#mtyf

After the initial bump of three days in the Comfort Room, Ryan remained on relatively good form for the next week. Apart from constantly answering back to Gavin for their first few sessions, he showed no signs of acting out again. A risk-to-self assessment determined that he was allowed to change to a room with an en-suite (a rather grandiose term for a large closet with a washbasin and a toilet in). The person administering the test told Ryan that they’d rather have everyone in rooms with their own facilities, but unfortunately they had seen too many suicide attempts via drowning using the basin or the toilet bowl.

“How many have you lost from that?” Ryan asked as he waited for his results to be determined.

“None. Too many attempts to count, though.”

Despite this, he still needed to be escorted to Shower Time every day and a week into his routine, he still found it degrading and embarrassing.

He kept to himself mostly. The other residents at North Ward still seemed too scared of him to approach him, apart from one shaky-looking man who asked him for a cigarette. Ryan told him that he didn’t smoke, sorry, but that was a lie. Gavin had bought him some cigarettes the day before as a reward for good behaviour (mostly) and he was in no mood to share his reward. He’d earned it and he wasn’t about to share it with some junkie. He made a mental note to make sure that his Smoking Time was never at the same time as that dude’s.

***

“Let’s talk about drugs.”

Ryan rolled his eyes. Gavin wasn’t sure why he expected a different reaction.

“Come on Ryan. Don’t roll your eyes at me. Be a good boy and maybe I can get you some ice cream!” Gavin responded jokingly.

Ryan glared up at him, the effort he put into not rolling his eyes obvious in his expression. Gavin laughed.

“Come on, Ryan. Let’s talk about drugs.”

“The ones they’re stuffing me with here? Which I’m pretty sure are gonna do jack shit, by the way.”

“No. Drugs. Illegal narcotics. What was your involvement with them?”

“Taking or selling?”

“Both. Why not.”

“Alright.” Ryan shifted his weight on the edge of the bed. It wasn’t very comfy, but it was a hell of a lot comfier than the gammy mattress in the Comfort Room. Gammy, heh. He laughed to himself. He’d never heard that word until he met Gavin. He liked it. “I mainly sold it. I sold to dealers mainly, but I wasn’t the head honcho. I’d get supply passed down to me to sell onto the street dealers. Occasionally I’d sell to higher profile contacts.”

“Who was in charge of you?”

“No idea. I never met the guy. Or woman. They always sent a person to me with the supply and when I was out I always had a guy who would go back to them with their portion of the profit. I took a 35% cut. It was a good deal.”

“Didn’t you ever want to know who you were working for? That sort of setup would freak me out a little.” Gavin replied, shuddering a little in his chair.

“I didn’t care, I was making money. I was never out of pocket.”

“So you never took drugs?”

“Oh no, I took drugs,” Ryan admitted openly. “I had to make sure my eventual customers were getting a good product. I wouldn’t call my drug taking a habit, merely quality control. If there was one drug that I’d call a vice, it’d be weed. Not that I needed that per se. I just enjoyed it. It was nice to see a day out with a joint and a glass of whiskey.”

“I’m surprised you’re so forthcoming with this information, Ryan.” Gavin admitted, inching his chair closer to Ryan.

“What’s the point of hiding it? The whole, horrible truth may as well come out now rather than when I’m being subjected to ECT as a last resort and I run my mouth.”

Gavin considered Ryan’s response. “Fair enough. Were you ever high when you killed?”

Gavin was always reluctant to ask Ryan about his crimes. It was then that he turned from a deadpan, withdrawn individual into someone downright… creepy.

A horrible smile crept across Ryan’s face. “No.” he said. “I didn’t need it to feel good. In fact, it was better when I was sober. I was so much more in control. I could really enjoy it, enjoy it for what it was. Do you want to know what my favourite method was?”

No, Gavin thought immediately, but for his notes, his case, his career reputation, he had to know.

“Go on.”

“Choking was pretty good, but I rarely had the proper time to indulge in that. That required setup. Stabbing is fun too. I know there’s a whole can of worms to be opened with that, because it’s penetration and a substitute for sex or something, whatever. No. The best one was snapping someone’s neck. Because it was quick and efficient and they never see it coming. Sure, when you bring someone home with you for the night and you watch them slowly cotton on to your plan, that’s a whole lot of fun, but snapping a neck is like junk food. Quick, easy and satisfying. And the sound is great too. It’s like popping bubblewrap.”

Gavin could feel the bile rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down painfully. With trembling fingers he made vague notes on his iPad. This guy better win me a Nobel Prize for dealing with sociopaths, Gavin thought to himself.

Suddenly, the sick grin from Ryan’s face fell away.

“Gavin, are you okay? You’re pale.”

