Schism

Chapter 1 part 1

Chapter 1

William Adams had always known that one day, the voices would kill him.  He'd been ready for that, accepted it.  But he hadn't been prepared for what had happened to him over the last two years.  He stared down at his arms, thin and pale in the plain t-shirt.  It was work to fight against the haze and sluggishness that the anti-psychotics caused, but he could remember how his arms had felt with more muscle than bone on them.  With Jessica's hands wrapped around his biceps, he had felt strong.  She had said he was handsome.

But that had been two years ago, before she had known that he heard the voices, could see them.  Even if the time in the institution hadn't melted his body away, he knew being handsome wouldn't be enough for her.  The voices had to disappear.

At the thought of them, whispers reached his ears, words he could almost make out.  He tried to push them away, tried to block them out, but they wouldn't stop.  The voices were coming back.  In what felt like the last few days, but could have been weeks with the way time seemed to pass in the institution, the voices had been growing stronger, more recognizable.  And he was too weak to fight them.

It made him want the pills, no matter how they made him feel.  He let his eyes sink down, rest on his left palm.  Though he knew his hand was empty, he saw the two small pills Jessica had placed there: the first pills.  He turned his wrist.  They tumbled out and faded from his imagination before they could click and skitter across the floor.

"What was that, William?" 

He looked up at the voice, blinked.  It was the doctor.  Westen.  She was sitting by him in the hallway.  He remembered her sitting down.  It was one of the quick checkups she liked to do.

"You moved your arm.  What were you thinking?  Did you see something in your hand?"  He saw her gesture down to his arm.  He dropped it back to his lap.  He had to convince her that he didn't hear or see the voices anymore.  She could let him go.  She was the one who could get him back to Jess.

"Stretching."  He focused on the arm, brought it back up for a real stretch.  Why would he stretch it?  It had to be convincing.  "I think I slept on my shoulder funny last night.  You know the beds here."  His throat was tight.  He spoke so rarely anymore that it hurt when he said anything.

"Is that all?" she asked.

He nodded, brought up as much of a smile as he could manage.  "I'm feeling very good, actually.  I think we've finally found the right medications.  Things are very clear."

"Is that so?  That's good."  She stood, writing notes on her pad as she did.

William's eyes lagged a second behind her movements.  He had to convince her.  "I'd like to talk again about moving to outpatient.  I think I'm doing well."  Two years.  He'd done it for Jess, come in here with her, told the doctors some of the things he did that frightened her, some of the things he heard and saw.  All the while, the voices had protested, warned him not to tell.  As always, they'd been right.

Then the drugs had taken over.  It had been two years since he had seen the voices or heard their directions, though he knew they were still there.  But if he could convince the doctor they were gone, she'd let him go.  He had done it for Jessica.  She would take him back.

If he could convince the doctor.

"Well, we'll have to see about that, won't we?"  Before he could answer, the doctor turned to talk to a passing nurse.

He watched for a moment.  Slowly, the effort of attention became too heavy and William's head sank.  His face went slack as the fog boiled up around him.  Its presence made the memories of Jess easier to replay, but still, he tried to push it away.

 *

Dr. Westen cut her conversation with the nurse short and took in the patient's movements before she walked to the day room.  Small, yet deliberate shoving motions of the arms.  Atypical for dyskinesia.  She filed away a mental note to check William Adams' dosages and increase them.  He wasn't getting better.  His hopes of leaving were very premature.

For a brief moment, she stopped and surveyed the day room.  It grew quieter in her presence, which was appropriate.  She noted that several patients turned their eyes away from hers.  Appropriate as well.  It was her job to force them to confront their weaknesses and instabilities.  Discomfort with her was a natural reaction to their therapy.

She ended her study of the room and crossed to a young woman, who sat rocking on the bleach scented tile.  "Mary, it's time for your treatment."

She waited, patiently, for a short count.  One.  Two.  Three.

The young woman rocked.  Her brown hair, too long unwashed, hung in a lank veil before her eyes.

"Mary.  Be a good girl.  Give me your hand."  Dr. Westen extended an arm, gently, an offer of help.  She watched as Mary's rocking only deepened in response.  "Mary, you don't want Henry to have to take you, do you?"

She turned her eye to the orderly, noted the white shirt buttons at his bulging stomach that looked even more strained than usual.  She'd have to talk with him about professional appearance.

Another offer of her hand went unanswered by the girl.  Dr. Westen turned her palm and laid it on the girl's shoulder.

Without warning, Mary's scream hit the doctor's ears and she felt the young woman's socked foot whip out at her thigh and then again higher.  The foot landed hard, just below the sternum, and drove the air out of Westen's lungs.

The doctor skidded back to the floor as Henry and the other orderlies dog-piled onto Mary's thrashing limbs.  One of the nurses slid down to the doctor's side.

"Dr. Westen.  You all right?"

From her mental file, Westen placed the nurse.  She was the newest on the floor, fresh out of school.  Pretty.  She wouldn't last long here.  The doctor opened her mouth to reply, but her lungs did not respond with the necessary breath.  She saw the nurse's eyes flash wide.

Before her emotions could take over, Westen locked them back into place.  A temporary lack of air wasn't anything she hadn't overcome before. 

She held up one finger in reassurance and stretched her body back on the tile.  As she willed her diaphragm to unclench, her eyes took inventory of the room.  Predictably, Mary's outburst had sent a ripple of tension through the patients.  She would need to act immediately or it would be a long day of separating and calming them.

She felt her abdomen relax and the breath rushed in.  She stood and pulled the nurse up before walking to the pile of orderlies over Mary.  "It's time for her treatment.  I'll be there in a moment." 

Dr. Westen then faced the rest of the patients in the day room.  As she slowly turned, the agitated behaviors subsided and she noted the level of calm return to the group.

Good.

 *

(Author's note:  What do you think?  Anyone getting a bad feeling about Dr. Westen?  Do you think there might be more than one villain in this story?  And...what about William and the voices?  Read on to find out more about what's up with them!  Thank you all in advance for your votes and comments!)