Thirteen Minutes
The maximum-security ward in a hospital is due for closure. A reworked story I truly enjoyed writing.
Mark Rodgers drove his Ford Fiesta into the parking lot. He parked up in a Visitor space outside the impressive building, its Georgian columns protecting the heavy twin oak doors. There are no apparent means of access, an intercom button, a security light overhead, and what looks like years of spider webs nestling between it and the wall.
As Mark walked toward the entrance, two people, a tall man and a short woman wearing hospital whites, walked ahead of him. Being a keep fit fanatic, Mark noticed the breadth of shoulders on the man, like he might be a London bricklayer. The woman, plumpish, maybe fifty years old, had a jauntiness to her stride.
The two stopped and waited at the doors. The woman companion pushed the intercom button.
Shafts of bright sunlight slipped between the grey-black clouds, quickly forming above. Mark wondered if this would be the last summer storm before fall began to undress the large oaks within the grounds.
A female receptionist answered the buzzer. “Please scan your I.D. into the camera,” her voice instructed. Both do so. “Good morning, Julie and Henry. Com’on in.” The locks clunked before the heavy door itself began to swing slowly open. Henry had noticed Mark approaching from behind and warned the receptionist. “I think we have a visitor wanting entry, Sarah?” He said into the intercom.
“Ask for a name, Henry,” said the receptionist.
With a side nod of his head, the big guy grinned and invited Mark to speak into the intercom. “Hi, the name is Mark Rodgers. I have an appointment with Mrs. Reynolds, in Human Resources.”
She asked that Mark scan proof of identity, and he did so.
“All good, Henry,” she said, “let him come through.”
Steel-wired glass offices lined the hallway. The pungent aroma of bleach was in evidence. Inside the first gate, armed security guards stood lazily against the wall.
“I.D.,” one said.
Larger and broader than both guards, Henry was greeted without a hint of suspicion, as was Julie.
“How about I get a strip search today, lads?” Julie said, giggling. “My husband isn’t interested these days,” she joked.
Both guards laughed. “You’re such a tease, Julie Welland.”
“Me, I ain’t teasing, boys. Maybe I should strip right here,” she said brightly but with little sincerity.
“You’re so full of crap, Julie. Get yourself on through,” the smiling guard said.
Both Henry and Julie proceeded. Julie was still laughing, suggesting loudly they take up her offer tomorrow.
As Mark stepped forward, the look on the faces of the guards’ changed. “Are you carrying any packages, weapons, drugs?” One asked.
“None, sir,” Mark replied, raising his hands to signal he had nothing.
“I.D.?”
“Yes, sir,” and Mark pulled out his driver’s license.
The questioning guard had a jagged thin scar running through his left eyebrow. It ran from the brow up into his black buzz-cut hairline.
“Reason for visit?”
“I have an appointment with Mrs. Reynold’s, in Human Resources, sir,” Mark explained.
One guard checked the registry. Then nodded to his companion.
“Come on through.”
Mark entered, pausing to be patted down. “Go straight ahead to the next gate. They’ll direct you from there.”
Walking a straight line down a corridor, about three hundred feet, Mark came to the next gate.
Just inside the gate was a small gathering of men huddled together around a time clock. Four employees were waiting with cards in their hands. Mark figured Henry and Julie must have gone through one of the many doors along the corridor. The gate guard asked that he hold back, saying there was an issue with the clocking-in procedure.
Mark had heard voices raised as he came toward the second gate and knew why upon hearing the conversation. While waiting, two men and two ward orderlies appeared to be given termination notices due to clocking in for the day shift.
“Nice knowing you,” one guy said, looking over another guy’s shoulder, reading his termination letter.
“Listen to this shit. Due to the cutbacks in government funding, your position has been terminated, effective, 1/7/2022. The Personnel Department will present any letters of recommendation you might need upon request. Signed Management.”
“Fuck, and I was expecting a raise,” the first one said aloud.
The other, with a sarcastic flourish, said. “You know what, these wankers suck. Good fucking riddance.”
The gate guard asked that Mark stands to one side as he opened the gate to let the two men return before beckoning him forward.
