The Byte

3

(Peaceful South Shore and the Basement)

It was Saturday, and Horace Taylor was doing something he loathed. The previous week, there was to be an exam on virtual servers, a subject he considered elementary. The blimp had administered the exam, but per university policy, he was required to grade the exams. He looked at the stack of thick exams and thought he could make it so. But he reveled in using that red pen. His students were so dim-witted and didn’t even have a chance of getting on his level. He began one paper at a time to crush their hope for the future. People of that quality did not need to have hopes and dreams. Why want that one was incapable of achieving? His superiority complex made his disdain for his students even more evident.

For a moment, Horace's thoughts shifted to Jack McDuffie, a security engineer who had provided him with some solace the previous night. Jack was his former student, and they had developed a unique bond over their disdain for mediocrity. In his mind's eye, he was in a vast, barren desert where he could find peace and tranquility. The thought of being alone, free from the intrusion of others, brought him comfort, reinforcing his disdain for the presence of people in his life.

As he mercilessly slashed away with the red pen, he scoffed at the idea of that internship. And where did they think they were going with their PhD aspirations? In his view, they were no better than the papers he was tearing apart with his red pen. He was sure they harbored dreams of top-tier careers in the IT field. What a pity that individuals of such limited intellect had less than no chance. What power his red pen afforded him over them! His desire for control was encompassing and dominant as he reveled in his authority over his students. But beneath the surface, there was a hint of satisfaction, a twisted pleasure in his superiority, that he couldn't deny.

His cell phone beeped, and he picked it up. Well, that was just perfect.  It was one of his advanced students in his Master’s degree pool. He clicked and saw who it was and began to smile. It was little Tommy Headache, and that one was of interest. He was a handsome, diminutive man with a neatly trimmed beard and glasses perched on his nose. He always made it a point to be overly friendly to Horace Timothy Taylor. He was quiet and shy, like a deer about to bolt in his mannerisms.  

Horace answered the phone, “This is Doctor Taylor. How can I help you?”

He loved this, and this young man idolized him. Perhaps it was time for curbside delivery to his home. Why should he not be idolized? His achievements, such as pioneering virtual server technology and publishing groundbreaking research that had revolutionized the IT field, had surpassed all the others here by leaps and bounds. His desire for admiration was transparent and sincere as he eagerly awaited the next interaction with Tommy.

A timid voice on the other end of the phone said, “This is Tommy Headache, sir. I’m sorry to call you on a Saturday.” He sounded just like a nervous rabbit and was afraid to make Horace angry. Maybe this one would be the one. Time would tell, and he could be patient about this.

He said, “That is quite alright, Tommy. That is why all the advanced students are assigned a pool instructor to call. What seems to be the problem?” His heart rate had picked up. This was too good to be true, just more proof. He was worthy of such and bathed in it. What he liked about Headache was not only was he a good-looking young man, but he knew. The fact that he knew Horace was superior to him made him feel like no other.

Tommy Headache replied, “Dr. Taylor, some concepts about virtualization are giving me some real difficulty. We have a test on Tuesday, and I am just not getting anywhere with it, sir.” 

Horace left the phone in dead silence for a moment, driving home that if he wanted, he could say go to advising and then promptly hang up. This one, though, was clamoring for his attention. Should he be magnanimous and throw him a lifeline? This one was so far beneath him, but who wasn’t? He would see where this went and thought for a moment. Despite his disdain for his students, there was something about Tommy that intrigued him that made him want to help.

He finally said, “If I recall correctly, Tommy, you live in Wheaton, do you not?”

Of course, he did. Horace Taylor was always right about everything. He had even driven by Headaches’ apartment a few times. Rare for one of them to him, so many were intimidated by his genius. This one was just overcome with envy of him and all he could do. He lived alone, according to his student form update.  Horace had logged into the campus, pulled it up, and was looking at his latest update.  He got the lightest grin on the optional section under sexual orientation. He had circled “Gay.” This knowledge gave Horace a sense of power, knowing a personal detail about his student that others didn't. It was a small victory, a way to assert his dominance further.   

Tommy answered, “Yes, that is right, sir, you have an amazing memory.”

This was the most beautiful symphony Horace had ever heard in speech form. That is right, worship my fantastic intellect. Why not? He said, “Well, Tommy, I am just a hop down the road in Glyn Ellyn. I have some free time today if you would Ike to come over. I am sure I can get that sorted for you.” This was like taking candy from a baby. He knew what Tommy Headache was going to say. Who could avoid being in his magnificent presence? For this thing on the other end of the phone, it was the offer of a lifetime. The anticipation of Tommy's visit, the thought of having him in his domain, was almost delicious, and Horace couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement.

