Twisted Reunion

by Tullius, Mark

  Decker dropped the magazine and cleaned up. He ignored the sign telling employees to wash their hands and walked out the bathroom as he finished buckling his pants. An elderly doctor with a scraggly gray beard was struggling to find the right key to open the B-wing gate.

  Keeping an eye on the doctor, Decker walked to the unlocked control room door and slipped inside. Speaking through the mesh wiring that served as a window, he casually asked, “Can I help you?”

  Startled, the doctor looked up and stuttered, “Uh, no, forgot which… I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

  Decker took a seat in his raised chair, positioned himself for a better look at the grizzled doctor. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe I’ve seen you before. You work in one of the other wards?”

  The doctor shook his head and shoved the keys into his lab coat. “No, I’m sorry, officer. I’m new. Just got hired today.”

  Decker didn’t mention he was only a guard and not an actual law enforcement officer. “Yeah, I heard they hired someone. You’re taking O’Malley’s place, right?”

  “Oh…yes, I believe that’s the name on my office door.”

  “About time they hired a replacement. Been short a doctor all week. I’m Nick, but most just call me Decker.”

  “Oh, I’m Dr. Hoffman.” The doctor stepped up to the window and a peculiar smell wafted through the mesh.

  Unable to place the scent, Decker asked, “How much they tell you?”

  “Tell?”

  “About O’Malley. The gig.”

  “Oh, not much. The woman who hired me seemed preoccupied. Is there something I should know?”

  “No, I was just asking,” Decker said. “I was kind of hoping you’d tell me. O’Malley just stopped coming in. No one’s heard from him.”

  “I take it that would be strange?”

  “He just didn’t seem the type to up and quit. But hell, it’s not like people need a reason to leave this shithole.”

  “Oh?”

  Decker laughed. “No, it’s not all that bad. You’ll get used to it. As long as you don’t mind being around these crazy fuckers – not that…I mean…”

  “It’s okay. I have grown boys. I’m well-versed in insanity.”

  “Yeah, that’s funny. Still, sorry for my language. One of the many reasons I’m here at midnight. They keep telling me I gotta be careful what I say in front of folks. Especially working for the state.”

  “Oh yes, I know this too well. I used to be over at Weatherly.”

  “Weatherly? Shit, must’ve been some time ago. That place burned down... What? Twenty years ago?”

  Hoffman thought about it a second. “Yes, I suppose it’s been a while.”

  The doctor’s dingy lab coat looked as if it went back to his days at Weatherly. Decker asked, “Where else did you work?”

  “Oh, all over. I’ve never been one to stay too long in one place.”

  “Well, glad they brought you in. Damn budget’s so tight, I was half-expecting they’d let these bastards run the place themselves. Practically already do.”

  Dr. Hoffman laughed a little too hard at the lame joke. Decker didn’t think he was being made fun of, but he didn’t like it either way.

  Seeming to sense his unease, the doctor said, “I am sorry to disturb you this evening.”

  “Yeah, there’s normally not a doctor here this late.”

  The doctor shifted his weight. “I don’t actually start until Monday but the lady that hired me, I forgot her name, said I could come in to check out the place. I know it sounds like something a teenager would say, but I guess I’m kind of nervous about my first day. I’ve actually been on sort of a sabbatical.”

  Decker finally saw why they’d hired this old timer. He was probably dirt-cheap. And though Decker wasn’t the most sympathetic of men, Dr. Hoffman sort of reminded him of his grandfather.

  “Nothing to be nervous about,” Decker said. “We’ve all been the new guy at some point.”

  “I thought maybe coming this late might allow me to get a feel for the place, you know, when it’s not so busy. I like to know where things are. Helps me seem not so much like a bumbling fool.”

  “Don’t worry. Expectations are pretty low down here.”

  “Yes, well, if it’s all the same, I was hoping to possibly get a tour. Obviously, it would be up to you. If you’re busy, I can always…”

  Decker studied the old man. He did seem eager. That’s something Decker wasn’t used to seeing in here. The poor guy probably didn’t have anyone to get home to. “Yeah, sure. Time for my rounds anyway. I just need your ID.”