“You’re here to see Mrs. Reynolds, correct?”
“Yes, sir.”
Having lost their jobs, the two men were still cursing management, raising a solitary finger to staff in the glass partitioned offices as they walked toward the exit. “Fucking twelve years I’ve given to this place, and what the fuck do they care? I have a wife and three kids to feed. Fuck you all,” he shouted.
The other, as furious, said, “I don’t know how I’ll be expected to eat without a paycheck.”
Then Mark heard the guards at gate one, one saying sympathetically, “Sorry man, you’ll soon find something else.”
As Mark was directed to Human Resources, a message boomed over the speaker system, “Doctor Bryant, Doctor Bryant, please report to room 125.”
One of the guards rolled his eyes. Mark learned there was no ‘Doctor Bryant.’ It was a discreet code for a violent patient on the loose.
Mark passed through two more security gates and took the elevator, joining three nurses. He had been directed to the second floor. Mark and the two nurses exited when the elevator doors slid open, but Mark had exited on the third floor. Again, maximum security. Again, the elevator doors slid closed.
Mark decided to check again at the nurse’s station. Walking up, two medical secretaries were at their console. There was a lot of activity with nurses surrounding one particular console: Charge Nurse.
The nurses that exited the elevator with Mark had joined with other nurses, awaiting instructions. It looked important. The Charge nurse was very deliberate about wanting their attention.
Mark chose not to interrupt and took a seat on one of two chairs bolted to the floor. In the ward, there were no windows. Mark imagined the world outside was unrevealed to anyone spending their whole shift on this floor.
While waiting, Mark looked around, watching a security camera alternate side to side, spanning the entire ward. He could not see exactly how many cameras there were, maybe several, stretching end to end of the ward, down which room lights were flashing. It felt like the changeover of nurses had produced more than average activity, and it began to intensify. A moment or two passed, and a group of men exited the elevator, one clearly a doctor, three wearing business suits. A guard was standing at the elevator, not there when Mark exited. To Mark’s right, a nurse spoke quietly, saying, “It looks like Dr. Philips is here and ready to do his rounds.”
The man she was referring to stood near the elevator, clearly in deep conversation and gesturing with his hands. One of the nurses, a large woman, maybe Jamaican, with a different uniform, strode past Mark to the group of nurses at the station. “Dr. Philips is here,” she said sternly, “and he’s too early, we still need to finish doing shift reports. I’ll go and talk to him, meanwhile continue on with the changeover.”
She turned away from the desk, headed toward the escalator, and confronted the group in a no-nonsense fashion. Dr. Philips apologized, telling Matron he was running through the logistics with the government administrators and won’t be ready to do rounds for fifteen minutes. The imposing size of Matron would frighten anyone, Mark thought.
“Just as long as you know, Doctor, with the change of shift, the patients will start swinging from the lights…”
Mark sat there believing he must be invisible, not one person having acknowledged his presence. Then an alarm goes off, a siren. One nurse separated from the group, walking away toward the room with the light flashing, shaking her head and muttering to herself, “Lord, I need a cigarette.”
Still at the elevator, Dr. Philips was saying, “This kind of thing is not unusual on the third floor, maximum security. Technically, we are not a maximum-security hospital. Sadly, we have nowhere else in the county to place them.”
Dr. Philips smiled as the nurse passed by the group, then led the suited men toward the nurses’ station. Mark caught a little more of what the doctor told the group. “If you close the hospital, the placement of patients into the private sector will be costly,” Philips said, beads of sweat on his balding forehead. “We have some seriously ill patients, many are manic, some extremely dangerous,” he told them.
One man, wearing dark spectacles, a blue shirt, and a yellow tie, said, “We’re prepared to face that, Dr. Philips. We can sympathize, but we’re not prepared to absorb big-risk patients. Frankly, you have too many, some notable, like that… what’s his name?” He tried to recall. Another administrator reminded him, Mummies Boy….” Finally, another spectacled guy, in a white shirt and blue tie, said, after digging through his notes, “Yes, that him. Donald Jones. Been here fourteen years.”
