The Byte

5

(A Southern Belle)

It was a stormy Sunday morning, just before 11:00 a.m., at the Carl Bell Psychiatric Center, a part of the South Shore Hospital complex. The air was heavy, and the unseasonably warm stormfront was still raging in South Chicago. Susan Ensign, PhD, was at the provider’s desk; her presence here on a Sunday, on such short notice, was a testament to her unwavering dedication. It also showed her deep respect for Michael Fischer, her ex-husband and business partner. This case had him most unsettled, as she had heard the edge in his voice when he called her. She had known him since she was eight years old, as he put it, a spell.

The attendant at the desk had taken her hospital ID and driver’s license and entered the data into a computer, which immediately retrieved her information. Dr. Fischer had already registered her to see a patient this morning. She had a flag on her that Joyce Allan, a case worker, wanted to be notified when she arrived. The man working the desk had smiled at her and noted her as ‘On Hours.’

He told the nice woman, “Dr. Ensign, the case worker for the patient you are scheduled to assess, wants to speak with you.”

She read the man’s name badge on his shirt and replied, “Sure, Tyler, is she here today?” She turned to the glass panel entrance to Cal Bell, and it was a miserable mess out. “If so, I would be happy to speak with her. I have known Joyce for a while.”

He smiled back as Susan had this general effect on people. She was one of those individuals that others noticed immediately and wondered exactly how she pulled it off. Susan Ensign, a woman of fifty-six, held dual PhDs in psychology from Duke University and UCLA. Her well-kept blonde hair, which she would be the first to admit took a little help with hair coloring at this stage, suited her perfectly. Her makeup was always immaculately applied, seemingly without a flaw. She spoke with a warm, soft tone and was quick to smile. She did not walk across a room so much as seem to float across it. Many with some age on them referred to her type as leaving a light footprint everywhere she treads.

He pressed the buzzer at the door since the psychiatric unit was locked for the safety of the patients. The facility was a minimum-security one, focusing on treating trauma. The patients were usually the victims, not the victimizers. She smiled at Tyler once more and entered the building. She spent much time there and headed towards the physicians' lounge. She was so familiar with the route, having walked that path many times. She was due to meet Joyce Allan, whom she genuinely liked, at the lounge.

As she entered the lounge, always finding the fluorescent lighting a bit harsh, she spotted whose patient she was to evaluate today’s case worker. Joyce Allan, a friendly, decade younger African American woman who dressed as smartly as she did, was seated at a table. Joyce rose as Susan approached, a huge smile lighting up her face, hinting at the importance of their meeting.

Now, she was headed toward the office suite available here. She had a look of deep concern on her face after speaking with Joyce. She and Michael, two of the most level-headed, seasoned professionals in this case, expressed heartfelt concern for their client, Billy Webb. This was significant as they were not easily shaken, having seen much in their careers. Their worry was enough to cause her deep concern as well. She entered her office, placed her laptop and carrying case on the desk, and found Michael's assessment waiting for her. He was considerate when working on such matters.

She called the nurse’s desk on his ward and said, “This is Susan Ensign. Can you please have Billy Webb brought to 228A?” After getting an acknowledgment, she sat down and began reading after starting hot water from some tea.

 

Horace Taylor worked on a powerful laptop in Glen Ellyn at the Taylor residence. He used his code to juice everything up. By most tests and standards, he was already a virtual wizard in the cyber world.  It had not taken him long to locate his wayward Cocksucker. He was at the Carl Bell Psychiatric Center at South Shore Hospital. It showed the attending physician and psychologist that the place worked fast.

He authenticated onto the hospital’s systems, which ran a hybrid network. Most places did, as they did not want to fork out money for newer equipment as frequently as they should. Cal Bell Center was tied in with South Shore. So, they had Linux, Microsoft Windows, and, of course, were running Cisco firewalls for security. One of his students was probably managing their security. There would be intrusion detection software, as well as intrusion prevention. Possibly some cloud-based monitoring, and since it was a hospital. You could bank a flavor of the newer AI software running. What was funny was that he might have written it.

