The Byte

6

(Slowly Breaking)

Dr. Michael Fischer, a man of routine, entered the Carl Bell Psychiatric Center. His ID, a key to his professional world, granted him access to the ward. Bypassing the central nursing station, he made a beeline for the offices of the nursing supervisors. Donna Haye’s door was ajar, a sign of her approachability. Uncharacteristically, he ignored the greetings of his colleagues, his mind seemingly preoccupied.  He lingered in the doorway, his gaze fixed on the floor charge nurse for this shift, a tension palpable in the air. 

Nurse Donna Hayes was a middle-aged, slightly heavyset woman whose entire appearance radiated with the fruits of her hard work. She was an experienced psychiatric nurse who obtained her B.S.R.N. shortly after the degree became available and regularly taught at the local schools in the area. Her hair was light brown. She wore reading glasses when working with paper orders and sometimes used the computer screen. While working full-time, she attended school at night and earned a Master’s degree. This, coupled with her experience, had elevated her to a floor supervisor’s position.

She was a competent, well-educated, and even skilled psychiatric nurse. As was often in life’s case, Michael Fischer knew packaging could be all too deceiving. Of course, he had crossed swords with her on more than one occasion. The terms he would apply to her would be reactionary and heavy-handed. Of the supervisors at this center, hers was the one he most often found questionable. When she did not look up immediately, which might have been purposeful, he audibly cleared his throat, causing her to raise her head slowly. 

Her face remained neutral, and she said, “Dr. Fischer, nice to see you had assumed you were taking a day off.”

He returned her neutral look and asked, “Might I have a word, Donna?”

He didn't wait for a reply but stepped inside the office and closed the door. Michael didn't thrive on confrontation, but he would wade into it if necessary. She often seemed to make it that way. He approached the desk, and she wrote down and documented the incident involving Billy Webb. His file jacket was lying on her desk. He reached down and got it, a clear sign of his determination to confront her.

He said directly, “May I, and please excuse me.”

He did not mind reading her report, as Gerardo Fuentes had provided that. He turned directly to his medications list to see how much of the drug Haldol he had been injected with. He was sure his face was beginning to redden as, according to the file, he had been given the upper range for someone his size. It was nearly 5 mg, and she had ordered it under center policies. After doing so, the attending physician today was Dr. Jerry Johnson. They would have words later, and he attempted to rein his temper.

He asked, “Can you tell me, Donna, why my patient Billy Webb was given such a heavy dose of Haldol and put in a specialized care unit? I mean, do you think it was enough?”

He waited, and she replied, “Dr. Fischer, this patient was acting belligerently. In my judgment, this was the best course of action.”

He kept the file but stood still and said, “That would be some judgment in my estimation. You do realize the patients here have been traumatized, and this one rather harshly. It is not this center’s function to add to its patients' trauma. It is vital to treat and stabilize them. Is he still down in an SKU?”

She was passive/aggressive and said evenly, “Dr. Fischer, I did what I thought was best, and you can find it all in my report.”

He looked at her, “Nurse Hayes, get him out of there and back into his room. I see he’s missed a meal here, so let’s get some food. This would be a rather kind of stat thing, and I mean it, or I will also be doing some writing.”

This did get her to move, and she grabbed the phone to call the central desk. Michael Fisher was not the Doctor you wanted to go to a review board with after he had written you up.  Of the psychiatrists who worked with her, he, far and away, was the heaviest hitter.  The administration here would attempt to breach the speed of light to keep this man practicing. One picked battles, but there were other ones to engage in. This man did not get upset often, but now he was. She got on the phone and began dialing the central desk. Then, she would have to call food services. Dr. Fischer was highly defensive over every single one of his patients. At least the man was consistent. How did he even find out?  He kept the file and just left her office without saying another word.

He walked down to the central desk, back into an area for physicians to work. He got a form for a medication order and began writing. It was for a drug called Phenobarbital, a barbiturate that had a solid countering effect to Haloperidol. He noticed Rosita Del Toro flash by the door.

He said, “Rosita, can I grab you for a minute?”

The charming Hispanic woman with twinkling dark eyes came back into the room. She was like most people and thought the world of Michael Fischer. She said, “Hello Michael, what do you need?”

He smiled at her and said, “Would you be so kind as to draw up 100 mg of Phenobarbital for my patient, Billy Webb? Let’s get that on board with him as soon as he is brought back up. I will have your order written by the time you do it.”

She said, “Right away, Doctor.”  Then she left the room for the pharmacy to get that. Technically, they were supposed to have the order in hand before doing it. Michael Fischer’s word was the golden egg in this place. Plus, she had seen the look on his face when he came by going to Donna Haye’s office. She thought to herself, ‘Good.’

