Chapter 15: You Don’t Get Mood Swings From Eating Cornflakes

“You seem unusually happy today, Gerard,” Markman commented, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk.

I froze and assessed my facial features. Was I smiling? I must be. It was an accident though, an oversight. I never intentionally smiled. Well, at least I didn’t in front of Markman. Frank was an exception. I hastily dropped the corners of my lips back down to form a scowl, which I wasted no time in directing at Markman.

Markman wasn’t fazed by my scowl. She knew she had caught me in an unguarded moment. My only hope was that she didn’t deduce my intentions to escape from my smiling. It might sound like a bit of a stretch to put those things together but I’d underestimated Markman once before and paid for it dearly.

“Are you planning something?” she joked.

I knew it was a joke, but that didn’t prevent me from feeling uneasy. She had ways.

I knew I would betray myself if I stayed in this room any longer. “May I leave?” I requested. It had only been fifteen minutes of my allotted forty.

“No.”

Fuck. I think I may have made her even more suspicious by asking to leave. “Fine,” I said sulkily.

Markman studied me, suspicious. I put on my innocent face. She was staring at me a little too intensely for my liking. I avoided looking away to ensure I didn’t raise her suspicions even more. She knew something was up. Jesus Christ, woman! Get out of my head! I narrowed my eyes at her. If you can hear me, look away now. I said the line once in my head and just as I completed it Markman sat back and broke my eye contact.

Aw, fucking shit. That was a coincidence, right?

“I hate to break this to you, Gerard, but you’re almost a month behind on your blood tests.”

A single drop of sweat began to trickle down the side of my face. I was intensely aware of its trek from my brow to my shirt collar.

“No.”

“No?” Markman seemed surprised. Was she being serious? I mean, had she really expected me to say, “why, yes, of course,” and roll up my sleeve? Bitch.

“No!” I exclaimed, crossing my arms tightly across my chest to protect my veins.

She tried to reason with me. “Gerard, please don’t be difficult.”

I was being difficult? Seriously!? What the fuck? She wanted to force slivers of metal through my skin and into my veins and then she wanted to siphon out god knows how much blood. No! It wasn’t going to happen. No.

Markman sighed. “This isn’t negotiable. We can do it now or we can do it later, but it has to be done today.”

“Next week?” Ha, if everything went to plan I wouldn’t even be here next week.

“No,” she said firmly; my heart sunk.

I was scrambling now. “Tomorrow!” I insisted.

“No.”

“Fucking stupid,” I muttered angrily under my breath.

“Watch your mouth,” she snapped.

I glanced up, surprised. Markman had never raised her voice to me like that before, especially not because of my swearing. Something was up. “What’s your problem?” I asked.

Markman wasn’t impressed. Well, she was never impressed with me to begin with. She was always disappointed or unhappy with me. I could never do anything right, and when I did do something right it was met with intense scrutiny and surprise. It was pretty fucking annoying.

Markman never answered my question. We descended into silence again. That had been happening a lot lately. It was almost as if Markman couldn’t think of anything to say to me. It wasn’t just our usual silence either; our old silence was tinged with the annoyance and exasperation we had for each other. This new silence was different; it was like Markman was guilty. She was guilty because she knew I was in trouble and she knew that there was nothing she could do about it. We hadn’t talked about any of it. Neither of us had mentioned the fucking interrogation I got last week or what I had said in it. We hadn’t even talked about what I had done.

I sighed rather exaggeratedly and tucked my arms in tighter to my chest. Markman was a crafty woman. I wouldn’t be surprised if she produced a needle from thin air and stuck me with it while I was distracted. I know she would. I know things.

To break the annoying silence I decided to raise the issue about the new cook and the quality of food he was producing. I looked up. “The new cook is trying to poison us,” I said.

Markman wasn’t impressed, again. Didn’t I just say she was never impressed with me? “No, he’s not,” she said bluntly without even looking up from her note writing.

“Um, yeah, he is!” I insisted. “Have you tried his chicken soup? It’s fucking disgusting. I’m surprised no one has died yet.”

Markman tried to hide her smile. She was unsuccessful. I saw it. “What do you want me to do about it, Gerard?” she asked.

“Get the old lady back.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

I rolled my eyes. I liked my chicken soup. No, scratch that. I loved my chicken soup. The old cook made the best chicken soup I’d ever tasted. But then she left, and we got this fucking joke of a cook who was one pot away from giving the entire facility food poisoning.

“I’m telling you, it tastes like toxic waste.”

“No, it doesn’t. Don’t be such a drama queen.” Markman had abandoned her note taking to continue the conversation.