  Dr. Hoffman patted his lab coat, checked his pockets, his face reddening. “Oh dear, I don’t believe I brought it. I must have left it in the office or possibly my car. I don’t think I brought it home, but I was in such a rush to get here, I can’t remember… I can go look. I’ll only be a bit.”

  “Nah, forget it. You’re here now.”

  “I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

  “No trouble. You showed me your ID and I verified it. Simple as that. We scratch each other’s backs around here.”

  “Oh, I do appreciate it. That’s very kind,” the doctor said.

  “Not a problem. Let’s get started,” Decker said. He grabbed his metal flashlight and stepped out of the control room. Decker started towards B wing but turned back when he noticed Dr. Hoffman wasn’t following.

  “Is there a difference between the two wings?” the doctor asked.

  “Yeah, the A wing is where we keep the semi-treatable schizos. B wing is a whole other story. All the psychos. Real sick fuckers. That is, until you cure them, right?”

  “Yes, of course.” Dr. Hoffman followed Decker through the gate and down a dark hallway. “Is it just you down here?”

  “Yeah, just me and the loons.”

  “What if something happens? I mean, if there’s a problem.”

  “You getting scared, Doc?”

  “Oh…I’m always a little on edge.”

  “Don’t worry. These cells stay locked unless I open them.” Decker fingered the radio on his belt. “And I got this. We’ve got guards stationed in every ward. Someone’s always less than a minute away.”

  “Unless they’re in the bathroom.”

  Decker chuckled. “Yeah, I guess.” He shoved his key into the lock on the metal door and had to jiggle it. Dr. Hoffman was practically on top of him, his disgusting aftershave even more pungent in this confined space. Decker finally recognized the smell. It was Sandoval. His old boss at the coroner’s office used to slather himself with the stuff.

  Decker locked the door behind them. “Now, just stay close.”

  “Is it always this dark?”

  “Wing lights go off at nine.” Decker pointed at the two open stalls on the right side of the hall. “Here are the showers. It’s mainly for incoming inmates. Most of the long-terms rarely use them. Hygiene isn’t a priority when you never see a woman.” Decker stopped and turned to the doctor. “Look, I know you worked at Weatherly, but these guys can get a little rowdy. I just want to warn you.”

  “I appreciate it, but as I mentioned, I raised three sons. I’m sure it’ll be nothing I haven’t heard before.”

  “I don’t know, Doc. These are some twisted fellas.”

  “So were my boys.”

  They passed the first set of dimly lit cells when the taunting began. It started softly, a whisper from the first two cells, number one on the right and ten on the left, but the rest of the wing was quick to join in. The hallway filled with the incessant wails of the inmates, Decker’s own little rainforest of crazy.

  Out of the rambling nonsense, came the inmates’ favorite: “Here comes Decker, Decker the pecker-checker.”

  “Decker, Dicker, penis licker!”

  The inmates continued the barrage, and Dr. Hoffman said, “Quite colorful, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah, not very original.” Decker continued past the next set of cells. “Keep it down, gen
tlemen! Don’t make this a long night.”

  An inmate’s body banged against the metal door. With his face pressed against the square glass window, the guy screamed, “Shut the fuck up, Dicker!”

  Decker pressed the flashlight to the window and flicked the button. Light blasted the man’s contorted face, and he fell backwards with a scream, his hands covering his eyes.

  Decker laughed and holstered his flashlight. “That asshole never learns.”

  “That happens often?”

  “Don’t worry. Doesn’t hurt. Just keeps him quiet.”

  “Oh, no it doesn’t, Ducker - you stupid motherfucker!”

  Decker spun around and shouted, “You want the restraints! I swear to Christ, Homer. I’ll strap you in for the next month.”

  “Oooooh. I love a good strap-on. But I’m more interested in the real deal, like the one Daddy’s gonna shove in your ass.”

  Decker clinched his fists and started for the door, but he remembered the doctor. This wasn’t a battle he could win and not the best way to make an impression. He kept walking and called over his shoulder, “Knock it off and go to bed.”

