The Byte

7

(Intervention) 

After speaking with Billy Webb in his room following the incident involving the SKU, he quickly walked down the hall toward his office. This behavior was utterly unlike him and seemed extreme. He wanted to ensure his judgment before allowing Billy Webb to return to Horace Taylor. He knew that Billy Webb had an abusive and manipulative nature and could potentially pose a danger to others. Trauma can have unusual effects on people's thoughts and behaviors. For instance, there is the well-known Stockholm Syndrome, where individuals taken prisoner or kidnapped might develop protective and friendly tendencies towards their abusers. He knew he would need support in dealing with this situation, possibly involving medical and legal intervention. It might not hold up in the long run, but he needed time and couldn't let that young man return to Horace Taylor with a clear conscience.

He practically flew past the nurse’s station. Doctor Jerry Johnson was the attending physician on the floor today. He saw Michael go by and said, “Hey Michael, how are you?”

Michael Fischer was upset with him, so he paused and approached the desk. He looked to make sure none of the patients could hear this. He barked, “I will tell you how I am, Jerry, Fuck You! You sign off on another one of my patients being slung into SKU after he was sedated with two orderlies and the charge nurse present. You and I will have a hot date with the review board. He’s so confused and upset now that he discusses signing out against medical advice (AMA). Keep up the good fight, you and Donna. The mental health tag team of ineptitude.”

He stared at the big man briefly and continued to his office. He swept his ID, and it clicked open, and he felt like kicking the door in. Michael Fischer was usually mild in manner but not when it came to mishandling one single solitary patient. In his opinion, you could modify a Shakespearean quote for him on that. “Wrong one of my patients. Do I not kick in your damned head.”  This was one of the few things he was sensitive about. He was a bulldog gone mad where his patient’s welfare was concerned. Then, throwing Billy Webb into SKU had been exaggerated and just plain stupid.

He sat down and began dialing the fist of two familiar numbers. On the fourth ring, Susan Ensign, business partner and ex-wife, answered. She sounded, “Dr. Elaine Ensign, how may I help you?”

Micheal didn’t beat around the bush, “I need backup, Susan. I am so fucking infuriated that I could bash this damn phone up against the wall!”

Susan thought it was time to soothe the psychiatrist with some psychology at home. She dropped her tone and whispered. She asked, “I see you are at South Shore. What happened, Michael? Try to breathe calmly. I have not heard words like those from you in a spell.”

"He leaned back in his seat and said, 'Gerardo Fuentes had to call me. Billy Webb was upset for some reason, so Donna shot him full of Haldol and put him into SKU. Jerry signed off on it. Now, he is talking about signing out of AMA. He wants to return to Horace Taylor. My dear, sweet Susan, we absolutely cannot let that happen. I need a little more time with him. Something isn't right here, Susan; of course, when is it ever in such cases? This is more out of sorts than usual, and this place is not only failing to help me. They are flailing my damned efforts.”

She sounded surprised, “The Billy Webb I was in there and saw earlier? Or does he have an evil psychotic twin? I was there just before lunch, and he was fine. As far as you, this is the only day you were taking off this week, wasn’t it?”

He was still irritable, “Ah, that’s fine, I’ll live. I have completed two medical degrees. What exactly is a day off? I think the concept has almost faded from my mind.”

Susan continued, “Next question, how much sleep have you been getting lately?”

He put his free hand to his forehead, “Honestly, not much. I need to take some time when I get this current load from me. But this is not about me. This is not about me; there are bigger fish to fry. This is justified indignation and plain anger at callous incompetence.”

His ex said, “You want to conference and call the Honorable Judge Rhinehart?”

He replied, “We could do it ourselves, but circumstance being what it is, he will do it tomorrow after the review board approves it. Getting Lance to throw legal mumbo jumbos at it will hang things up for maybe two weeks. It is going to destroy his trust in me. There is no direct solution, so I would rather have the time.”

She said, “Get Lance on the phone. When have I ever not backed you? We will regain his trust, as you are so fond of saying you are darn tooting we will.”

Doctor Jerry Johnson was darkening his office door when he said, “Hang on a few, Susan, and then I will conference us all in.”

He pressed the hold button and looked at the stocky ex-Army man, who said, “Are you okay, Michael? Donna Hayes had already gotten the Haldol on board when I signed that. I figured he would sleep the whole time down there. He was upset. You know I am not into heavy tactics in how I practice. Please don’t be angry, we are friends. I didn’t think it would make him a jackrabbit on us.”

Michael softened and said to him, “It’s me, Jerry. I am just tired, and that is something I have run into her with one too many times.”

