Organ - Chapter 4

ORGAN

Chapter Four

Oscar was not privy to the conversation his mother had with Boothe over the phone that morning, the overnight observation gave no results up except for the fact that in the eyes of the professionals caring for him, Oscar was indeed suffering with night terrors. Boothe was now cementing in position, he believed that the overwhelming majority of Oscars troubles came from his apparent eroding mental stability and the tumorous lump being a trigger, the straw that broke the camel’s back as the older folks would say. It was midday at Greenwood Heart Hospital when his mother finally arrived, she was wearing her name tag from work and coupled with her messy stray hair pointed towards another restless night chased up with a tiring morning. Mary made her way to Oscar’s bedside in all too familiar fashion and gave her son a kiss on the forehead, her hair didn’t smell like coconut that day. It was a minor thing to notice, but Oscar felt somehow less sure of the coming events because of it, as if a seat belt had been removed without consent. 

“What have they told you sweetheart?” she asked him while gently patting down the edge of his bed sheets, still tucking her little man in after all these years. 

“Nothing so far, I am sure they think I am a complete basket case,” Oscar almost begged his mother to take his side with his soft tone, her eyes told a vastly different story and Oscar sensed her withdrawal. 

“What have they told you?” he asked accusingly as he leaned forward his head to meet her eyes. 

“Nothing. Nothing really. Just that they think you are having panic attacks or terrors or something silly like that,” she paused and pulled back her clay brown hair that fell in her eyes, “or anxiety attacks, some kind of attack.” She continued, waving her hand as if to dismiss the line of questioning entirely. “They said that they think you might need to speak to a mental health professional while they figure out the thing in your stomach sweetheart.” 

Oscar sat and listened with almost disbelief, he expected this news, hell he even predicted it. But to hear his own mother almost agreeing with the idea that he needed help with his “damaged” mind was a cross too heavy to bare. 

“Do you think I am crazy?” he spat the words towards his mother who now recoiled in her chair. “Do you all think that I am making this up!” Oscar had never screamed at his mother like this. 

Things had grown different as he waited in the hospital. He felt betrayed, the anger was coming from a darker place, it bubbled up from his gut, and Mary felt wounded by his words. 

“Oscar please…” his mother attempted to slow his avalanche of anger that bellowed forth, but it was of no use. 

“I’M NOT FUCKING CRAZY!,” Oscar roared, it was loud enough to disturb some workers passing outside the room, they hovered a moment considering bursting in and intervening in this slight domestic before continuing with their tasks. 

With the damage done, his mother picked up her bag and coat before storming out of the room stifling her sobbing as she exited. Oscar was alone again with nothing but the simmering frustration boiling him alive. He felt like crying, but no tears fell, his mothers’ tears would be enough to water the garden of anger. It was a full two days before Oscar’s mother would call on him again, she was hurt, and the emotional bruises still sat sore from the outburst he unloaded on her at the hospital. Oscar noticed that his phone was unmoving, every moment that went past without the clarification he desired tormented and twisted his resolve. 

“How could she think I am crazy, that I am losing my mind,” he ranted to himself in the moments after his mother left that night. 

His rage was bubbling toxic, and no number of breathing exercises or positive thinking could change what had been said, her words or his. Oscar had a scheduled meeting with Boothe that afternoon, it would solve nothing and would thankfully not have much time to himself for idle thought of the drama unfolding in his family. When Mary finally came back around having tended to her emotional wounds, her face was stoic and cold. Oscar, lacking the emotional maturity to amend this situation simply lay in his bed silently as his mother quietly ambled around the room, collecting various pieces to tidy, and laying out a new selection of reading materials and snacks for Oscar to busy himself with in her absence. Occasionally both mother and child peaked from the narrow corners of their eyes at the other, hoping to be the lucky one who does not have to start up the conversation. 

“They still aren’t really cleaning in here,” she muttered to herself putting a handful of paper cups into a bin bag she carried around with her. 