  They passed rooms four and seven, and a soft chanting began: “I know something you don’t know. I know something you don’t know…” It grew louder and louder until it seemed the walls were shaking. Decker’s face turned redder, but strangely, he noticed, Dr. Hoffman didn’t seem unnerved by the mind-numbing screams.

  Decker yelled, “I’m not kidding. This ends now!”

  The chanting grew.

  “Do you mind if I try?” Dr. Hoffman asked.

  Decker shrugged his shoulders, tried to hide his embarrassment and frustration.

  “Excuse me, young men,” the doctor said in a surprisingly firm and even tone. “Please listen to my words, for I will only say this once.”

  The chanting quieted, only a few murmurs filtered out.

  “Thank you. My name is Dr. Hoffman and I want you to know I’m looking forward to meeting each and every one of you when the time is right, but right now I need your assistance. I would like to continue my tour without interruption. If you can do that, I promise it will not go unappreciated. Do I make myself clear?”

  Decker couldn’t believe it. Except for a couple hoots and hollers, the ward was silent. The ward was never silent. These psychos didn’t listen to anyone but themselves. He didn’t want to tell that to Dr. Hoffman though, so he just mentioned something about the cafeteria opening in a few hours. The doctor didn’t seem to be paying attention. He was focused on the last door on the right.

  “I wouldn’t get too close to there, Doc. His food flap is broken. You get too close and that prick could reach out and grab you.”

  Dr. Hoffman kept his distance but bent forward to look through the window. Something was definitely stirring behind the glass. “He doesn’t use his night light?”

  “Doesn’t have one. Broke it. We replaced it a couple times and every time he’d break it.”

  “Guess he didn’t like the light.”

  “Yeah, and I called maintenance to fix the flap, but I can’t even get one of those guys to sneeze down here. Especially with this one.”

  “Oh?”

  “Name’s Carter. A real freak. Takes three guards to restrain him.”

  Hoffman went up on his tiptoes to get a better look. “Have you tried talking to him?”

  “Yeah, I read him bedtime stories every night. Come on, Doc. We should get back.”

  Still balancing on his tiptoes, Dr. Hoffman said, “Just one minute.” He held out his hand and asked to borrow the flashlight. Decker handed it over and Hoffman shined it through the window. “Oh, I believe he’s scared.”

  “Yeah, trust me, Doc, he ain’t. Antisocial personality disorder. Fucker eats people’s faces.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Doc, I really wouldn’t get too close.”

  “It’s okay. I can see him on the bunk. If he moves, I’ll be sure to get back.” Hoffman bent down so he could look through the opened flap. “Hello, son. How are you doing tonight?”

  A loud thrashing erupted in the room, the metal frame of the bunk clanging as the inmate threw his body up and down.

  Decker said, “He’s been doing that all week. Stays on his bed and then acts crazy every time we do a check. It’s like he gets so excited he can’t control it.”

  “Kid’s just got a lot of energy,” Dr. Hoffman said a little too merrily.

  “Well, he won’t eat shit. Tosses out every meal we give him.”

  “Well, he’s just particular.” Dr. Hoffman pulled something out of his pocket. Decker thought it looked a little like hamburger, but it was hard to tell. What was obvious was Dr. Hoffman was trying to feed Carter. Decker grabbed the doctor’s arm.

  “What the hell are you doing? I told you, he’s crazy.”

  “Oh, we’re all a little crazy.” Dr. Hoffman’s eyes gleamed. Decker didn’t understand it, but he looked taller. “It runs in the family.”

  Carter’s lips pressed against the open slot. He whispered, “Daaaaaaad.”

  Decker realized this man wasn’t a doctor. Hoffman pulled out the keys from his pocket. Each one was caked in dried flesh. They hung from a little black rabbit’s foot keychain, exactly like O’Malley used to carry. Decker tried to block the key heading toward his face, but the small metal tip plunged through his pupil.