 

Billy Webb, or at least his body, had been lying in the specialized care unit for nearly an hour and a half now. His consciousness had been pulled to a whole other place.  It would be indistinguishable from any one of the staff at Cal Bell. His mind, which felt like his entire body, ss it would, as all sensations in the human body were interpreted in the brain. Horace had thought of this after he had visited his dimwitted cocksucker. He had tucked Headache away in his desert construct and altered reality just a fraction.  He thought it was an ingenious idea. Naturally, as he was the one, he had thought of it.

Billy Webb had been in a state of going in and out of consciousness. He had small fragments of memory as the two large orderlies had placed him on the board-looking thing. He could remember Gerardo Fuentes holding him as he had been given an injection. The big guy had kept him still but had not hurt him or been rough. He could even remember the mountainous Hispanic expression as he had held him down. He looked upset, and Billy believed he had been in the situation, not him. He was not particularly surprised where he found himself now. He was in that place of nothingness. In this place, there were usually no sensations or sounds at all.  

It was strange because Billy's body was back at Cal Bell, and he was unaware of it. In the specialized care unit, patients were allowed to de-escalate to the backdrop of easy-listening music. It was weird; he was immersed in nothingness but could hear the tune from Christopher Cross, “Sailing.” A bright spotlight at once seemed to project down from forever, a little distance from what he assumed was in front of him. It was slowly moving his way, and the person he knew would come for him, which was what it was centered on as he walked in this direction where direction was meaningless.

He was not wearing any clothing and, of course, was in his leathery mask. As Horace Taylor got closer, he saw him swaying a hand to the song's rhythm. Billy wanted to scream or curse at his person, but the rules for him did not allow it here. The naked and masked man walked right up and looked down at him. His voice sounded normal, and there was a slight echo.

"He said, 'I'm sorry, my dear Dimwit, but it seems you're not cooperating with the program. The word program suits you well. I released you and allowed you to return to the lab. All I asked was for you to obey and acknowledge me. Instead, what did I find when I went to look for you? You had been disobedient and admitted yourself to a psychiatric center. This won’t work unless you want me to leave you here permanently. We are in a session now, so why not tell me what’s on your mind?’”

Billy went to speak but was unable to, and the effects of the haloperidol were weighing on him. The masked Horace looked on expectantly as a different song began to play. Then he realized and said, “Oh, one moment. “He waved a big hand, and it seemed as if the darkness rippled. Only briefly, but the music changed to some heavy metal, and Billy could now speak. It was not overpoweringly loud, and the lab assistant was unfamiliar with the band or song. The lyrics were a bit different, and it was about tying you down so I could feel your love. And the lyricist was an animal. It sounded like old 80’s music.” 

Billy Webb just knew on some level now that he could speak. He asked, “Why are you doing this to me, Dr. Taylor? Do you know how hard I worked for you? I know......” He got tongue-tied temporarily as he fought the effects of the drug. “I know you are a brilliant computer scientist, not easy to get along with. I thought you were the best choice as a chair. Why?”

Horace did enjoy being regarded as brilliant; his ego could not help but respond to that. He said, “Oh, my little Dimwit, that’s easy because I can. As a superior being, I am right in anything I want to do to you. You should get on your knees and thank me that I do. There are so many other dullards and fools in the world who, in my position, would just simply leave you here and forget you. There is a concept you need to fit into your tiny brain. I am not what you think of as human anymore. I have ascended to a place no other has ever managed through my pure, sheer genius. You and all other eight-point-whatever billion beings on what you think of as the earth. It's merely some infestation, like bacteria or fungi—all whose purpose is to serve their God, me. You’re running away from me, which does not make you such a fun guy."

Billy asked, “You believe you are a god? Horace, do you know how terribly off that is?” There was a thick bit of saliva dribbling out of the corner of the lab assistant’s mouth. Horace Taylor reached over, scooped it away with a finger, and put it in his mouth.

Horace said, “No! I am not off at all. I have converted a servant, and I am breaking in this very place called Jack-Off. He is stubborn, like you, but there is no escaping me. To the victor in this, like I go the spoils, and to my playthings, you go the toils. Don’t concern yourself with Jack-Off right now. I have made it so you cannot interact here. I could have made him do to you what he did to that sweet Version 2.0. You saw him. He was the one I was boning in your room at Carl Bell Psychiatric.”

Billy said, “You have grabbed two other people besides me?”

Horace answered, “Well, duh! Are you deaf as well as dumb?”

Billy said defiantly, “I am not dumb, Dr. Taylor, because I am a good student and a great worker.  I worked very hard on that dissertation, modeled after your work.”

