something of an immunity to it.

  Angela had given him some space at first, reading his body language with a single glance, like the good ones in the waiting game always do. Then, when it looked like he was finally getting over his initial funk and settling down, she strolled over and topped off his coffee, casually checking in on her friend.

  “You okay, hon?” she asked, a hint of concern peeking through her casual expression.

  He paused, not sure if he really wanted to talk about it.

  “It’s been three weeks, Angie,” he finally said. “I’m afraid I scared her off.” The dark cloud returned, but Angela pressed on.

  “Hey, don’t beat
yourself up. She likes you, and I mean a lot. Anyone could see that. I doubt she’s gone for good. Maybe she just needed some time to think.”

  “But it’s been nearly a month, Ange. Maybe I’m just a fuck-up.”

  “Or maybe she’s busy with other things. You know better than most people how time sometimes has a way of catching you off guard and flying by.”

  “I guess,” was all he could manage, so instead of making small talk, he slid another bite of pie into his mouth and chewed slowly, thinking about the girl he’d grown so fond of. The one he feared he had driven away.

  In the dim light of Camview, Curtis rose from his bed, quietly padded to his door, and pushed.

  Still locked.

  It had been hours since Big Stan walked the hallway calling out, “Lights out, lock ’em down!” and, unfortunately, no one had unlocked them since. He’d have to wait, yet again, for an opportunity to present itself if he wanted to check on his friend.

  Lady Luck smiled on him the following morning.

  When an older patient took a little tumble, drawing the attention of the nurse and staff, he managed to slip away, using the opportunity to scurry down the hall as the staff was occupied giving medical aid.

  Sitting in her isolated room, Dorothy was awake, but unlike Curtis, she had no energy to even try the locked door. Since they slid trays of food to her daily, she had become accustomed to only seeing the four walls of her room.

  Those, and the walls of room forty-two.

  She sat, her back against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees to keep upright. Her tray of food held no appeal as she quietly sobbed to herself.

  Outside her room, Curtis slid up to her door and heard her quiet anguish.

  It broke his heart.

  “Hey, can you hear me?” he said in a hushed voice. “You’ve got to hang in there. Don’t let them break you. Don’t give the bastard the satisfaction. You’re stronger than he is. Never forget that.”