A terrible thought just crossed my mind. What if he was trying to kill us? For real? What if he was trying to kill me? Holy fucking shit. What if they sent him to infiltrate the facility and poison me so they can break in and take me out? All it would take was one poisoned bowl of food to render me unconscious so they could come and cut out my secrets. Fuck me.

I was suddenly very afraid. Luckily I hadn’t eaten yet this morning. Good thing too: he could’ve slipped rat poison into my scrambled eggs for all I know.

“Gerard, what are you thinking about?” Markman reverted back to her favourite shrink line.

I wondered if I should tell her. Maybe she could help me if I did. Or maybe she’d call me crazy and try to convince me otherwise.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

I inhaled sharply. I would tell her. I would ask her. If anyone knew what was going on in here it was Markman. “Is there any chance that the new chef is evil?” Shit, that didn’t come out right. Evil was the wrong word.

“What?” I think Markman was thoroughly confused.

I struggled to find the right word. I shifted through my vocabulary but nothing stuck out. I sighed and tried to explain myself. “I meant…the cook, there’s no chance he would be trying to poison me, is there?”

After all this time I still didn’t understand why Markman was still so shocked by the things I said. My latest accusation seemed to render her speechless. It certainly wasn’t very professional that’s for sure.

“How do you come up with these things?” Markman asked after composing herself. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and looked at me expectantly.

I felt incredibly embarrassed. It did actually sound rather absurd; though not impossible. I shrugged and looked away. I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Markman didn’t let it slide. She pressed me for more details.

“Why do you think anyone would try to harm you, Gerard?”

I stared at the ground, my eyes wandering over the ugly pattern on the carpet. I swear, if I ever got carpet in my house it would be pattern-less and one plain colour, like blue. None of the multicoloured shit I’ve been seeing around. Actually, maybe I’d get tiles.

“Gerard.” Fuck, she was persistent today. This is the last time I’m telling her anything. You’d think I’d just admitted to kill the President or something.

I huffed and took a moment to stretch my arms. They were getting pretty cramped tucked up to my chest.

“Why do you think the cook is trying to harm you?” Markman asked the question again and I’m sure it was just in case I’d forgotten. She’d only just asked me the fucking question; I don’t forget things that quickly.

“Just a thought,” I muttered.

Markman surveyed me closely. “Do you think that maybe this has something to do with them?” she said tentatively. She didn’t like bringing them up. It was almost as if she thought I’d go nuts at their mention. She was right though, fucking psychic. I narrowed my eyes at her. Cough if you can hear me.

She didn’t cough. She didn’t do anything. I considered the situation. Maybe she was covering for herself. If she could read my mind she wouldn’t exactly come out and tell me. I’d have to find another way to trap her.

“Please don’t ignore me,” Markman said as she flipped open my file and began to write.

I scowled again. I was doing a hell of a lot of scowling today. It wasn’t my fault that I went off on random thought processes in my head. It was just the way my brain worked. It was a remarkable brain, so I wasn’t going to question the random thoughts that shot through it. They had to have some meaning or relevance.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” I said evasively. I didn’t want to talk about them right now. They scared the fucking shit out of me so I avoiding thinking about them as much as humanly possible. I wasn’t convinced that it was them trying to infiltrate the institution anyway. They were extremely intelligent. They wouldn’t bother trying to poison me. They would force their way into my brain with brute force. In fact, I was sure they’d actually prefer to have me conscious so they could hear me scream as they cut open my brain.

A cold shiver shot up my back at the thought. That’s why I did not think about them very often.

“No,” I corrected myself. “I don’t think it’s them. It’s too simple, too amateurish.”

“Gerard, no one is trying to poison you. I promise you.”

Another possible explanation appeared in my head. What if that cook was here to seek revenge on me?! What if he knew one of the people I’d killed? What if he was here to punish me for what I’d done? God knows how many people died by my hand. I was a murderer, but I wasn’t rotting in jail like I should be. Maybe he was done waiting for the American justice system to punish me so he took matters into his own hand. It made sense. He was trying to kill me.

I clapped my hand over my mouth as I realised that I’d eaten his lasagne last night. Actually, now that I think about it, I was feeling pretty sick in the stomach after my dinner last night. The poison would have seeped into my blood stream by now. Who knows how much more poison I’d consumed over the past month after eating his food. I could be at a near lethal dosage by now. Oh god. I wondered if it was too late to try to throw up.

Markman stood up, alarmed. “Gerard, what’s the matter?” she asked urgently.

I was freaking out, and I must have looked like I was as well because Markman was rather concerned.

“What if he’s punishing me?” I said horrified.

Markman moved around her desk and leant down next to me. “Who is punishing you?”