Jerry said, “Julia and I were talking the other day, and we agreed we hated to see her come on duty. The three of us could solve that problem at the monthly review. The administrative here thinks you shit gold. The problem is, I am not sure they are far off the mark. You are a good Doctor, Michael, and it is good to see someone showing some passion for their practice.”

Michael said, “Thanks, Jerry. You are not bad, either. Now, I must call the Judge.”

Jerry said, “Thank you as well. I will let you charge the windmill.”

The big Doctor closed his door as he left, and Michael began to dial. Calling a state judge on Sunday was not his favorite pastime.

In Glyn Ellyn, down in Horace’s basement, what was going on there was likely not Version 2.0’s or Jack-Off’s favorite pastime either. The mad Computer Scientist had done one of his most elaborate twists on reality yet. He was sitting watching and had a smile on under his leather mask. He had used the code to make a coffee table-sized Black Widow spider. It was vicious, but it would only do so if he willed it to. Headache was hanging from the ceiling upside down, wrapped up solidly with the webbing. As he had named it, Charlotte was yanking Jack-Off into place now and beginning to web him all up like 2.0. It would enwrap everything but the areas he wanted access to and their heads or faces.

Horace observed the eerie code construct working and decided that he liked Charlotte. He wanted to keep her as his pet. He had never really kept any pets before, finding people insignificant, let alone something that constantly made noise or sought attention, essentially an eating machine that slept all the time. Charlotte had been created almost perfectly, attuned to his thoughts. She would immediately do something if he wished for something to be done. Otherwise, he would put her in sentry mode to patrol the house and basement for security.

Jack-Off was a healthy young man about his size. He smiled as Charlotte effortlessly lifted him. It would be much stronger than any man, which it had been designed to handle and prey on. It was too easy when he wanted it to do so. If it came to that, he already had someone in mind. They would be in their home all locked up, safe and secure. In a flash of light, he and Charlotte would be there. She would go to work at lightning speed as he watched.

As it went around and round, webbing up his plaything, he had a good name in mind. Dr. Margaret Younger Black, the job-stealing and utter bitch. Now he had a bitch as well, let them meet and see who did better.

He found it fascinating how efficient his new creature was. Once that job-stealing bitch was gone. It would be made right. He would be put in a job worthy of a man of genius and superiority. It was unfortunate, not really, but the process of Charlotte taking care of someone would not be a fast one. It would work for hours, draining whomever it was. He would take one of his playthings with him to fuck or suck his cock, as he watched it happen.

No more instances of anything like his Dimwitted Cocksucker as he had given Charlotte the ability to self-teleport. She was all webbed up and entangled in Headache and Jack-Off. If they did flee, he had set rules to govern how it would collect them. The moment they were alone, there she would be to carry them back here.  It would teleport there, quickly overpower them, and flashback and web them up in the basement until he got home and had enough time to deal with them.

It was his Dimwit which had been the inspiration for her creation. His last name was Webb, and he had more than one time confided to him Horace he had arachnophobia. When he came back and rang the front doorbell, willingly, the door would be opened. He would be made to undress, and she would be upon him. The webbing was the coolest thing about his design. Again, inspired by his name, his Dimwit was good for some things. It would be better when he came back.

Her webbing had more tensile strength than the large steel girders used to construct large buildings and bridges.  Being the God he was, he could make it to nothingness. Charlotte would intercede to protect him and was strong enough to throw an M1-Abrams Tank. Simultaneously, it would work with a delicate, gentle touch as it was now, finishing up webbing Jack-Off suspended from the ceiling.

Both their reactions had been amusing as he had concentrated and manifested it into being. They had been so scared they could not move. Headache had pissed himself. He had used the electric cattle prod he bought and held him down, zapping him for being wrong. Then, I made it shower as Jack-Off was made to clean it up. He had just made a subtle thing to the fabric of reality so that its voltage did not affect him. It sure as fuck still did on them.

He thought about the moment Billy Webb would ring his doorbell. The heavy wooden door would be opened, and Horace would shiver with anticipation. He enjoyed using Billy Webb more than he did these two. He supposed that all the time in the lab with him, he had grown used to him. He was a much more advanced student than these two, even though Jack-Off had his PhD. His dissertation had been a laughable joke. On their chaired committees, it was majority rule. He was the only one that had voted to reject it. His conclusions were sloppy, and his assertions were laughable. Charlotte could write better scientifically.

He went to a wall where he had lots of stuff, including Dr. Margaret Younger Black’s name and school account, that he had ordered off the internet. Then, he rerouted it several times to his address. That had been done with minimal effort on his part, as the USPS still had some computers running Windows 95 on their networks. He couldn’t believe it. That was asking for it, so he had answered.