Headache was excited: “Sure, sir, that would be fantastic. Craig is a good instructor, but this is difficult for me. You give me a time and an address, and I will be there, Sir.” Horace could hear the genuine gratitude in Tommy's voice, and it only fueled his eagerness to help.

Casting a lure into waters infested with trout was easy. Another testament to his genius: He was the absolute best. He gave Headache his address and said, “Go ahead and come over. I will show you what virtualization is all about.”

Now, Horace Taylor was excited. This would be an exciting evening. His mood shifted from disdain for his students to excitement about helping Tommy. He liked his name, too, as most would read it and think of a headache. It was a German name in origin. It was pronounced correctly as Hey’ Dash. He would not be a headache as Horace would show him about virtualization in ways he had never imagined were possible. He sat in his home in Glyn Ellyn, which was not far away from Wheaton. Tommy Headache pulled onto the highway from a lovely apartment complex in his new Honda Accord. He thought maybe the man was not as bad as people made him out to be. Plus, he was a handsome man who was so very smart.

Tommy drove towards his destination. He had no idea what type of radar he had just appeared on. Till he arrived there, he was in a reasonably good mood.

 

The grounds of South Shore Hospital, at 8012 South Crandon, were in southern Chicago. It had been caught up in a scandal that had cost insurance companies, Doctors, and hospital administration some 7.7 million dollars not long ago. It already had an excellent psychiatric unit for dealing with the elderly suffering from PTSD. After the scandal had passed, most of the administration had devised a whole new strategy. So, construction had started, and the relatively new “Carl Bell Psychiatric Center for Trauma Center” had been erected. 

Now, they would not just cater to geriatric sufferers of PTSD and trauma. They had hired new staff and could now handle all ages. Micheal Fischer was a consultant and a practitioner here. If one of his patients had to be hospitalized here, he would come twice a week and make rounds and handle their treatment. A whole board of at least three doctors worked as a panel. This was where they brought poor Billy Webb, who was not in good shape.

Upon arrival, Billy had to sit and do the prerequisite paperwork and had assistance. Joyce Allan, one of Michael’s friends, served two functions here. She was an assistant administrator and a case worker. She had agreed to be Billy’s case manager. She was thorough and did not miss a thing. She had graduated from Stanford and was top-notch. This place has a good program now. Otherwise, Micheal would not be associated with it.

It took some time to process him and assign him a room. In the minimal security section, Billy Webb did not constitute any danger. Part of the process here at Carl Bell was to get a patient in front of a panel for an informal talk so they all knew what they were working with. Michael Fischer would be his primary physician while here. Billy had voluntarily signed himself in. The young man was in distress and wanted help. He would receive it here. Michael would see to it that he did. This newest hospital section opened for business on January 1st, 2022. It was state of the art, with competent doctors and excellent support staff.

Currently, Billy was seated in the room and was a little groggy from the Ativan, and once admitted was given more medication. Once they got him stabilized, they could go after who had put him in this state. Michael and two other psychiatrists he knew well were also seated close to Billy but spread out.

To Michael, that nonsense you saw on TV with all the doctors sitting behind a table between you and the patient. It was precisely that, nonsense.  This place had a kind, hands-on approach in place.  The last thing this young man needed to feel right now was disconnected. The other two psychiatrists were Doctors Jerry Johnson and Julia Stimpson.  They all had charts and iPads out, and this was being recorded. They had gotten the written consent to do so.  

Jerry Johnson, 44, retired from the Army as a doctor. He usually worked with middle-aged to geriatric patients. When Michael brought someone in spontaneously, he paid attention. The US Army had sent him to Duke University, his entire profession. He had a great deal of experience with young men suffering from PTSD or C-PTSD.  He was big and blocky, with thin hair receding and in full retreat.  He wore simple glasses that had black plastic frames. Anyone would look at him and know he had been formerly Military, 

On the other hand, Julian Stimpson usually worked with kids up to middle-aged adults. Her clients were usually victims of CSA or had grown up in a household under the control of someone who had narcissistic personality disorder.  She was thirty-five years old and had stylish blond hair. She had a genuine, pleasant, and friendly disposition toward others. She received her education at Tulane Medical School. She, very much like Michael, had those eyes. It was apparent, looking at this young man, that he was in obvious distress and suffering.

Billy Webb just sat there and looked at them. Michael Fischer said, “Okay, Billy, how this place works here is straightforward. You may sign yourself out at any time. I don’t think this will show on your record as being in what people call the nuthouse. HIPPA law protects you from that. Insurance will view it as a hospitalization. It was courageous of you to come here and do this. How are you feeling?”

Billy answered, and his voice was heavy with the sedatives he had been given, with a few other medications. He asked, “Am I losing my mind?”

Michaels's colleagues began writing in his chart; they remained quiet for a moment as they did.