“The cook!”

“Why would he want to punish you?”

“Because I killed them!” I yelled and buried my head in my hands.

After that I waited desperately for Markman to tell me I hadn’t killed them. I waited for her to tell me that I didn’t have to worry about being punished because I hadn’t done anything wrong. But she didn’t. I was guilty.

Markman squeezed my shoulder comfortingly. “Gerard, no one is trying to punish you. No one is trying to poison you either. You’re being paranoid; it’s a symptom of your illness, remember? We’ve been over this before. No one is trying to hurt you. You are safe, I promise.”

I didn’t want to be here anymore. I needed to find Frank and tell him. He would believe me. He wouldn’t make me feel like I’m crazy. He certainly wouldn’t tell me I was being paranoid. “Can I leave now, please?”

Markman straightened up. She nodded regrettably and I quickly hurried out.

I walked briskly towards the cafeteria. I assumed that Frank would be there. It was still very early but Frank liked to get up early and have breakfast while the cafeteria was still relatively empty. Normally we went to breakfast together but this morning I had a ridiculously early appointment with Markman so he had headed off on his own. I arrived at the cafeteria and scanned the tables looking for Frank. Strangely though, he wasn’t there. I spotted Ray and Bob and decided to ask them if they knew where Frank had gone.

They had a single page of newspaper laid out in front of them and they were arguing about something on the page. As I got closer I realised that the piece of newspaper had a large chunk ripped out of the corner. How odd. Now that I was closer I could hear what Bob and Ray were arguing about.

“I told you she wasn’t dead,” Ray said smugly and tapped the paper.

Bob was obviously annoyed. “How was I supposed to know? I made a reasonable assumption based on the facts provided.”

Ray saw me standing by the table and grinned. “See, Gerard, I told you they couldn’t kill the Phantom’s wife.”

What. The. Fuck? I raised an eyebrow. Ray pushed the piece of newspaper forward and I realised it was a page of comics. I immediately recognised Calvin and Hobbes and Garfield. “That’s great, Ray,” I said unenthusiastically. Ray had been obsessed with The Phantom comic strip for just over a month now since Ben had begun giving him the comics page every Sunday. He regularly updated me on what was happening to the guy. I listened, but only because I usually had nothing better to do.

“Have you seen Frank?” I asked, changing the subject.

A black look covered Ray’s face. “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “He was here, and then he freaked out about something and tore out half of the newspaper. Then he left. He tore out Spiderman! Now I’ll never know what happens to Ruby,” Ray finished, his voice surprisingly anguished.

“Where did he go?” I asked. Both Ray and Bob shrugged. “Thanks,” I muttered and walked away towards Frank’s room. I didn’t like the sound of what Ray had said. ‘Freaked out about something’ didn’t sound good at all. Hopefully Frank was okay. Maybe he saw the lottery numbers or something and realised he’d just won a million dollars. I don’t know.

I knocked lightly three times on Frank’s door and waited. No sound came from within his room so I opened the door. I peered inside but it was empty. That’s odd. I couldn’t really think of anywhere else he would go. I shut his door and stood in the corridor for a moment, thinking hard. I glanced at the bathroom door and noticed it wasn’t closed properly.

Fuck.

I quietly opened the door and slipped inside. As I walked through the dressing rooms I could hear a single shower running. It confused me because Frank hadn’t felt the urge to have a morning shower for several months now. As I rounded the corner my heart sunk. He was so damaged. Maybe there was no way to fix him.

He was sitting with his knees tucked up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs. His head was resting on his knees and he was sitting under the fierce spray of the shower. He was fully clothed and soaked to the skin. Afraid, I ran over to him and almost slipped on the numerous puddles that had formed on the ugly tiles. I reached the shower taps and wrenched them off. My jeans got wet as the spray sputtered and died; the water was fucking freezing. What the fuck was it with Frank and freezing cold water? Frank raised his head and I could tell he had been crying.

Oh god.

“Come on,” I murmured and pulled Frank to his feet. The shower was eerily quiet without the gushing of water. Now the only sound I could hear was Frank’s choked breathing and the gurgling of the drain as it swallowed up the water. Frank let me walk him back to the changing rooms. I had my arm wrapped his waist and his arm around my neck. I set him down on one of benches and grabbed a towel off the stack against the wall. I had just finished wrapping it around Frank’s shoulders when the door opened and Ben came in.

“Gerard, what are you –,” he began. “Is he okay?” Ben hurried over to Frank and looked him over, surprisingly concerned.

“I just found him,” I said quietly and gazed down at Frank. Frank was staring at the floor, his body shaking violently from the cold.