“Still avoiding me,” Oscar mumbled back without looking up, she let out a heavy exhale in response.

 “I’ll have a word when I leave, I don’t really care what they are thinking. They need to take care of you when I am not here,” Mary continued devoting herself to his cause. 

Oscar smirked carefully, the way a child smiles when they remember their parents aren’t allowed to hate them forever. 

“I am sorry” he let out the words softly and spoken into his lap. 

“I know you are, let’s leave it at that, okay,” she replied. 

Her words felt sharpened but not sharp enough to pierce, Oscar knew she was coming around slowly and now even more so, the rage he unleashed days before felt misplaced. Mary sat beside her son, took his hand and the pair shared a rekindling moment of silence together for a familiar while as they talked the afternoon away in blissful hidden ignorance. Doctor Boothe made his way past the window, Oscar noticed his outline as did so in that stout white blur, he paced back gingerly moments later now with a chart in hand. Dryness grew in Oscars throat, the door opened and shut with the doctor deliberating into the room in his usual determined fashion. 

“Good morning, Oscar, Mrs Rubens,” Boothe began, “I hope you are both well,” the pauses he left never felt like they needed filling. 

Oscar wondered for a second what the opposite of a pregnant pause was before the Doctor gathered his attention once more. 

“Do you have any news, Doctor?” his mother asked with an expectant plea in her voice.

Oscar noticed that the tone of her inflections had changed, as though the entire experience was eroding her sense of person. He felt guilty and ashamed, it washed over him with a face warming tear inducing winds. 

“We do have some news, not in the way of a diagnoses, but more onto our next course of action. We need to bring Oscar back under observation this evening to further analyse his brain activity, I believe we can rule out several possibilities with another round of overnight tests” Boothe explained to the sheet pale pair opposite. 

“Well do you think that’s really….” Mrs Rubens began before her son cut her off, he placed a hand on her forearm to silence her before addressing Boothe himself. 

“Fine, that sounds good,” he confirmed his choice. 

“Excellent, I will get the nursing staff to prepare everything for this evening. I will see you later on Oscar, Mrs Rubens it was a pleasure to see you again” He smiled half-heartedly before stepping back out into the void of the corridor swirling away into another patience life. 

“What was that about?” his mother asked swivelling around to face him in bed. 

“I just don’t want to cause any more trouble, if he thinks it will help then we should try, right?” Oscar replied with dejection in his voice. 

His mother half grinned, and half sneered as she looked down at her hands, they shook slightly with nervous fever, Oscar noticed the sadness taking her and leant forward bringing her in for a hug. 

“I hate this not knowing nonsense” she mumbled through his shoulder.

“I know, I am sorry,” Oscar gently whispered back “I hate it too.” 

The evening came and went drearily into the night as most days did now, Oscar waited patiently in his room leaning into the headboard of his bed, he knew the nursing staff should be arriving soon to whisk him away to his new home-away-from-home in the observation room. Morbid curiosity was getting the better of him in the tedious wait for the attending team, Oscar looked down at his midsection, searching for the bump that was at the epicentre of these chaotic weeks. Prodding and gentle poking around his stomach Oscar noticed that unwelcome bulge, it could have been his mind playing tricks on him, but he was shocked at the size it had grown to. Where it was once less than a soy bean, it now felt firm and had doubled in size. Oscar was stunned with electricity; he dropped his robe back to his knees and recoiled in fear. 

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck” he mumbled aloud, searching frantically around the room for a mirror. 

Rushing to the bathroom he located the body length mirror attached behind the door. Pulling up his hospital gown again, the young man gently tilted and contorted his body in the fluorescent lights to catch a glimpse of what he had just discovered, there it was. Sticking out now almost an inch from his abdomen, the lump, this menacing protuberance, had more than doubled in size since his visit to the doctor’s office. Gasping in fright Oscar pulled his hands to his face, the robe flopped down once more, the dam was cracking, unable to hold back the tears any longer the water gates opened. Stood sobbing before himself in the mirror, panicked possessed thoughts raced through his mind, the room was spinning, and Oscar stumbled back clinging to the sink to steady himself from another nasty fall. 