He was sitting in his recliner, completely naked and wearing his leather mask. What only Dell and Defense contractors could dream about lay in his lap as he worked. Of course, he could change the reality of the situation. This was fun to him as he stepped over the face of all these elaborate measures. He considered the irony as he tore through the security and established a domain administrative account. In this world, which was an elaborate simulation. The AI constructs here had made themselves, of their own accord, so hopelessly interdependent electronically. It was easy for someone like him, as the dullards repeatedly used the same tactics.

He started doing more of it when he decided to teach in the classroom. The most outstanding network security, implemented by the most ingenious people, was reactive. One could physically or electronically touch software if it is put on a network. It had vulnerabilities. It was damaged before they implemented a fix, as they did not know someone would exploit it quite that way. Around and around in circles, he could think about this. The firmware had a vulnerability, and someone forgot to update something. They used Fido as a password. They did not change their passwords. It went on and on without end.

This was the biggest testament to his superiority over everyone and everything else, as he had the best hack ever perpetrated. They told themselves at IC3, the FBI’s cyber-crime division, ‘Just keep it up as one day, you will get sloppy, and we will catch you.’ He told himself and verbally said to the screen, “Even if you somehow managed to, I can just alter your reality. Do you have a firmware upgrade for that?”

He looked down at his little pet thing, Headache, who was busy licking his feet. He asked the thing servicing his feet, “Do they Headache?”

The young man looked at him, unsure what he was inquiring about. “I am unsure how to answer, Master, because I am not as smart as you.” He didn’t know what else to say. He just tried to keep this guy happy. To not do so was unthinkable, and he was tired of that fucking desert. Conform and survive until there is an opportunity. There would be one, he hoped.

Horace was all over Billy Web’s hospital records, and they had given him some potent stuff. Who the fuck was Micheal Fischer? He had extensive details of what Billy Webb had told him. Goody, goody, someone else to pull into the labyrinth. He would see about this Fischer later. He wanted all the details about Billy and knew what Cocksucker needed. Version 2.0 worked out well as a house thing, but if he broke Billy, he could have two. They did not fundamentally change who and what they were with asymmetric tactics. He was influencing their psychiatric makeup. Who gave a fuck? So, he was going to see this Susan Ensign shortly. Good. The computer indicated it was Sunday, and he was allowed to visit, so would visit his Cocksucker.

"He looked down at Version 2.0 and said, “The inherent problem with being a god is that no one will understand most of what I say. They are just like you, so their scope is limited. Would you agree, 2.0?” He waited as it thought of what to say.

The young man stopped licking and looked up, “I could not agree more, Master. How could anyone hope to be on your level?”

2.0 acknowledged his superiority, which washed over him in waves. He got pleasure from that and would use it until it was a dry husk to milk every drop. He had no concerns about how it might adversely affect 2.0. There had only ever been one actual person he cared about. Now, that person had ascended into Godhood itself.

He was grinning in his mask and asked, “Are you worried about Jack-off, now and forever known as Tight Ass? That I have him languishing in that hot desert?”

2.0 was thinking furiously about how to answer this crazy fucker. Just don’t make the crazy bastard angry. Just learn how to avoid the bad things he does. “Master, I worry about that, but it’s because I am inferior to you. Only stupid people like me think that way.”

Horace replied neutrally, “You can rest easy 2.0 since ascending to what I am. I have learned to take pity on those like you. So, I did not put Jack off back in the desert. He is not thirsty, burning, or feeling like it will never end.”

Headache, now 2.0, ventured, “You are very wise and just not to have done so, Master.”