Michael Fischer said, “Billy, it has been my experience that anyone that asks that question is most assuredly not the term you used. We don’t use it here as we help people who are suffering from severe trauma. So, don’t think in those terms as the answer is a rock-solid no. These are my two colleagues. I will let them say hello to you. We are your treatment panel, though I am your attending physician. The idea is that three heads are better than one.”

The big bulky man said, “Hello Billy, my name is Doctor Johnson. If the Doctor thing is too imposing, call me Jerry, as I am not trapped in formality. It is nice to meet you.”

The woman spoke, and her voice was very soothing: “Hi Billy, I am Doctor Stimpson. I am the same if the doctor stuff gets to you. My name is Julia. I'm sorry we must meet here, but it is my pleasure.”

Billy Webb tried to be nice, “It is nice to meet you all as well. I feel weird, sluggish?”

Michael said, “The pills you took as you were working with Joyce are some medicines I have started you on. I have ordered a medication called Seroquel for you. I have also ordered a drug called Trintellix and one more called Clonazepam. All of these can be sedating when you first start them. You were extremely agitated when they got you here. I know you are drowsy, but other than that, how do you feel?”

Billy looked at each of them and said, “I don’t know what is happening to me. I have been exposed to some awful things.”

Doctor Johnson spoke, “Billy, we believe you have been severely traumatized. The mind can do funny things when that happens, but don’t be frightened.’

The nice woman said, “That is what we deal with here. Know that you are safe among friends here. Just coming to a place like this is rather shocking to someone, to begin with. Then Dr. Fischer said you were on the verge of a nervous breakdown. That will not happen now, as we will stop it.”

Micheal said, “Joyce Allan was the woman who had you fill out your paperwork and questionnaires. We go back a long way, and she is good stuff. Billy, I believe Horace Taylor has done awful things to you. We want to stop him as you are likely not the first. If what I suspect about him is true, you will not be the last.”

They paused to let what had just been said so far sink in. He looked like a soldier who had just been lifted from a heavy combat zone. All three doctors felt so much empathy for him. They had seen some bad cases, and he was up there.

Michael said, “We want to stop this man, Billy, but we must stabilize you first. The authorities have much better grounds when a defense attorney cannot start screaming about mental instability. Please tell my colleagues what you told me back at my office. If you can remember it, don’t push yourself or get agitated.”

Billy said, “They will never believe me, you will........”

Dr. Stimpson said, “Billy, we can help you, but you must reach your hand out. Much like a man deep in the waters over his head that can’t swim. We believe you, or we will help you work it out.”

Billy said, “This world, the entire universe for that fact, is a gigantic simulation. I cannot tell you what kind of computer could do that. I can’t tell you who or what kind of being would be so capable of doing that.”

The two doctors were writing furiously. She looked at him and smiled reassuringly. Then she said, “Please continue. Psychiatrists like to write down things as there will not be a tomorrow.”

Billy figured, why not? I am already in the nuthouse, so why not just tell them? “He is using it to live out his sick fantasies. I am just waiting to submit my dissertation, so I have been around him for some time. Back when I first became his lab assistant, he, well....... Not sure how to say it?”

The big man named Johnson spoke this time: “I can assure you, Billy, you will find no judgment here. We hear things across the spectrum. The better you explain it, the faster and easier we can help you.”

Billy said, “It is no secret on campus that I am gay. I never brought that into the lab or even talked about it. When I started working for him, he made a couple of advances at me.  I told him it was not appropriate for the workspace. He is punishing me for rejecting him.”

Dr. Stimpson asked, “How is he punishing you?”

The scared young man said, “He sends me away to nowhere. It is just utter, black, and oppressive darkness. Though you know this, you cannot move or make any sound, and time passes in this state. You cannot even fall asleep there. He makes me do things for him to earn what he calls free time.”

The young man was getting agitated, even on those heavy meds.

Michael said, “Billy, please look at me and listen to me over here.”

Billy looked at him slowly, and his eyes refocused, “Where? It happened again!”

Michael picked up a phone and called for another bump of Clonazepam. He asked, “What happened again, Billy?”

The young man looked confused. “I am not sure it is. There are times when I lose time.” He looked utterly miserable and out of his element. This was so alien to him.

Michael Fischer said to him, “What you just did was dissociate. It would appear to be amnesiac. Billy that is just a defense mechanism built into our brains to protect us from horrible thoughts. How often does that happen to you, as well as you could figure it out?”

Billy thought and said, “It happens whenever he is yelling and calling me Cocksucker.” He remembered Dr. Stimpson was present and turned red, “I am sorry, Ma’am.”

A nurse arrived and gave him a shot in the arm. He was so sleepy not long before that he could barely stay awake. He couldn’t even make out what they were saying.