Gavin gulped and mentally shook himself. “I’m fine, Ryan. I’m just not used to such graphic description.”

“Oh.” Ryan stared blankly at Gavin before looking briefly at the floor. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“No! Don’t be!” Gavin said. “It’s part of my job, after all. It’s just been a while since I’ve worked with someone…” Gavin trailed off, not sure how to put what he wanted to say into words.

“Like me?” Ryan offered. Gavin nodded. He wanted to avoid using that phrase, but it couldn’t really be avoided.

Haywood capable of at least feigning regretful behaviour. Progress? Gavin typed out on his iPad.

Ryan reached to his intact bedside table and took the bottle of water sat on it. He offered it to Gavin.

This simple gesture threw Gavin into panic. Ryan wouldn’t have poisoned the water. Surely not? Even so, was he ready to share water with a serial killer?

Reluctantly, Gavin took the bottle and drank from it. He maintained eye contact with Ryan throughout. Ryan’s expression remained neutral.

“Thank you,” Gavin said, handing the bottle back to Ryan, who placed it back on the bedside table. Exactly in the middle, Gavin noticed. He made a brief note of the interaction on his tablet and as he went to his plan for the session, his watch beeped. Their time was up for the afternoon.

“You gotta get going?” Ryan asked. Ryan asked that same question every time Gavin’s watch beeped. Maybe insanity really was doing (in this case, asking) the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

“Yep,” Gavin replied. “I won’t see you til Monday now.”

Mentor sessions weren’t held on Sundays, Ryan found out. They were “days off” for patients. For most patients, this meant spending their time in the Common Room. Ryan spent his last Sunday in the Reading Room, reading through old furniture magazines. All literature available to patients had to be vetted and deemed fit for reading by hospital officials.

Gavin pressed the button on his iPad and got up to leave. Ryan copied, standing up too.

“Until Monday, Gavin.” He said, outstretching his hand. They had shaken hands before, but it was Gavin who had been initiating it before. The gesture threw Gavin for six. Apart from the initial greeting, he wasn’t actually supposed to make any physical contact with the patient apart from in case of an emergency. He was pretty sure that drinking Ryan’s water was a violation of some kind of rule, too. On a whim, he took Ryan’s hand and shook it.

“See you,” Gavin said, before the door to Ryan’s room was opened to let him out.

***

Back in Gavin’s apartment, Gavin went over the events of the day.

There was something about Ryan’s… humanity that was bothering him. The medication and talking therapy couldn’t have been working that well already… could they? He couldn’t think of anything else. He had noticed that he maybe had a better connection with Ryan than anyone else at North Ward, but that didn’t explain Ryan’s “kind” gestures. He decided to put it out of his mind. He had a meeting with his boss between sessions with Ryan on Monday, he’d bring it up then.

But for the rest of the night, as he cooked his dinner, as he watched TV, as he read, as he bathed, he couldn’t get Ryan out of his mind. He wanted it to be Monday. He wasn’t sure if it was because the case and the subject were interesting and he wanted to learn more, or if it was because there was some small, morbidly curious part of him that sort of… liked Ryan? Found him to be a likable person? He told himself that it was because the work he was doing was fascinating and Ryan just happened to be the subject. He loved his work. He hadn’t been this enthusiastic about a case in years.

That night, he had a dream about Ryan again. Set outside of North Ward, this time, Gavin was trudging through the desert, sun beating down on his face (and nose). He was tired, exhausted and dehydrated. In the distance he saw a figure, and after what felt like a year, he reached the figure. It was Ryan, holding the same bottle of water Gavin had drank from. Ryan offered the bottle to Gavin, who again was reluctant to take the bottle. Ryan’s hands were bloody, and there was blood smeared on the bottle.

“You’ll die if you don’t drink,” was all Ryan said.

Gavin looked at the expanse of desert before him and looked at the bloodied bottle. He glanced up at Ryan, whose face was expressionless, but there was something about his face that Gavin could trust.

He was mad at the guards for throwing him in there, but for the first time in long, long time, he was mad at himself for acting out. His rational brain knows that for misbehaving, there are punishments, but he’s not had to suffer consequences for his actions before – until a few weeks ago when he was first arrested. For a few seconds, he blames himself for ending up in the Comfort Room and wishes he didn’t act out, but then the anger comes back and all he wants to do is get out and show them just how angry he is.

Had his fingernails not been clipped upon committal, he would have tried to claw at the stupid padding on the walls. He had tried, but instead burned his fingertips red raw on the material of the wall. He wasn’t the screaming type, but had come very close to being one. He threw himself at the wall as hard as he could, to see just how padded and soft it was, and had eventually tired himself out enough to sleep. He wasn’t sure if he had to spend three whole days in the Comfort Room, or just spend three nights there, but either way, he hated the place and wished he never had to see the place again.