“Mr. Jones is a sick man, but shows steady improvement,” Philips ventured. “He is a patient who requires a lot of patience, show him care and he’s quite manageable,” he said, but Mark sensed that wasn’t the whole truth.
“That’s all very well,” the yellow tie chap said condescendingly. “How much more will it cost to have you relocate maximum security cases?”
Philips looked uncomfortable with that question and said, “We’re not prepared to say at this point. If I may, I’d like to retire to another area of the hospital where we can talk freely. I’ll get our attorney to address that question.”
As the clutch of executives began to file back into the elevator, Philips looked back at Matron with a desperate expression.
As the doors to the elevator closed, all hell broke loose. A female patient was screaming, howling like a demented cat. “I’m not ready to take a fucking shower,” she screeched, and a door burst open, and a woman, semi-naked woman, chased by a nurse, was running down the ward toward Mark.
The chaotic woman fled by Mark, careening into a nurse’s station, where she grabbed and threw anything she could get her hands on. The siren continued to wail; doors everywhere slammed shut. A security guard came running from his station by the elevator at the north end of the ward, tackling the woman and holding her on the floor. At the same time, she tried to rake his face off with her fingernails. Another dayshift nurse came skittering into the enclosed nurse’s station, yelling, “Another patient is out of his room.”
The first security guard struggled, carrying the female patient bodily while nurses looked on, white with terror. Matron hurried them all into an empty room and secured the door. “You’ll be safe in there,” she said, “we must let security deal with it.”
Mark watched while the screaming patient kicked out at the guard as she was dragged down the ward to her room.
Mark’s sense of terror was heightened when he felt a sharp point, maybe a pair of scissors, digging painfully into the side of his neck. A moment later, he could feel blood seeping down his shirt. He could not speak. The large hand gripped his mouth and jaw. An inconsistent warm flow trickled down his inner thigh.
“Just one of you fuckers come close, and this tart buys it. Do you understand?” The voice was above Mark’s head, with another powerful arm locked around his chest. Mark trembled at the thought he was about to die. So this is it; I’m really going to die. Mark was hoisted off his feet and felt a terrifically sharp pain as the scissors seemed to deepen into his neck.
Matron yelled, “Donald, what are you doing? Let him go. You’re only bringing trouble to yourself. Com’on, Donald,” and she took a step toward Donald. The scissors sank deeper. Mark let out a scream.
“Stay back, so help me, I’ll end him right here and now. I mean it, you know I do.”
Fluid trickled down from Mark’s crotch.
Running steps, heavy steps, were coming closer. The siren continued to wail. Dr. Philips came running from the elevator, stopping short of Donald, and raised his palms. “Donald,” he said softly, hardly audible above the siren’s noise, “what’s going on? Can we talk? I’d like to hear what is upsetting you.”
“She did it, man. She did it again and this guy’s gonna pay,” Donald responded.
“Okay, Donald, here’s the thing, I’m worried how you’ll sleep tonight if you harm this man,” Philips said.
Mark looked at the faces of the nurses and sensed their expressions were a signaling his demise.
“She’s a lousy bitch!” Donald yelled.
“Okay, Donald. Tell me what happened. I will take care of it. Just relax now.”
“Matron took away my toothbrush. What the fuck, right? That’s my personal hygiene,” Donald yelled louder. “I’m not a fucking animal, I keep good personal hygiene.”
Mark, his urine flow stopped, felt dire terror, realized all this was over a stolen toothbrush! The thoughts in Mark’s mind moved to that of his wife, shopping in Tesco this morning, looking for a nice piece of meat for dinner tonight. ‘I’m going to die for the sake of a fucking toothbrush.’ Mark said to himself.
With arms still raised, Philips said, “I’ll make sure your toothbrush is put back immediately, Donald. I’m sure it was a genuine mistake,” and used a soft tone to reassure the guy.
“Mistake? Bollocks! No way. It’s that Jamaican whore. Last week she left no underwear in my room. If you want peace in the ward, bring her to me right now. I’ll let this limp prick go.” Mark felt the grip tighten around his chest.
In Mark’s mind, he was saying, ‘I want to see my wife again, if it means the death of the nurse, so be it. Oh my god, do I really believe this is happening?’