Horace paused; he loved letting anything feel like it had some hope and yanking it away. He told 2.0, “I am wise, and just so you are right. So, this time, I just decided to immerse him into the construct I used to stomp this one in with nearly.” He turned the laptop around, and there was Billy Webb’s picture where he had been admitted for a hospital I.D. Headache’s blood ran cold because he knew who that was. He was the primary lab assistant and taught the occasional class he had been in.

Horace had described it to him as an existence in nothingness. You would be physical and aware, just stuck in darkness. The only hope of escape would be if the crazy asshole whose feet he was licking let you out. No one would come for you, and there was no way out by any other means. It made 2.0 sick to his stomach to think about it.

Horace Timothy Taylor watched the subtle reaction of horror play across 2.0’s face. This was the feeling he wanted to make people feel, that moment of terror where all hope is nonexistent. When these pitiful creatures caved to him all the way, it made him start to get excited, but he wanted to visit Cocksucker first. He did not have to work hard to find new and exciting challenges. His Cocksucker was unwittingly bringing them to him.

Oh, it was about time for his Cocksucker to talk to Dr. Susan Ensign. He wanted to hear, which did not require any change to reality. He turned the computer back around and worked quickly. He located her office and found out what computer was assigned to it. These cockroaches never turned them off, which was helpful. It took him less than three minutes to have the microphone open on the computer sitting on her office desk. Front row ticket, lay back and listen as cocksucker self-destructs........ 

 

Dr. Susan Ensign was sitting drinking hot tea as she finished reading the file. There was a knock on her door as she was a lady of manners, and one did not just yell it’s open. The proper thing to do was to get up and open the door. She got up, floated, stepped over to the door, and opened it. She was looking into Gerardo Fuentes's familiar face. He was an orderly now that she had helped comb through years of trauma in the past. He was a large man and smiled at her warmly. Everyone loved Susan Ensign because if you did not, you didn’t know her.  

He had the much smaller Billy Webb with her, and the poor dear had that institution look on his face, which she was so accustomed to. He was in pajamas, wearing a bathrobe and house shoes. He would be a handsome young man if not in this setting dealing with such circumstances. Being in one of these places and battling the demons those here did was not easy.

She said politely, “Hello Gerardo, I hope you all are well. I think you have brought Billy Webb, trying to hide behind you, to me.”

Gerardo took a big hand and eased Billy: “Yes, Ma’am, this would be Mr. Billy Webb. I am doing great, Doctor Ensign. Billy here is shy, but he is a good guy. He has a perfect disposition. If anyone can help him, it’s you and Dr. Fischer.”

He turned to Billy, “I am going to leave you with one of the most fantastic people I have ever met. She helped me and many others where I was. I will be back in about an hour.”

He turned and left, leaving her to smile and assess his body language—posture, nervous gestures, and avoiding eye contact—all the signs he had the most. Her voice was warm and pleasant, “Hello Billy, I am Susan Ensign. I am going to ask you some questions if you don’t mind. I would be honored if you joined me. I have made some wonderful tea. Would you like some?”

He paused in the hallway momentarily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other before entering the office. Inside, there were two plush, comfortable chairs positioned facing each other. In the room, a machine emitted a customizable background noise, making it difficult for adjacent offices to overhear conversations. In her office, the machine was set to produce the soothing sound of the wind.

He went and sat in the first of the two seats, and she calmly joined him in the one sitting opposite that one. She sipped her warm tea and asked, “Would you like hot tea or bottled water? They keep this refrigerator back here stocked well.”

Billy looked up with a haggard gaze and said, "No, thank you. I am fine as is."

She looked at him and said, “I am Doctor Ensign. I work with Michael Fischer. It is nice to meet you.”

He sat with his arms crossed defensively and looked everywhere but at her. He was nervous and kept changing his position in the chair. He also rubbed one of his arms with his other hand.