“What the fuck are you?” Oscar mumbled through sobbed wet breaths, these panicked breaths turned to heavy sobbing, just as his emotional turmoil swallowed him up, the door to his room swung open. 

Oscar burst to the bathroom door to latch it closed trapping himself on the inside with his torment.

“Oscar, you okay in there?” an unrecognised voice called through, “We are here to take you to your appointment. Are you ready?” the mystery woman continued. 

Oscar took three or four deep breaths and summoned a steady voice, “Yeah, two seconds,” he called back, the limit of his words met. 

Continuing with his breathing exercise to calm himself, he splashed water on his face and dried himself off with a towel nearby. Staring into his eyes in the mirror, he felt that old familiar sting, “Oh no,” he whispered, “Not now, please,” he begged into the mirror as he brought his stare down to his now alarmingly large growth. Oscar stood frozen in fear, the robe seemed to be pulsing, writhing with animation, slowly with shaking hands he lifted the robe once more and with disbelief gazed upon the lump swirling beneath his skin, the sight sending him dizzy as though the room was tilting off its axis. 

“Not safe!,” the voice called out in the swirl, “Not safe!” once more it sang accompanying out a sickening groan. 

Oscar ready to succumb to another blackout was suddenly awash with steadiness, as though he was propped up by an invisible force, lifting his shoulders like a marionette yanked by its strings, he quickly drew in air, breathing harshly to capture what could be his last breath.

“Not safe?,” he mumbled to himself with trembling lips, staring once more into his own eyes in the mirror. 

“I’m not safe?,” he continued, questioning himself of the message spoken through the shadows hiding in the dimly lit bathroom. 

It was unclear to Oscar how he managed to reach the observation room that evening, his experience in the bathroom was falling away like a bad dream, and the blurry journey he took with the nurse sent for him was lost in recent memory, but the words remained echoing through his head.

“Not safe” he kept repeating to himself when he knew nobody was watching. 

Boothe and his cast of supporting actors buzzed around Oscar for an hour or so before the lights went out, lying on the observations bed, with a tangle of wires and tubes crudely feeling about his body, gathering figures and data to hand over in the morning. 

“Not safe” he whispered into the ceiling again.

“What was that Oscar? Everything okay?” a voice called in through the intercom. 

“I am fine, thank you for checking” he called back without turning his head, now aware that someone behind the glass was paying particular close attention. 

There was no inflection in his voice, sombre as he lay mulling over these two small words, puzzling over what gave them weight in the loneliness. 

He toyed with the idea of his own madness, was it something he heard out loud, or another imagination survivor seeking its way out from his collapsing mental castle. Oscar did eventually drift off to sleep, just as he had done on his previous night in this chilling room likely exhausting himself, it was still somewhat comforting to have people nearby ready to rescue him from an episode, but as his time in the hospital went on his ability to feel comfortable, even hopeful, was drifting out beyond his reach. Colours danced and intertwined in his mind’s eye as he floated into a well needed rest, they began forming shapes and structures, machines beeping away in the real world bled through as occasional beeps in his dreaming state, his mother’s face hung in the air, floating in the washy pallet he dreamt. Faces of his past and present flew past like cars on the motorway, his mothers, his fathers, childhood friends and then he paused watching these showcased people as Nurse Katies image came drifting by at a slower pace to the others, drifting as if a balloon caught in the wind she lingered and stared past him. 