“Donald, it’s all a misunderstanding. If you let the gentleman, go, I can make sure there will be no more upset. I know you don’t want to hurt him,” Philips pleaded.
Mark forced his eyes downward. Blood was blossoming on his shirt. He worried about losing consciousness, imagining he would never wake again and was determined not to lose consciousness.
Dr. Philips signaled to security guards not to make a sudden rush. Mark prayed they didn’t rush his captor, scissors at his neck. Mark was dragged backward, and the pain increased with every movement. He was too terrified to let out a scream.
Donald yelled, “Open this fucking door. Do it!” As he backed away.
Philips continued to try to regain calm at the moment, “Donald, no. Let’s talk.”
The sharpening pain at Mark’s throat signaled to him a feeling that this was it.
“Open the fucking door, or this fucker dies…do it!”
Philips turned to Matron in the console room and nodded. A bolt was released automatically. Donald kicked open the door. Mark was dragged through the door. “Kick it shut,” Donald yelled. Mark did what he was told.
Donald released his grip around Mark’s neck and withdrew the scissors. Mark instinctively used one hand to stem the flow of blood.
“It’s not that bad; you’ll be fine,” Donald said, walking across the room and then turning to face Mark. “Here’s the rule: don’tt try to tackle m, or open the door, okay? That way, you’ll live to piss another day,” he said, looking down at Mark’s pants.
Mark had no idea what his captor’s issues were. But only a fool would wager on Mark keeping his life. Anyone with a nickname, Mummies Boy, must be the son of a fucked-up Sunday school teacher. Donald was literate at the fourth-grade level, which is astounding for someone with mental debilitation. He interacted with people in a positive if unfriendly, and bullish manner. If it weren’t for Donald’s insistence that people should die for a toothbrush, he might be considered deranged, but not dangerous.
Mark sat on the cot, thinking about what had happened. He went over it in his head. He had come to see Mrs. Reynolds regarding some gardening work. He’d simply come to the wrong floor. Ironically, the guard who should have redirected him had left his station momentarily. That lapse of attention now has him kidnapped in a room, held there by a patient who, with another half-pound pressure, would have killed him over losing his toothbrush.
Mark recalled Dr. Philips telling the suited men that Donald required staff to make sure he knew they cared about him, and the word that stuck in his memory was ‘manageable.’
“Why are you in here?” Mark asked. He couldn’t immediately think of anything else to say that wouldn’t provoke Donald.
Donald snapped to a straight stance, breathing slowly and deeply, filling his deeply muscled chest. He was standing on his toes to look out the wire-glassed window and said, “I killed a gym trainer, and his two brothers, a construction worker, and a window cleaner. Then, after being in here eleven years, I killed a female security guard,” he said as if a car salesman was selling Mark the vehicle’s good points.
“That’s terrifying,” Mark said and asked, “is it your intention to kill me?”
Donald responded instantly. “Have you taken anything from me?” He replied.
Mark said, “No, I haven’t. Nor is it my intention.”
“Well, then. Why would I kill you?”
Mark felt an immense sigh of relief flow through his body. If Donald is lying, Mark doesn’t want to consider it.
Donald, without reason, then lay prone on the floor and started doing sit-ups. Ironically, Mark thinks Donald is working hard for someone with a lot of free time on his hands.
Suddenly a voice was heard from the top right corner of the room. It was Dr. Philips. “Mr. Rodgers, are you okay?”
Mark looked at Donald, who shook his head in no uncertain terms. Donald then responded. “He’s okay. Force an entry, I will end him,” then looked at me and smiled before continuing his sit-ups. After doing another twenty, or so, Donald turned over and began a series of press-ups. He did a hundred. Mark had counted them.
This routine of physical agility continued with Donald resting his weight on his hands and kicking his legs through his arms to a seated position when he said, “This is when it’s their turn to feel helpless,” with a chuckle in his voice and continued, “Philips’ Monday game of golf and evening cocktails must now be put on hold.”
All the time, Mark was wondering if someone would rush the door. What would he do? Mark kept faith with Philips’ Modus operandi. ‘Talk to Donald kindly, as if you really care about him.’