She always made it a point to keep her voice soft and warm. She said, "We will talk while you are here and possibly afterward. If you choose to do so, I am Michael Fischer's other half of the trauma team. I am a clinical psychologist who has worked in this field for some time. This is an assessment meeting where I try to understand where you are. I will also help Michael through the EMDR process, but he is good with the technique and can be brisk. Do you feel like talking to me for a brief time?”

Billy Webb could not maintain eye contact but said, “You seem very pleasant. I will do the best that I can, Dr. Ensign.”

She said, "I've reviewed the file he put together regarding your treatment. I know he has you on some powerful medications. You don't need to rush, so please take your time. Things can sometimes appear intense, and this is not easy stuff. But please know it's for your benefit. I try to avoid that as much as possible. For starters, do you have any questions about me?”

Billy Webb did not look at her directly but said, “Dr. Fischer seems to hold you in very high regard. I don’t know. You sound like him, meaning you both have the same accents.”

Susan Ensign said, "I am not originally from this area. I am from Georgia, but I have been here for some time. I hold dual PhDs and specialize in trauma. Michael and I have handled some of the worst cases in the country. I want to assure you that I have much experience in this field, although I do not mean to imply that your case is catastrophic. We have a lot of history together.”

She sipped her tea and waited on him patiently. He had settled down from fidgeting so much now. He still did not want to look directly at her.

He said, “I will hold a PhD as soon as my dissertation is approved and published?”

She said calmly, "I know it was in your file. Computer Science from the University of Chicago. That indicates to me how knowledgeable you must be. The rub here is that when someone is hit with something significantly traumatic. There is this general attitude in the public as if you can reason your way out of it. It does not work that way.”

He said, “I hope I am not crazy, but if not, I have met pure evil on this planet. His name is Doctor Timothy Taylor, and he is a monster. Dr. Taylor was my chair for my degree, and I was his lab assistant.’”

She spoke slowly and in a low voice so he would have to concentrate to hear. "Billy, look at me for a moment, please. You are not crazy at all, so forget that. You are just confused and in an extreme environment after what you had to go through. It has placed you as if you are a man who has fallen overboard from a ship at sea. Michael and I are the hands that will reach for you and get you out of those waters.”

He finally did look her in the eyes, and for just a moment, there was clarity there.

 

Horace listened for what little was left of their conversation. Evil? He was the one who had ascended. As per usual, the Dimwitted Cocksucker was off the mark. He had been working as he listened and gained access to the extensive camera system inside this Carl Bell Center. He had an insightful notion........ Why not?

He placed the computer where he could see Billy inside the facility. Then he got up and looked at Version 2.0. He said, “We are going to hop someplace, and when we get there, I am going to fuck you. You will keep your trap shut and take it, won’t you?”  

Version 2.0 said, “If that is what you want, Master. Yes, sir, I will keep quiet.”

He loomed over 2.0, “Suck my cock so that I will be nice and hard.”

Version 2.0 looked up, “Yes, Master, and then he began doing it.”

Horace carefully watched as the viewpoint on the cameras kept changing on the screen. They followed the Dimwitted Cocksucker around. Soon, he was in his private room and laid on his bed. Horace cheated a bit and reached for his coding. He changed it so that the two cameras in Billy’s room would continue functioning.  They would just not see him or Version 2.0, who was working his cock.

Billy was lying on his bunk, always trying to find his way through a magazine article. That was strange. The climate control seemed harsh. It felt like the wind had picked up here. It flipped the article pages, and he looked up, searching. Billy looked over sharply. What the hell was that?  He had been placed in a private room. This place had patient comfort in mind as the rooms were spacious. In the center of the room, it looked like it might be shimmering. It looked like the very light passing through the empty air was bending.

There was a sudden bright flash. No! Could the coding have caused that? His breath caught in his chest, and he was paralyzed with fear. The room had a neutral gray carpet and resembled a college dorm. It was open, with a television in the corner and bedroom-type furniture across from his bed. There had been open space between here and there. Now, it was not empty, and Billy Webb was sure he was losing his mind.