He selected a leather-bound riding crop. The great thing about this stuff now was that he could be as rough as he liked. He could repair the damage with concentration and thought if it injured them. He walked toward his two playthings with their asses exposed. Wrapped in something so hopeless that a heavy construction crew would be thinking about tackling it. This had been a wonderful day. As he approached, he was excited, so in turn, Charlotte began to shake and vibrate.

 

Doctor Michael Fischer called Judge Lance Rhinehart's number. He didn't need to look it up because they were friends who often talked and saw each other. It was 8:46 p.m., and a half-asleep Lance answered the phone. Michael grinned, imagining Lance watching a colorized western on TV in his recliner.

His grumpy assed voice said, “As my caller ID says South Shore Hospital/Restricted, this had better be my friend, Michael Fischer, or there will be some hell to pay.”

Michael hit the button to bring Susan on with them. He asked, “Tell me, my friend, what is on the glass on that wooden table beside you tonight, the vodka or the Chivas?”

The Judge said, “Michael, you are heathen, it’s Sunday, it's a Foster’s Lager. First, why are you at work this hour on a Sunday, and second, why do you work on a Sunday approaching 9:00 p m?”

Michael said, “Because I am an exciting guy with an electric social life. We got Susan on here with us. Lance and I have a problem, and I'm hoping you can help.”

Susan said, “Hi, Judge Lance, how are you?”

He was honest, “Sleepy, and it seems every time I look in the mirror. It seems I’m no longer a young man. I am fine, sweetie. What have you two got?”

Michael spent a few minutes telling his friend about a patient's visit. He had yet to name the patient. Only if he asked for it. Then there was a privilege, same as with a lawyer.  Then afterward, “We have a young man who signed himself in here that has given terrible details about the actions of this individual. Hell, he’s not been here long enough to do much. Now, he wants to AMA out because of fear of this individual. He wants to return to them. I need longer and believe this man to be dangerous. No, he does not have a criminal record. Nothing actionable. He is because I am your friend telling you he is.”

Susan added, “Plus, the patient is a juggernaut of stability as well. He has already submitted a dissertation for a PhD. No criminal history, no prior admits he is credible.”

Lance Rhinehart was silent for a moment. “Hell, I’ll bite. If the other party is clean, though, it will get kicked. I don’t mind, as it would not be the first time. When do you need the signed order? This will buy you two weeks at best and a court appearance. Whoever stomps it may not be happy.”

Michael said, “I sometimes don’t make people happy because I try to improve their lives. We need it in hand sometime before 8:00 a.m. tomorrow. We can keep him for twelve hours until the meds we’ve given him clear, but then he can sign and walk. In this case, that would be tragic.”

One could most likely hear the judge clicking around on a laptop. “Okay, give me his particulars, the song, and dance. I will sign the order and fax it to you tonight. It sure as hell is not for your sparkling personality.”

Michael and Susan both thanked him. Then Michael got on his laptop and pulled up all the information the Judge would need. He began to relay it to him, then had to get Joyce Allan on the line when he was done. He would tell Billy himself. He rarely ever did this; it was warranted this time. He just knew it was. He could feel it. 

 

Doctor Margaret Younger-Black was making herself a snack in downtown Chicago at one of the more decent high-rise condominium complexes.  Her dinner earlier, which was just a salad, needed more. The kitchen was open and spacious. She would have a roasted turkey sandwich on wheat with tomato and a slice of Colby cheese. It seemed there was a light breeze in the room. How odd. A large strobe of bright light was from across the other side of the kitchen. When she turned to look, it was something the mind did not accept looking at it.

She had taken one of her per-need Xanax about an hour ago. Undoubtedly, the pharmacy had not gotten the orders mixed up, and seeing a giant spider in her kitchen was a side effect. She was a pharmacy tech about it and never got a chance to call. Before she even had a chance to scream, Charlotte rocked across the space between them and seized her. It had her in a solid grab, so she could not move or even scream. The wind picked up again, and a giant flash of light appeared. She was now in a basement, and three individuals were watching this. 

One was a healthy-sized naked man wearing a leather mask. The other two she knew were from school. One was an undergrad who had just applied for graduate school. She approved his application on Friday. His last name was Headache. The other was one of their success stories, and she had chaired his PhD committee. He had applied, and she had interviewed him. Subsequently, he was hired to work for the university's network security department. His name was Jack McDuffie. They were naked as well and looked scared.

Horace had to remove his mask as he wanted a good view. There was a look of horrified recognition on her face. He thought and concentrated carefully on Charlotte. ‘Web her all up, only leave the air passage for her nose clear. Then feed slowly and make it last. Drag it out for as long as possible.