“I’m sorry you’re in here, Donald, Mark said. You seem decent, even calm,” trying to reassure him. And for a moment, Donald was calm.
“I sometimes hate myself and would rather be out there washing cars.”
But then, something broke inside him. Through sobbing tears, he said, “they’re moving me, taking me out of my home. They think I don’t know — that I’m stupid. But I hear the orderlies talking. It’s not fair,” he said.
Even in his confabulated agony, Donald was somehow beautiful in his insecurity.
Mark recalled the discussion he overheard in the ward less than ten minutes ago, which felt like an eternity. Donald was right; the plan was to move him and other patients. Donald sat back against the wall, his knees raised, crying, huge rolling tears mixing in with bearded stubble.
Mark sensed a need to get closer and knelt in front of Donald, touching his shoulder. Donald grasped Mark, pulling him in, “Please hold me, Daddy…” Donald cried into Mark’s chest.
Mark’s heart was hammering. Again, he felt the strength holding him — this time needing, not threatening.
“It’s okay, Donald,” Mark said, fearing another flash of lightning coming with gentle rolling thunder. Donald’s aching sounds are like a storm breaking not so far off.
“I’m a good boy,” Donald said, wiping his tears. “I remember being a good boy,” and he snuggled again into Mark’s chest. “Don’t let them move me, daddy.”
“I won’t, Donald. I won’t let them move you,” Mark said.
Those words brought a sudden break in an imaginary cloud as a shaft of light shone from Donald’s eyes. A minute later, Donald got to his feet, stood beneath the window, and craned his neck to see outside. Donald’s voice changed. It was less frantic and sounded, well, normal. He turned to Mark and asked, “Do you see her? Do you?” It was as if he was seeing something, a secret, gesturing Mark to look out the window, but he was not tall enough.
“Who is it, Donald?” Mark asked.
That question turned his mood one-eighty degrees. “Who the fuck are you?” Donald asked pointedly and grabbed Mark under the chin until Mark was choking. “I’m Mommies Boy,” he said in a normal voice, unaware of how hard he gripped Mark’s throat.
Again, there’s a voice from the speaker. It’s Dr. Philips. “Donald, I have some good news for you. You won’t be moved. You’ll be staying in your residence. Isn’t that wonderful news, Donald?”
Donald’s grip relaxed. “You’re lying!” He yelled.
“No, Donald. Other patients will be moved, but not you. You’ll remain here. You’ll be safe. Your wardrobe, your bathroom, nothing will be touched. Everything will stay the same,” Philips told him.
Donald let go of Marks’s throat, who fell to the floor gasping. Everywhere is deathly quiet. But Mark was alive.
“Mum is coming to visit. I want to see her today, okay. I want to see her, or this piece of shit is going to die,” Donald said and then slumped to the floor, his back against the wall, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, and began to sob.
Philips continued calmly. “It’s okay, Donald. I know mum was the one who held you when things got bad. I know you killed those men because they hurt your mum. Not because you’re a bad person.”
Donald listened and responded, “She loves me when I clean my teeth, when I get dressed myself, when I make my own bed. I’m a good boy for her,” he said.
Mark started to check out the room. He saw two cameras.
“Donald, you were the best caretaker of your mother,” Philips said. “She would be immensely proud of you. But you know your mum is not coming, Donald. Remember…?”
Donald seemed to go into a spasm of nerves and angrily replied. “The gym trainer, he killed mum.”
“Yes, Donald. Well done for remembering. Yes, your mother is dead. She cannot come to see you.”
“I killed that gym trainer, I snuffed his life out like a candle, and his brothers, the construction worker, and the window cleaner. I got them all.”
Flashes of lightning subside inside Donald’s body.
“I want you to listen to me, Donald,” Philips said. “We will find a different Matron to make sure you have everything you need.”
Mark, still gasping, was staring into the jaws of madness. It felt like he had to save himself. Maybe he should stand up to Donald. ‘You think I’m scared of you?’ But being skewered like a fish was enough to rid such thoughts. Carefully rehearsing bravado was worthless.