Oscar attempted to speak out, but his voice had muted, Katie paid him no attention, just carried on her vacant stare into the space or lack thereof behind him. It was peaceful for a moment, and Oscar drank in the soft features of her face, pale high cheeks with dotted freckles around her nose and eyes that seemed old beyond her years. Piercing this moment was an expression exploding across her face of sheer agony, a scream unlike anything he had heard before shattered this calming spot in his mind, shards of her face began snapping away like chipped glass, a blunted scalpel plunged through her cheek and thrusted about slashing and breaking away the pieces that remained of Katies enormous vision. Before the dreaded dream would release him, Oscar watched on powerless as oil black gloved fingers slithered their way through her sliced pieces of flesh and slowly pulled away her face into two, Boothes face pressed its way breaking through hers and inched towards Oscar with a frozen predatory grin accompanied with thick viscera falling from his teeth, Oscar screamed but the noise had no life, it fell away into ruin. Oscar was saved from this torment being shaken awake, before him stood the very same image of Boothe leaning inches from his eyes. 

“Get away!” Oscar yelled up at him. 

Boothe sensing an episode instead lunged on the patient holding Oscar firmly down against the bed, “Oscar! Calm down! Try and breathe for me,” Boothe yelled through the struggle. 

“NURSE!” he yelled over his shoulder.

His nurse came rushing in and plunged a needle into his arm so deep it raked the bone. 

“Calm down Oscar, Calm now!” Boothe whispered as he stroked Oscars face, the gloves he wore a lifeless black. 

Oscar succumbed to the drugs mumbling the words to himself once more. 

“Not safe….Not safe.”

Same as always with his newly required routine, Oscar awoke in his hospital bed, his head thumping and cloudy with numbing delirium. Sunshine coming through the blinds confused any indication on the time of day, Oscar climbed clumsily to his feet and carefully walked himself to the bathroom, after relieving himself and splashing some water on his face he crawled back onto his bed, closed his eyes, and gathered himself shaking off the webs of events that dwindled and died in memory. Oscar pulled a bath robe over his hospital gown from the chair beside his bed, feeling a sting wrap itself around his neck as he did,  it was the puncture wound from a hastily administered needle. Flashes of the previous evening now shot across his mind, Katies face, Boothes gloved hands pinning him down and the sharp intense needle that tore his skin to knock him from consciousness. These thoughts made his head throb more aggressively; he pressed his fingers into his temples for a moment of relief. Interrupted by the door swinging open, letting in with it a bracing gust of cold hospital scented air, Boothe swooped into the room to dress down the unruly patient, the air he brought in hidden beneath his coat reeked of ammonia, in his fragile state it made the young man gag. 

“Hello again Oscar,” Boothe said as he shut the door behind him, the clack of the latch loud enough to close his eyes momentarily. 

“I want to speak about what happened yesterday evening, Oscar, these investigations won’t be effective if you are becoming hostile towards the staff or myself”,  Boothe delivered the warning with loathing in his voice, the friendly manner was slipping, “If we deem you a danger to our staff, or yourself, we will need to address the issue with a more…pragmatic approach”, he continued as Oscar sat with lowered drooping shoulders on his bed wishing his mother was there to fight his corner for him. 

“What…what does that mean?” Oscar asked, his voice cracking from lack of use. 

“We will recommend that you spend some time in a mental health facility, just for a few days for a specialist to assess you,” Boothe replied.

Oscars worst fears birthing in front of him, he was labelled crazy. 

“I don’t want to do that,” Oscar pleaded into his lap, shaking his head. 

“I have made the arrangements and have called your mother, she will be here as soon as she can to talk this through with you,” Boothe took off his glasses and held them to his waist, “I am sorry Oscar, this is for the best,” his assurance fell on deaf ears. 

“You know you hurt me the other night with that needle” Oscar blurted out, never raising his voice but breaking the silence that Boothe was happy to leave the room in. The Doctor stared across the room as Oscar avoided his glare. 

“Goodbye Oscar” Boothe called back as he took his leave. 

A few moments of silence and shock passed, Oscar reached for his phone on the bedside table, accidentally leaning on his ever-growing lump as he did, sending him recoiling in pain. 