When it was clear he was out, Dr. Johnson said, “Jesus Christ, what kind of a monster would do such a nice young man that way?”

Dr. Stimpson said, “You are right, Michael, PTSD, probably severe depressive disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, dissociative disorder. Who knows how many phobias he’s developed? We must get that bastard.”

Billy would have to rest before they could continue. Pushing him too far too quickly would only cause more damage.

           

Some miles away, in the town of Glyn Ellyn, it was active in the basement of Horace Taylor’s house.  Horace was wearing his leather mask and nothing else. He had used his programming to erect a thick steel cage over about half the basement. Inside it were the naked forms of Jack McDuffie and a naked young Headache. The two stood there, trying to cover themselves as best they could. Horace was drinking a beer, and the mask had a big enough opening. The two in the cage were scared shitless.

Horace told them, “I have a game for you, and several outcomes can happen. It is just a matter of what you do. Ready to hear the rules?”

They both just looked at him kind of numbly. He continued, “Only one of you gets to stay out tonight. The other is going back to the desert.

Jack McDuffie was bold enough to ask, “What do you want, you crazy fuck?”

Horace was suitable for the moment, but the smaller of the two was the migraine headache. He had a crush on his professor or had. Being naked in a steel cage in a basement was hardly helping him with computer virtualization. He had given the crazy asshole a blowjob.

Horace said, “It will be an easy and fun game. Whichever one of you can overpower the other and fuck them till you get off. I will let you sleep on the floor in the cage. But the one of you that gets fucked.......Well, back to the desert till morning because you are fucked there as well.”

Jack McDuffie said, “Fuck you! You crazy son of a bitch! We won’t play!”

Horace said, “If you refuse to cooperate, I will put you there and never let you out. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

He began to raise his hand in the way he did, which made things happen. Jack said, “Wait! Don’t do that, okay.”

He turned and looked at the smaller and weaker Headache. He had him by thirty pounds and was constantly swimming and working out. The other was just a computer nerd. How the fuck did this happen? How was he doing all that stuff?

Horace said, “I’m waiting and don’t like that.”

Jack McDuffie turned to the significantly smaller Headache and said, " I'm so sorry, man, but I’m not going to that desert. If you don’t fight, it won’t be so bad.”

Headache said, “So, I have to go to the desert again?”

Jack McDuffie moved quickly behind him and put him in a sleeper hold. “I am so sorry, but this is not me. I just can’t take that fucking desert any longer.”

Horace sat there, and the inevitable conclusion came. It was slow as Headache was struggling. The other man was just bigger and stronger. He grabbed a bottle of cheap water-based lube and tossed it next to the two struggling young men.

As McDuffie slowly overpowered Headache, he said, “See you two sluts, I have a generous nature. It was fun watching them compete this way. Wait till he got Cocksucker back and maybe one or two more. It would be like a Roman Gladiator ring. What if the two smaller people turned on Jack McDuffie? Or did McDuffie make it even easier by conspiring with one to get them to help him? He could write what he thought the conclusion would be and make a game of it. 

Now Headache was half out of it, and Jack McDuffie got the bottle of lube and began slicking himself up with it.  Horace said, “Tonight, God’s champion sleeps on the concrete floor. The loser will think they are thirsting to death as it burns their skin, but it won’t hurt them there. I made it that way. See, one must take care of their tools.”

McDuffie had finally penetrated Headache and was doing what he needed to do to avoid that fucking desert.

Horace laughed, “You two are fucking tools! Dumb fools who I have made my fun tools.”

As Horace Timothy Taylor watched the bigger man fuck the smaller one, he began to harden again. “Don’t think tight-ass version 2 for one second. It will be all smooth sailing for you. I will call you Version 2 for short. What you are doing to Blowjob there, I am going to do to you again tonight.”

This was making Jack McDuffie sick to his stomach. He knew Headache. He was just not going back to that fucking desert. He could not stop biology, as awful as this was, and it did feel good. Horace urged him on and kept telling him to do it harder. That crazy fucker had better hope he never figured out how he did that. Everyone knew Billy Webb had disappeared for a weekend. If he could just talk to him, he worked in that damn lab.  He began shooting his cum up into Headache as their tormentor cheered him on.

 

Back several miles away at the Carl Bell Psychiatric Center. Billy was awakened in the night by a nurse.

“Hi, let me see your wristband so I can scan it. I am Rosita Del Toro. I need to take your vitals. I have some meds for you as well. Are you okay? It aggravates to be woken up, but we must follow State rules.  

Billy Webb managed, “I am okay, where?”

She said, “You are at Southshore. Dr. Fischer will return first thing in the morning, right after breakfast.”

He opened for the meds and got them down. The doctors were trying hard, but they just had no idea what they were dealing with........Yet.