Mark bravely suggested, “Why not test his honesty, Donald, ask for a toothbrush and toothpaste.”
Donald, however, favored suspicion. “You better be scared, little man,” he sneered. Not quite the same man who said he would not kill Mark a couple of minutes earlier. Mark felt a sense of personal foreboding.
Donald moved closer to the door and spoke through it. “I’m sane and I know what kind of animal you are, Philips. You’ve thrown all your morals and ethics out the window to clear your accounts here and move on to your next cushy job. But I’m not fucking stupid. I know what you’re doing Philips. Bring me my toothbrush, or this goon is finished.”
Mark was helpless in the matter.
Donald leaned his back against the door.
As he did so, Mark wondered if they would rush in, seeing him four feet away.
“Now you’re as caught as me, Philips. I get to keep you here. No golf for you today,” Donald says.
Philips responds. “Donald, you are right. I feel caught. I want to help you, but you won’t let me. Why won’t you let me, Donald? I’m getting your toothbrush.”
“You’re a lousy liar, Philips.”
Donald went at Mark again, reaching for his throat. “I’ve got this fucking scared animal,” he said, squeezing his fingers. “Just watch this little maggot pray for his life.” Mark went limp as a rag doll. He had no breath; he could not breathe.
“Donald, I have your toothbrush. I’m slipping it under the door,” Philips said. The toothbrush appeared on the floor, wrapped for cleanliness.
Donald immediately released Mark, who fell to his knees, lightheaded and terrified. Mark, was convinced he would be the victim of a cold-blooded killer. Donald picked up the toothbrush.
“Toothpaste,” he yelled.
“It’s coming, Donald.”
Mark looked at his watch, breathing as though he had completed a marathon. It felt like hours but was only ten minutes from being taken, hostage.
Donald, a muscular brute six inches taller than Mark, was not someone Mark could rush. If the guards were watching on the cameras, they could see when he was released, and Donald had a hold of him. Donald didn’t need anything in his hands to kill Mark, just a sharp twist of his neck with those mighty arms.
“I know who you are. I’m crazy, not stupid,” Donald said to Mark, who immediately started to wonder what he meant.
“You do, Donald. Who I am?” Mark asked.
“You’re one of the guys from the government. I’m right, I know it,” Donald said.
“That’s right, Donald, that’s very smart.”
“Yep, I’m smart. Too smart for these arseholes,” Donald said. “I like keeping my teeth clean. When someone prevents me from keeping my teeth clean, I make sure they find bodies to clean,” he boasted, with more than an edge of insanity sounding in his voice.
“The female guard, she was the last one to take away my toothbrush. Next day, two guards were taking me for a shower. She and one other, the guy was carrying a Bic in his shirt pocket. Big mistake. I stuck her with it. Her neck spouted like a fountain. She was dead before they got to her,” he said triumphantly.
Donald reached out the arm where he held the toothbrush, staring wildly, and brushed Mark’s throat with its bristles.
Mark, trembling, said, “I came here to help you, Donald. I read the report. I want to keep you here.”
Donald’s eyes widened.
Mark had no idea what Philips was thinking outside the door, but if Mark and Philips were smart, maybe they could be on the same thought track.
“Do you understand where your government plan has got you?” Donald said in a sarcastic tone. “Did you plan it this way? I don’t think so. Geez! You people are so dumb.” He leaned in close to Mark, threatening, face to face. “You better hope you’re good at keeping me here, little man. If not…” and he moved away.
“Donald, I’m the guy who can keep you here,” Mark said. “I’m the chief administrator. Doctor Philips and I have been talking, we know what we must do, do you understand? We can work together,” Mark emphasized.
“Screw you…” Donald said flat, solemn, his eyes penetrating Mark’s skull.
Mark felt his knees weaken and buckle. “Look, Donald. Calm down,” Mark urged. Mark, for the first time, put authority back into his voice.
Donald challenged him. “You’re lying, you’re lying…nobody would do this…nobody… you’re lying…” he said. Then he goes to the door and bangs on it, yelling, “Okay, shut up and listen. This is how it will go. Take all your dumb fuckers back behind the desks.”