“Shit!” he shouted at the empty spaces surrounding him. 

Swiping away at the glass screen he found his mother’s number; it rang on for what felt like a deliberate eternity. “Hello?” Mary answered with the wind behind her making her words harder to hear. 

“Mum, it’s Oscar” he answered, his trembling voice riddled with anxiety. 

“Hello sweetheart, I am on my way to see you, just had to stop and post some bits for work first,” she was speaking as though no news had reached her. 

“Have you spoken to Doctor Boothe this morning?” Oscar asked in investigation.

There was silence for a while only interrupted by the whooshing of traffic at his mother’s end of the line. 

“Yes, I have,” she replied with obvious pacing to catch her breath. 

“And?” Oscar continued probing for more information. 

“I will talk you through it when I get there okay?” she instructed knowing her son was still in a vulnerable head space. 

Oscar paused and considered his next words carefully,

“Okay Mum, I will see you soon,” he mumbled, ended the call, and sat back once more against his pillow.

 Fiddling with the phone between his fingers, he gazed at the reflections it cast against the walls, “Not safe” he whispered into his friendless void hoping the meaning of this repeating phrase would illuminate itself soon.

Hours rolled past, Oscar awaited the appearance of his mother or another pop in from Doctor Boothe, but nobody disturbed his isolation. It was without question in his mind that the staff, perhaps even his mother, are actively avoiding the crazy kid down the hall prone to outbursts and fits, this lunatic hearing voices and hurting himself was not to be troubled. Oscar would have cried if he had any tears left to donate for this passage of pain in his life. Memories flashed through his mind as he sat uncomfortably against the headboard, he recalled that morning his mother called the local doctors. His memories felt antagonistic, Oscar wanted to shake them off with a walk. For the first time since he arrived at Greenwood Heart he ventured alone through the halls. Turning as he left the room to memorise his door number and shutting it behind him. Strolling through the halls in his cotton slippers, Oscar gazed about the place as a spectre, nobody seemed to notice his presence or meet his eyeline. Down a flight of stairs, the afternoon wanderer found himself at the nurses station, it was empty barring one older woman sitting at a desk mulling over some paperwork, she reminded Oscar of his grandmother from a distance but as he stepped closer her face, obviously worn with tired lines from an intense career choice, was unfamiliar. Stepping around the counter Oscar let his eyes run about; various rotas, schedules, order forms and regulations covered the walls in a messy clerical collage. 

“Can I help you handsome?” the lone nurse called up over the counter at him.

“No, no thank you. Just stretching my legs” he replied catching her stare out the corner of his eye. “I am actually waiting for my Mum, but I think she is running late,” Oscar continued the monologue, almost speaking to himself rather than the woman behind the counter. 

“Oh, how nice, what’s your name? Let me check and see if she signed in downstairs already” the nurse was kind, her tone friendly and Oscar found himself put out by someone treating him like a human again and not a dangerous trapped animal. 

“Oscar Rubens” he gave his name over excitedly, drawn in by the receptive energy from his new nurse friend. 

She clacked away after nodding in acknowledgement before suddenly stopping and adjusting herself in her chair. 

“I’m sorry Oscar, your Doctor has put you on protective care” she began explaining as the dread began swallowing Oscar back into the floor with vinyl fingers reaching at his legs, 

“What does that mean?” he asked innocently. 

“Well….,” The nurse adjusted her glasses nervously “It means that you aren’t allowed visitors right now but might be able to have visitors again soon,” she explained but it still made no sense to Oscar, he saw Boothe earlier this morning and he mentioned nothing of being on lockdown. 

“I don’t understand, can you get Doctor Boothe please?” Oscar asked with a shakiness taking control. 

“Honestly, you shouldn’t really be out of your room right now Hun, perhaps I should walk you back?,” she offered no answer but instead gave him a subtle order to follow. 