Horace leaned in and stared slowly at Billy Web's chin. He licked up the length of his face and stopped at his forehead. Then he said, "I will admit, Dimwit, that your dissertation is better than most I have gone through. That is only because of my greatness. It was like a sunlamp that was basked in. The warm rays of my extraordinary intellect would be transformative even for you, Dimwit. Now, let us speak of what you're going to do. What will I do until you submit it and get it in your place? A place for a thing and every single thing, such as you, in its place."

Billy experienced all his physical sensations in this place, including the feelings in his body. This made him feel uneasy, and it wasn't a good feeling. Whatever was before him now seemed to have always been challenging. He had never realized he was so disturbed. He wished he had never crossed paths with this man, never approached him to chair his committee, or agreed to become his teaching assistant and help him in the lab. It was all too late now, and there wasn't much he could do. So, he listened.

Horace Taylor said, “You will return where you belong and resign yourself to your fate.  You will come of your own accord and return to my house in Glyn Ellyn. When you do, you are going to offer yourself to me. Admit how superior I am to you and what a God I have become.  You will always do what I say in the letter. I will always be able to use you and do whatever I like. You will submit to the superior being, me. Of course, you will have to be punished for what you have done in your running. If, at some point, I think it is enough and I have gotten all the enjoyment out of it I want. Then I will let you come to the lab. You have been my assistant for some time, and now you are so much more. You are a member of me and mine. Until you do, I will keep at you, and you will break or fall over the edge. It would be best if you wanted to serve me and acknowledge me as you are mine. You will come back to my home and beg for forgiveness.”

Billy said, “If I don’t, I am assuming it will be either this place or you keep harassing me at the psychiatric facility.”

Horace said, “You basked long enough. When your God makes demands, who are you to question me?”

Another strange rippling effect began to take place inside the void. Horace let out an annoyed gasp, but Billy did not know what to make of it. The lab assistant began to feel strange, and another large ripple passed through the void.

Horace growled, “What are they doing? They are beginning to irritate me.” He waved his hand and altered things to return Billy’s consciousness to his body.

 

Moments before, Nurse Del Toro had injected him with the phenobarbital. Gerardo Fuentes had gone down to the specialized care unit, got him, and gingerly placed him into a wheelchair. He had been brought back to his room, and the Orderly, with Michael Fischer helping, returned him to his bed in a comfortable position.

Billy began to open his eyes, and Dr. Fischer slowly said, “There you are. It's okay. You were out of it.”

The psychiatrist got a chair in the room and moved it to the bed. He quickly turned Billy Webb’s face towards him and retrieved a pen light that was clipped to his shirt pocket out of it. He said, “Billy, if you can relax your eyelids for me, you will see a light. I need a quick look. You may be a bit confused for just a few moments. Michael Fischer, you are at Carl Bell Psychiatric in your room.”

The doctor leaned in closely and shined a light into each patient's eyes, observing their pupils' reactions. Given the circumstances, the results looked promising. He then asked the large man named Gerardo to bring the patient's food tray, explaining that the patient would feel better after eating. The doctor suggested including sugary beverages like cola or juice to help improve the patient's condition.

Billy was temporarily confused and disoriented but could recall what had happened. As his head cleared, he thought there was no way to escape. He felt sluggish and very druggy, but it was ever so slowly getting better. Finally, he could concentrate on the look of concern on his psychiatrist’s face. Michael was still seated next to him, and he was in the bed in his room.

Dr. Fischer said, “There he is, that haloperidol hit you hard. Can you tell me how you are feeling? Dry mouth? Any difficulty breathing?”

It took a moment, but Billy said, “I feel zoned out now. He was there and could even get at me as I slept. I kept hearing the song he was playing. It is playing repeatedly in my head. I don’t like that song very much.”

Doctor Fischer said, “Something caused you to become overly agitated. The charge nurse, I guess, found it exciting, and they gave you the maximum dosage of Haldol. That’s a heavy tranquilizer, and the fact that this happened makes me agitated. I ordered a medication called an anticonvulsant, Phenobarbital, for you. It can be sedating, but it is good at countering the effects of Haloperidol. I am so sorry that happened. I surely am. Do you think you might manage to eat a little? It will make you feel much better if you can.”

Billy was thirsty, so they said, “I will try, but I am thirstier than anything.”

Michael said, “Haldol is notorious for giving people dry mouth. Here’s Gerardo with your food. Let’s set you up well so you can eat, and we will get you all the fluids you like. That sugar will help metabolize those meds. Then we will talk as you eat. You feel up to that?”

 

As Michael Fischer was seeing his patient in Glyn Ellen, down in Horace's basement, and he was taking care of himself. He had retrieved Headache from the desert construct, even let Jack McDuffie out of the nothingness. He had just returned from it not long ago. He had them both on their knees side by side, each naked on his basement floor. He had coded heavy and tight chains around them, holding them in place. He was standing in front of them, taking turns feeding them his cock.