Then with rumbled and quiet authority, Philips replied, “Don’t go to pieces Donald. Remember, your mum liked discipline. You like discipline.”
Donald backed off the door and picked up Mark by the scruff.
“You want to hear something funny, Mr. Businessman? No jury has been able to convict me of criminal murder. Thanks to Philips’ diagnosis. Isn’t that irony. It’s a behavior that is expected of me,” Donald said as his smile changed to a grin. “You think those people like Philips have any power?”
“You have the power, Donald, but powerful men like you need their sleep. Do you understand, sleep is crucial.”
Mark is aware that Philips has no idea how he came to be in the maximum-security ward, kidnapped by this man. However, Mark was also aware that Philips couldn’t do anything crazy. If the hospital was to be sold into private hands, the last thing needed was a man slain by a patient.
“When all this is over, Donald, you must ask for something to help you sleep, do you understand? And Donald, why don’t you have your toothpaste yet, your breath is terrible, and you have something in your teeth. Your mum would hate that, right?”
“In my teeth, what the fuck! Do you want to die? Who the fuck are you to talk about cleanliness to me?”
“Donald, I’m just saying. I know you would want to know. It’s because your toothbrush was taken, right. You couldn’t brush this morning. It’s not your fault.”
“Donald, here’s your toothpaste,” said Philips, pushing a flattened tube of paste under the door.
Donald took another bad turn. There’s no mirror for him, he used fingernails to search his teeth. In the end, he crouched on the floor, his back against the wall, making sounds that come out like that of a gerbil.
“Are you okay, Donald? God, it’s been years you’ve been locked up in this place,” Mark said, taking a step toward him.
“I’m not a popular patient. That’s why I’m in maximum security. It’s the safest place in the hospital for people like me.”
“I guess so.”
“Damn right. People like me, we are better out of sight.”
“What was your family like, Donald?” Mark asked.
“I don’t remember, but I’m pretty sure they don’t want me show up on their doorstep,” Donald explains.
Mark nods, understanding. “How long do you think we’ve been held up in here?” He asked.
“Twenty minutes, tops,” Donald said. Then turned his attention to the door.
“Philips, have you got everyone away from the door, including the security guards?” He called out. His question met with no response.
“Philips are you listening, I want fucking toothpaste, or this sucker gets poked.”
Mark wanted to intervene, and said, “I don’t want to leave you here, Donald. I guess this is your home, right?” He suggested.
Donald glared at him. “You’re talking nonsense again, that’s never going to happen. I’m leaving here,” he said, and gripped Mark by his shoulders. Mark yelped like a dog in pain. “We ain’t leaving here together, get it!”
“But Philips told you, Donald, you don’t have to leave,” Mark said, voice straining.
Donald’s eyes filled with rage. Then narrowed. “Liar!”
“No. I don’t lie, Donald,” Mark said.
Then Philips called out, “Donald, here’s your toothpaste, I’m shoving it under the door.”
Donald’s face didn’t change. “‘Bout fucking time,” he said and shoved Mark away from the door.
“Listen Donald, I have it on good authority, you are not moving out of here.”
“Oh yeh, what authority is that. You are a fucking liar,” Donald responded with a chilling clarity. “Look. They are waiting out there, wondering whether to take a chance that I cannot kill you before they overpower me.”
“Look, Donald, Philips doesn’t know everything about a man’s life,” Mark said.
“And he doesn’t care,” Donald replied. “You guys want me out of here,” then a slow, satisfied smile spread under his bloodshot eyes. “Maybe it’s fitting we go down together!”
“Go down together, Donald?” Mark asked, feeling himself start to sweat.
“There’s no escape for me. You can easily be eliminated,” Donald said with a stark cold clarity, unscrewing the toothpaste.
“I’m not kidding, Donald, let me see, I think you got it…no, it’s still there, looks like blueberry seed or something,” Mark said.
“If you’re playing with me…” Donald said, brushing harder with added paste.
Two minutes later, Mark realized Philips had indeed been on the same page as him.
The security guards lifted a limp Donald out of the room.
Mark’s terror had lasted thirteen minutes.
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