  The inmates roared as Decker crumpled to the floor. They continued to shout every time the keys carved into his neck, face, and hands. Maniacal laughter filled the wing as the inmates banged their fists against the glass. Hoffman stood and faced them.

  “Now, now. You’ll all taste him soon enough. But my son goes first.”

  Hoffman yanked the keys off Decker’s belt. He licked each one before trying them in Carter’s door. Finally, the lock turned and the door creaked open. Carter fell into his father’s arms.

  “Yes, yes,” Hoffman said. “Now, don’t let this food go to waste.”

  Carter fell onto Decker’s wheezing body and ripped off a chunk of Decker’s cheek. Hoffman continued down the wing and called back, “Just make sure to save some for your brothers.”

  Shooting Flies

  The fly wouldn’t sit still. Raymond held his breath, pressed his eye to the viewfinder and tried not to move. Sweat beads rolled down his forehead, but he couldn’t risk wiping them and scaring the skittish thing off again. Gina had been waiting for hours. The hunk of meat was almost dried out. This was it. He had to get the shot. He’d promised her perfection, but all he had to show were the dozen flawed photographs drying on the line. Blurred wings and bad light.

  “Okay, there you go,” he whispered. The fly’s six little legs finally landed on the slab of flesh. Sadly, not a single photoreceptor was in view, just a giant shot of the fly’s ass. Raymond waited for it to move. Without the eyes what the hell was the point? He stood perfectly still and tried to will it with his mind, but the fly refused to turn around. Slowly, Raymond slid his feet along the floor, tried to ignore his aching old man’s knees. He kept his finger on the shutter release as he moved the viewfinder up along the arch of its swollen abdomen to the thorax, and almost to the head—when suddenly, another fly began to circle.

  “No. Get away,” Raymond whispered. “You had your chance.”

  An enormous eye crept into the frame. Finally, Raymond thought. He just had to maneuver around the table’s edge and he’d have the full face in view. The light stand was precariously close, but Raymond stepped over it and held the shot. The fly began to feast. Just an inch to the left and Raymond would have his angle. His foot clipped the light. His finger mashed the release, but the fly was already in the air.

  “God damn it!” Raymond threw the camera at the wall, but the strap caught the back of his neck. The Nikon banged against his chest. He closed his eyes. A dozen buzzing taunts echoed in his ears.

  What made him think he could pull this off? It took him eighteen months just to talk to Gina. Whenever Raymo
nd heard her voice in the office, even if she was simply complaining about the copier, his stomach would twist in knots. He went to great lengths to avoid her cubicle, at least when she was in it. He hadn’t even stepped foot in the sales department in over a year. In fact, he’d go out the back, walk around the building and come in the side entrance just to go to the bathroom. Only in his dreams did he think he’d ever get a date with her, and now she was sitting in his kitchen, waiting for him to finish. And he was blowing it.

  Raymond tried to breathe. All he needed was one good shot. That perfect moment – the delicate shadows, his careful composition and a motionless subject in tandem – and he’d capture a beauty and depth never before attributed to the common housefly. Gina would be so impressed by his brilliance, so stunned by his sensitivity, she wouldn’t be able to speak. But that’d be okay. He’d just kiss her and never mention he’d only bought his first camera six months ago. It was the day after he saw her carrying a black-and-white photography book. Gina had told one of the office girls her dad had sent it as a present for her promotion. The cover was a picture of a little boy blowing a dandelion. Gina thought it was so cute.

  “I guess so,” Raymond had imagined himself saying as he casually sat on the edge of her desk and picked up her mug of pens.

  “What do you mean, you guess so? It’s cute.”

  “Sure, if you like generic.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize you were an expert.”

  “I dabble…”

  She’d try to pretend she wasn’t intrigued. He’d dismissively tap the book’s cover. “It just doesn’t say anything. I mean, if you’re going to take a picture it should provoke…something.”

  Gina would cock her head, not think once about Raymond being twice her age. “Aren’t you in accounting?”

  “Just until I save up enough to spend a year in Naples.” He’d stand and start to walk away when she’d call out:

  “I’d love to see your work. Maybe I could even model for you?”