Headache was sucking on him now, and he was trying very hard. The desert construct had made an impression. He was also enjoying the look of confusion on Jack-Off’s face. He had been in there for a reasonable amount of time.

He said, “That’s right, Version 2.0. Keep being that enthusiastic, or I will just leave you in there and upgrade to 3.0. Oh, keep that up. Did you two know that one of the principal security threats to computers is people not keeping their software up to date? It is not just home users; research and statistical data show that many network administrators are guilty as charged on that.”

Jack McDuffie just kind of dully said, “I did know that Master, I think it is close to one in four, which is what the literature says, has these lapses.”

The headache was still working him well, so he continued, “You are correct, Jack-Off. I am glad you have changed your thinking about addressing me properly. Now let’s see if your attitude has adjusted about this.” He pulled his dick out of Headache’s mouth. His saliva covered it, and he pushed it firmly against Jack-Off’s lips. “Show me how much you appreciate your freedom, Jack-Off.” Jack McDuffie did not even stop staring. He just opened for him. Horace pushed it in his mouth quickly, none too gentle about it.

Seeing his nice home from the outside, again, no one would think about what was happening inside.

 

At Carl Bell Psychiatric, Billy Webb slowly ate from his food tray. He had consumed three small cartons of juice right at the start. Michael had asked Gerardo to bring him his laptop from the office, and he was logging into it. He asked Billy, “You said something about a song repeating in your noggin’. It was probably something they were playing in SKU for you. I believe they are still playing easy listening stuff down there to try and facilitate the de-escalation process.”

His patient was eating slowly, so he said, through forkfuls of food, “I am sure this was not easy listening.”

Micheal said, “Was it something you might have been dreaming of remembering?”

Billy replied, “I'm not sure why. I had never heard it before. I am quite sure, as I would remember that one.”

Michael made notes on his file about what had happened and his response. He asked him, “Do you remember it well?”

His patient was doing well with the food and continued to eat. “Yes, it was an explicit material kind of song. It sounded dated. I remember it was singing about tying someone down so they could feel their love, kept saying, ‘Saying I’m an animal,’ after that every time. I listen to modern alternative stuff, not my kind of music.”

Michael looked at him for a second and opened a web browser on the laptop. He then ran a quick search for those statements in songs.  He got several results, and one was a link to the site YouTube.com. The song's name was by a group called W.A.S.P., something other than what he was familiar with. He clicked it, and it loaded, and he looked at his patient, “I am going to play this song and see if you remember it; maybe it will help you remember more. Don’t let it startle you, okay?”

He clicked it, and the soothing sounds of W.A.S.P. “I fuck like a beast,” began blaring from the laptop.

Gerardo was leaning against the wall. He was much happier now that Dr. Fischer had driven in. He could hear the song's content and looked at Michael Fischer.

The Doctor looked at him and said, “Good grief, excuse me for being crude here, Billy. Gerardo, do you fuck like a beast? I am sure everyone does naturally. Is this the song Billy?”

His patient had finished most of the food and was more active now. He looked up and said, “Yeah, that is what he had playing for me.”

Michael asked, “He who?”

Billy said, “Horace Taylor, he put me back into nothingness while I was in that room. He came and talked to me. He’s gone. He’s one that the porch light may be on, but there is no one home.”

Dr. Fischer looked at the big orderly and said, “Gerardo, thank you for calling me. Please step out of the room and close the door.”

The big guy nodded and left, closing the door. Michael looked at Billy and said, "I am going to suggest something to you now. See if you remember something like this. When you were at Horace Taylor's house, did he use some forced confinement on you? There are some people with sadistic tendencies or who are just plain sadists. Some seem to thrive on that, which is alien to most people.”

Billy said, “Dr. Fischer, moving me into what he terms a construct of nothingness. I would have to answer you yes on that.”

Michael said, “I know how you have described it, but is it possible he was forcing you into a dark closet and locking the door? Some patients describe people using chests, such as what one store’s clothing or quilts in.  They do some hillbilly surgery on them and drill a few holes for air and put padlocks and such on them. Keeping someone that way for a long period can be very distressing.”

Billy sounded very sure: “Dr. Fischer, you are trying to apply logic to something that, by most standards, would be totally illogical. No, that is not what happened.”

Michael watched, and his eyes were unwavering. He thought this man could do these sorts of things. Billy Webb seemed to have all his faculties intact. He was not babbling incoherently. He was smart and seemed so very sharp. Then he turned Michael’s day from bad to shattering it into a nightmare.

He told Dr. Fischer, "You said I could sign myself out of this place if I agreed to be admitted voluntarily. I must do so, as I need to return to him. If I don’t, it will be hell for me."