“I’ll get the doctor,” Ben told me, and left.

I sat down next to Frank and gently tipped his face up to look at me. As he was looking at me a drop of water fell from his fringe and ran down his forehead and onto his eyelashes. I reached out and brushed the hair off his forehead affectionately.

“Tell me,” I whispered.

Frank’s eyes flicked over my shoulder as Ben returned surprisingly quickly with Markman and Zach. Markman took one look at Frank and said, “someone get Frank some dry clothes, please.”

She leant down next to Frank. “Frank, you need to put on some new clothes,” she said, very softly and kindly. I don’t think I’ve seen her be so…nice. “Someone can help you, if you want?”

Frank looked straight at me as soon as she finished the question. Markman glanced at me too but didn’t make a comment.

“Come on,” I said and he stood up. I accepted the dry clothes and a new towel off Zach and led Frank to the closest changing room. I shut the door but there were no locks. I reached out for the hem of Frank’s shirt. He obediently lifted his arms up as I pulled the wet shirt off his head. I threw it to the ground and it landed with a splat. I handed Frank the new towel and he wrapped it around his bare shoulders. I crouched down and started undoing his shoelaces. I pulled his shoes off and then removed his socks. I pushed them to the side.

“I’m sorry, Gerard,” Frank whispered.

I stopped and shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” He just sighed. I stood up and turned my gaze down to his jeans. I hesitated in reaching out for them. “Can I?” I asked.

He nodded without hesitation. I popped the button on his jeans and slid the fly down. My heart was thumping surprisingly hard as I did it too. The whole situation was completely non-sexual but I was still nervous. I’d seen Frank naked once before but it wasn’t this close. He didn’t seem fazed at all as I pulled his jeans and boxers down, exposing him. I forced myself not to look. He didn’t need that right now.

His jeans were so wet and soggy that they were damn near impossible to pull off over his knees and feet. Eventually though, they ended up on the floor with his shirt. Frank wrapped the towel around his waist as soon as his feet were free. I picked the dry clothes up off the floor and handed them one at a time to Frank who clumsily began to dress himself. His body was still damp and it was surprising hard to get the dry jeans on. It took the combined effort of both of us to slide them up over his slender, white thighs and fasten them around his hips.

I took a step back when I was done and realised that he was still shaking slightly from the chill. I took my jacket off and held it out for him to slip into. It was a little big but he looked adorable in it. Frank took a step forward and hugged me briefly before pushing open the door and walking out. Markman was still waiting. She said something to Frank and he nodded. She placed a hand on his back and guided him towards the door. Just as he was walking out he shot a fleeting look back at me which broke my heart.

I still didn’t know what had upset Frank so much in the first place. It was frustrating to have to wait until Markman was done. Just once I wished that friends trumped highly trained psychiatrists. I wandered out of the showers and into Frank’s room. I knew he wouldn’t mind if I lay down on his bed for a little while. I would wait for him here. Then I would make him tell me what had happened.

I lay down on top of Frank’s unmade bed and shut my eyes. I was pretty tired; I did get up ridiculously early for that session with Markman. I dozed off almost instantly, thinking about how I could fix Frank.

Frank crawling up onto the bed roused me from my nap. To my complete surprise he lay next to me and curled up against my body, setting his head down on my shoulder. I instinctively wrapped my arm around him and pulled him in closer. He didn’t speak and he looked thoroughly miserable.

It hurt me to see him like this. Every pained look made me feel sicker and sicker in the stomach. I just wanted to make him better. “What happened?” I asked.

Frank didn’t reply. I glanced down at him and saw that he had his eyes clenched shut. I didn’t ask him again. I didn’t have the heart too. As I waited for him to tell me I started thinking about my escape plan. At this precise moment it was pretty much non-existent. It was harder than I thought to get out of this place without being detected. Of course we could ‘take care’ of whoever was on duty but I felt sick at the very thought of hurting someone, even someone as annoying as Ben or Zach.

“What are you thinking about?” Frank said and absently traced a pattern on my chest with his finger.

I looked down at him. “You.”

He smiled coyly. “Liar.”

I smiled back at him and shook my head. I don’t think I went a minute without thinking about Frank. “You scared me,” I confessed and Frank looked away ashamed. “Please tell me what happened.”

Frank sat up and reached down for something down the side of the mattress. He handed me a scrap of newspaper and then folded himself into a little ball with his head buried in his lap. I glanced at the newspaper tentatively. I flipped it over and half-smiled when I saw Ray’s Spiderman comic on the other side. I turned it back over to the other side and read the headline. The dread that flooded me was almost unbearable. I felt ill.