Oscar turned away slowly still attempting to understand what is going on before breaking into a light run back to his room. Oscar buzzed nervously around the security of his room, a frantic energy, so fretful it would have concerned any unfortunate passerby, had they not all been avoiding his eye-contact and the vicinity of his room. Mary was ignoring his calls and text messages, it was unlike her, her son knew something was wrong if she were distancing herself most likely at Boothes orders.

“What could he have told her?” Oscar spoke to himself as he continued moving from one corner of the room to the other. “Why would she believe him?,” he continued only serving to ramp up his irritation and animation, Oscar reached for his bag his mother left behind for him and dug through his belongings. 

Inside he could only find his metallic water bottle, loose toiletries, and a bundle of up hastily packed socks and underwear. But even without the desired goods in his possession, the plan was forming in ugly fragmented pieces, Oscar was leaving the hospital, in his mind it was the only call to make before he is locked away in a cage for the remainder of his life. Glimpses of his father raced through his brain, the young patient now doing all he could to put any notions of his mother out of his conscience. Oscar knew was not exactly going to be light of foot in any jailbreak, he had not put himself through any exercise in days that did not consist of walking from one room to the other, or bracing his body against the headboard, truth be told he had no real idea of where the hospital exit could even be found. Outside of some rough ideas he did not recall much of his admittance to the facility and while the maps he passed today gave him some indication, he was for the most part heading out into the unknown which had become in his mind enemy territory. Oscars eagerness, probably nervousness, got the better of him and despite still wearing hospital recognised pyjamas was determined to leave Greenwood for good. He slung his bag over his shoulder and carefully opened the door to his room, casual enough in his mind to minimise any attention knowing how unnecessarily loud the latches tended to be, the corridor still flowed with bodies that continued to ignore the unusual patient. 

With the room behind him and the shaky confidence carrying his feet beneath him, Oscar made tracks for the exit still unknown to him. Following what he could visualize in his mind from the brief glimpse of the map earlier that day, he balanced a dance of steps cautiously and deliberately as to not attract any glances. It was paranoia handling the wheel and Oscar sat in the passenger seat watching the breakout unfold. Oscar felt as though had been wandering the halls for hours, all the corridors and various floors seemed identical in deliberate labyrinth. In a moment of heart attacking alarm. Oscar stepped in and quickly stepped back out of view from the open door into Boothes office, the doctor was sitting at his desk, writing, and keeping himself occupied much to the runaway patients luck. Oscar considered his options rapidly while the fear took hold, he threw up his arm over his face to hide himself and made a quick hustle past the doctor’s office. Boothe looked up from his desk but dismissed the passerby, his eyes wandering with tiresome labour back to his paperwork without suspicion. Making lost steps further into the labyrinth and taking another flight of stairs down, Oscar found himself facing a large graphic with labelled directions to various points of the hospital, including the elusive exit to the car park.

“There you are,” Oscar mumbled under his breath letting out some heavy quick breaths to catch himself. 

It was now within his reach, the doors to the exit came into view beyond an abandoned check-in desk, the only people in the vicinity sat patients awaiting to be admitted. 

“Now or never” he encouraged himself. 

If Oscar were to escape, this was going to be his best chance. Adjusting his backpack over his shoulder, he clutched his hand over his phone tightly and rushed for the doors, the only glass panels between himself and freedom. The visions of the outside world appeared beautiful, the car park was busy with arrivals and wanderers, but it beamed an aura of normality. Oscar stepped out of the doors and stood at the foot of the “drop off” curb, only an ambulance and a young couple loitered around the entrance, although they seemed pre-occupied in searching for each other’s tonsils. Seemingly free, his mind raced as he searched out across the car park, his plan was to get out, everything else after the matter was simply going to be improvisation, something Oscar was not well-versed in. Spotting a bus stop across the lot he took another look over his shoulder, still aware of his location, and brought up his phone. Mum had called, he missed it, the vibrations didn’t even register as he was anxiously moving through the hospital.