As the spider dragged her and began to web her dangling from the rafters, this moment was very satisfying for him. He began to get excited. Using the leather riding crop to beat both of his playthings earlier, he had wanted too badly. He had repaired them as he had sent Charlotte to retrieve the good Dr. Margaret Younger-Black, the job-stealing bitch. He looked at them; he would use them to satisfy him as Charlotte worked.  Then, Billy, the Dimwit, would be asleep soon. It was time to revisit him. He could sleep in nothingness again tonight and every subsequent night until he returned to his rightful place.

Horace Taylor looked at the two younger men. He said, “2.0 you are going to suck my cock, my Jack-Off fucks you up the ass. Get with it now!”

They moved to do what he had said and got in their positions to obey him. Margaret could not move, as the webbing had held her, and whatever this thing was had bit her. It had only injected a little venom, enough to paralyze her. It worked slowly yet efficiently, enshrouding her into the webbing.  The effects of the venom did nothing to stop her all-encompassing horror. What was happening to her was terrifying.

           

Joyce Allan and Michael Fischer entered Billy Webb’s room at the psychiatric center. Although Michael despised having to do it, he knew this was the responsible and right thing to do. He had told Billy he could sign himself out when he wanted to, but he had not finished what he had to say to him at that point. Plus, the two visits from Horace Timothy Taylor confirmed his decision.

In most cases, the attending doctor would allow the case manager to deliver the news. However, Michael did things differently and rarely delegated this task. He believed that Billy Webb had the right to hear the news directly from him. Michael pulled up a chair and placed it close to Billy Webb's bed, allowing for a comfortable distance. Billy was sitting straight with his legs hanging off the side of the bed.

Michael looked directly at him and said, “Billy, we must talk, and it is important that you try to remain calm. It would be best if you did not get upset. Is that something you think you can do?”

The young man was very intuitive, “It’s about my discharge. I won’t be upset, but you don’t realize what you are doing to me. You are only doing what you think is best for me.”

Joyce began to speak, and Michael cut her off, “I believe that what you have gone through has traumatized you to the point. You are no longer making sound judgments and returning to or even being in the same zip code with Horace Taylor. It is unwise and risky. I cannot allow you to do that in good conscience until we stabilize you. If this makes you lose confidence in me to treat you, two other good doctors practice at this center. Either one would be glad to help you, but I would like to be the one to keep helping you.”

Billy looked at him miserably and asked, “Have I gone crazy.”

This was one of the most unprofessional things a mental healthcare worker could do, but Michael could not help. He reminded him of his son so much and looked so miserable. He leaned forward and gave him a gentle hug.

He said, “No, Billy, you are not crazy. You have just had some horrible things done to you by a most awful person. It will take some work, but I will get you through this. I don’t care what it takes. Susan and I are the machine with dedication and experience. We are like combat soldiers, and we leave no one behind. You will not be the first exception. “

Joyce finally got a word in, and Michael sat back. He was doing well so far. She said, “This facility cannot legally discharge you until you have gone at least twelve hours without being medicated. Not if we discharge you, but in these cases, it is a state law we can use. We only do it in your best interest. Please believe that. Everyone here is on your side.”

Michael said, “If you want to contest this, there is a process to do so both with the hospital and the legal system. We will give you the paperwork to fill out upon your request. If the medication is impeding you from doing so, someone will assist you. You may go to the nurses' desk to use one, or we will provide you with a cell phone, which you may use to contact a lawyer. Joyce is obligated to help you find a good one if you decide. Do you understand thus far?”

Billy said, “I understand about the twelve hours. I read the paperwork I signed. Is there more?”

Michael said, “Yes, the State Judge for this district, Lance Rhinehart, has signed an order allowing us to hold you until you are stabilized. Understand, Billy, this is only the third time I have done this in a long practice. I told you upfront, honestly. From my perspective, it is you who comes first. If you contest this with a lawyer, I was informed it will take approximately two weeks to get a hearing. I am so sorry, but we will take great care of you. There will be no more of that SKU nonsense. I hope we are still friends?”

Billy smiled and said, “Of course we are, and I believe you are a good man. It is getting late on Sunday, and you are here for my benefit. If I get legal representation, it is only because I hate the nothingness. It has nothing to do with you.”

Michael Fischer stuck his hand out, and Billy shook it. Michael felt better for having to do this. He added, “You can still have visitors, not just on Sundays. They can come anytime if we are not in therapy or the like. I will turn this over to Joyce now. I am running on fumes and need a recharge. I must go home and get a little rest. I will start working every day now until you walk out those doors. Susan will be here often as well. “

In Horace’s basement, Jack-Off was boning Version 2.0. In turn, he was sucking Horace’s cock and making loud sucking sounds. There was another sucking sound in the basement. Charlotte was slowly relieving Doctor Margaret Young-Black’s vital fluids. This was just fine with Horace the Horrible. She was an inferior job-steeling bitch. Who had stolen her last one? When Charlotte was finished, she would not be doing anything anymore.