 Not a few feet from the bed stood that evil monstrosity. He was completely naked. He had his stupid leather mask on what he was doing. Bent over in front of him, wrapped up in wiring, unable to move. It was, was that the student Headache, who was nice, but everyone made fun of his name? Horace was looking right at him, and he had his dick out of Big as Life, and he was fucking the wired-up, less bulky man. He was staring right at Billy as he did it. Billy’s mind rebelled, but he was frozen in place by fear.

Maybe it was a psychotic episode, or he had fallen asleep and had a nightmare. He had been having many of those lately. Why would he dream this? Medication, maybe? Horace was going at it, and he was getting excited. He reached forward, and the other person had wires running all over them. Horace came forward casually and took one that was looped around the guy’s throat. He gradually began to tighten it as he rammed him even harder.

He never stopped staring at Billy as he continued to fuck this poor guy. It was thoroughly clear he was not enjoying it. Billy was not able to stop his reaction. He began to scream at him to stop!

Horace was about to shoot his load in Version 2.0, but his former lab assistant’s look was priceless. He was terrified, which made the sensation feel better for him. He pulled the wire a bit tighter on 2.0 as he shoved it up inside him and began to come. Through the waves of pleasure he felt, he thought, ‘Yes! That's right, Cocksucker, run to a mental facility, enjoy it. Now, he had a different idea. Billy Webb had two paths: insanity or willingly returning and offering himself to his superior. This would be fun, and you will either break or languish in the kind, caring hands of psychiatric medicine. It could not help you from him.

Horace shot off well and could hear footsteps approaching as the staff responded to Billy’s yelling at him. He smiled inwardly and executed the code to return him a Version 2.0 to his home in Glyn Ellyn. The wind picked up, and another flash, and they were gone.

Billy Webb was still quite upset, and Big Gerardo Fuentes and one of the floor nurses were in the room. He just kept saying, “No! Stop you fucking crazy bastard!”

Nurse Donna Hayes came into the room and said something to Gerardo Fuentes. The big man did not look happy about it, but it did happen from time to time. He grabbed Billy Webb and held him while she gave him an injection of a drug called Haldol. Another large orderly came into the room. His name was David Conner, and he had been a college football player.  He had what looked like a giant snow skiing board but was flat and had restraints built onto it.

Everyone hated this practice, but they had several priorities in this situation. 1.) Prevent the patient from harming themselves. 2.) Prevent the patient from harming another patient. 3.) Prevent the patient from harming a staff member. This was part of the standard protocols. Administer a strong sedative, restrain the patient, and put them in a specialized care unit. Gerardo knew that was just medical bullshit for a padded room. He wished Dr. Fischer was working today. He would not be so reactionary. As a charge nurse, Donna Hayes was being. So, the two big men held Billy Webb till the Haldol began to calm him down. Then Conner got the giant board, and the two big men, being as careful as they could, gently laid Billy Webb onto it and secured him to it.

They picked it up and headed to the specialized care units. Gerardo was still thinking about this job, and no one liked it. This young man had not been a problem and was highly intelligent. They carried him and placed him into the unit. Once finished, Gerardo took a break and, in the breakroom, got out his cell phone. After all this time, he still had Michael Fischer’s cell phone number. He answered on the third ring, and Gerardo explained. There was a brief pause.

Doctor Michael Fischer told him he was on his way and that he was going to drive in. He would know Donna’s reasoning for boarding his patient after they had hit him with a heavy tranquilizer. With two extremely large orderlies in the room? Micheal left his home in Wheaton and headed towards the tollway. Fuck!

Horace Taylor had watched the interaction between Cocksucker and the psychiatric staff. He didn’t have to do much, and his Cocksucker would beg him to come back. He willingly would offer himself, and this excited Horace. Oh, you Dimwitted Cocksucker, he headed to the kitchen to get a drink. The rain still poured down. It was dreary, he thought, what a wonderful day!