“Christ,” he breathed out with a sigh, knowing this could only tangle events further into knots.

Oscar felt a shroud of misery breathing angst into his veins as they pulsed. Oscar made the decision to switch off his phone and dropped it into his backpack, he would deal with the fallout from ignoring his mother another time, hopefully on safer grounds. As he stepped off the curb, a solid weight came down on his shoulder reminiscent of his horrendous dream nights before, a strong hand had hold of him. Spinning round to face his jailer, the gravity of his situation come crashing down around him, the hand that held him in place belonged to an extremely overweight security guard, his sweaty dripping brow was indicative of a man who had just hustled down an unpleasant amount of stairs in pursuit of a runaway. 

“Oscar Rubens?” he gasped out between deep inhales that shook his vast cumbersome frame. “Are you Oscar Rubens?” he continued still thirsty for a gallon of air. 

Staring into his red puffy face, Oscar saw an opportunity to claw out one last effort of resistance.

 “No, I am not,” he coldly answered, trying to steady his voice from the adrenaline coursing through his body. 

The rotund guard released Oscar from his grasp, his thick hand falling to his legs in effortless slump, he once again wiped off his brow. 

“I am very sorry, I am looking for a kid that might have come this way,” the guard explained in earnest. 

“Well, I can’t help unfortunately. I just came out for a breath of air,” Oscar slyly replied, turning to face the traffic once more. 

“Oscar, where do you think you are going?” Boothes death sentence voice called from behind him.

Shivers dripped down his spine, Oscar was spotted, Boothe was stood in the hospital door way like a lord at his castle gates, a look of stoney calm over his face. 

“I was just getting some air,” Oscar tried to explain, his lie was even wetter than the forehead of the security guard who had taken a step back and wheezed unhealthy wheezes. 

“Let’s not lie to each other Oscar” Boothe started as he made his way over; he took the young man under his arm and together faced the car park that still flowed with comings and goings. “You know you won’t ever find out what is going on with you,” he continued, “with that…swelling in your stomach if you don’t let me complete my examinations” Boothe rattled off almost gloating. The doctor took his free hand that loitered in his coats pocket and firmly poked Oscar in the side of his stomach, not directly into the lump, but close enough to trigger a raw twinge, Oscar winced momentarily closing his eyes. “Let’s get you back inside and we can finish up, you will be out of here in a few days, just let me do my job without all this aggravation. I want to help you, Oscar, you believe me, right?” Boothe said with a firmness to his voice. Oscar was paralysed with fear, his speech was absent, his body was trembling.

“Yes Doctor Boothe, I am sorry,” Oscar whispered out, his voice painting his trepidation across the front of the hospital in an embarrassing mural of shame. 

His escape from prison, had failed. Boothe escorted Oscar every slow conquered pace back through the hospital, the security guard complicit in his capture was trailing not far behind them, Oscar pondered for a moment if the guard was armed with anyone besides clogged arteries. On there walk back to the same room Oscar has occupied for well over a week now, they came past the nurses station, the same station which Oscar stopped by and shared a momentarily enjoyable, normal, conversation with an older nurse. He wondered if it was her who called for the Doctor and security after he had spooked her with his mere presence outside his cage. Once they had arrived back at his original room, Boothe took his backpack off his shoulder, which startled the young man yet again, and gently gave him a soft guiding hand towards his bathroom. 

“Get yourself washed up, I will have someone come up and give you some food and nice tea, then we can discuss this a little later on in my office. Would that be all right Oscar?” Boothe instructed, his deliberation was posed as a question, but it was an instruction, an order. 

Oscar was silent. He walked to the bathroom, locked himself inside, dropping to the floor with his skull slumped against the door. He failed, his mother was most definitely inbound, Boothe would recommend a mental health facility as Oscars next phase of treatment, and on top of all that, he did not see Boothe put his backpack down in his room. The doctor took it with him for “safe keeping.” His phone included.