At zero six hundred hours, North Ward security opened the door to his cell and escorted him out. He was told that at six hundred hours every morning, apart from Saturdays, he would be woken up and taken to the bathroom. He had ten minutes shower time, five minutes dressing time and then another ten minutes to comb his hair and brush his teeth before walking down to the dining room for breakfast, which was served between zero six thirty and zero seven thirty hours. Patients were encouraged to take time eating breakfast, as it was the most important meal of the day. It was also the time when a lot of patients took their medication. Ryan had been prescribed Risperdal, Anquil, and Zyprexa. He wasn’t convinced that drugs would fix him.

Shower time was awkward and degrading. He wasn’t sure if it was routine, or if it was just because of him, but he did not enjoy being watched by security as he stripped and washed himself under the lukewarm water. He could only imagine what the more paranoid patients would make of that, if it were a regular occurrence. He had been previously charged a fine for public indecency (he’d been caught giving someone head in what he thought were private woodlands – this had been years ago, but it was still on his record, hence the “anti-sexual deviancy” drug) but still, he did not enjoy being naked and wet in front of complete strangers.

When he was clean and dressed, he made his way down to the dining room for breakfast – which was today a selection of cereals, some toast and a bowl of porridge with a scoop of jam in it if you wanted. Ryan didn’t want. He ate his breakfast and took his tablets fairly quickly, but was not allowed to leave the dining room until zero seven thirty hours. He was told that usually, morning Game Time would follow breakfast, down in the common room, but because of Ryan’s behaviour, he would miss out on it and return to the Comfort Room until ten hundred hours. Ryan rolled his eyes. He felt like child being sent to the naughty step. Sure, he may have a few screws loose, but he was still an adult and wanted to be treated as such. He got angry and nearly lashed out at a guard, but saved it for when he was in the Comfort Room. He was thrown in and the door was closed behind him. The slat in the door opened up and guard spoke to him as he stood up after landing on the mattress.

“Doctor Free, your mentor, will be here shortly.”

“He better be!” Ryan yelled at the door, but his cry was answered with the slat slamming shut.

I fucking hate this place, he muttered to himself, taking off his sneakers and starting to pace. I’ll top myself, that’ll show them. Then they’ll be sorry-

Ryan caught himself mid-thought. He looked around him. There was no way, even if he wanted to, that he could kill himself in this room. He didn’t particularly want to, thinking about it.

“It would show them, though.” His subconscious told him.

I know it would, Ryan replied, but then I’d be dead and gone, and I wouldn’t be able to do anything. God, I’d like to wring those guards dry. Choke ‘em until their eyes pop out of their skulls…

Ryan was lost in the fantasy for a minute or two before there was a knock at the door. His head snapped upwards at the noise.

“Come in?” Ryan asked, not sure if he was in a position to make a decision about his visitor.

The door opened. Ryan was expecting an old, miserable-looking bespectacled man carrying a clipboard to walk in, but instead he was greeted by a young man, with unruly hair, a rather large nose and a goofy smile. He was carrying an iPad. He closed the door behind him and sat cross-legged on the floor, in front of Ryan.

Pretty, Ryan thought. He sat down and mirrored the doctor’s pose.

“Hi Ryan. I’m Gavin Free, and I’m going to be your mentor.”

Doctor Free had a British accent, an accent Ryan hadn’t heard for a long time. He liked it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Doctor Free,” Ryan drawled. Gavin stuck out his hand and Ryan took it. Ryan knew he had a good, firm handshake, and he could tell from the look on Gavin’s face that he was a little bit intimidated by it.

“Call me Gavin. I’m not here for formalities. I’m here to help you work through your problems and to get you out of here.”

“You really think I’m going to get out of here?” Ryan asked, stifling a laugh. “Do you even know why I’m here?”

Gavin shrunk back. “Ah yes, well… you never know. If you show signs of real improvement, you might get out. It’s possible.”

Ryan smirked. “I don’t think I’ll be getting out anytime soon.”

“That may be the case,” Gavin replied, “but don’t let that put you off.”

Ryan chuckled. The kid was so naïve. Ryan knew exactly what he was – evil, insane, lucky to have escaped the death penalty – he’d been cast the role of the villain. He knew exactly what he had done, and given the chance to go back and change it, he would not have changed a single second of all the atrocious things he’d done.

“Do you know what I was thinking about before you came in here?” Ryan asked.

“Uh… no, no I don’t, Ryan. Do you want to tell me?”

“I was thinking about how great it would be to choke one of the guards. To death, I mean. It would be so good, to wrap my hands around one of their necks and just, y’know, crush their windpipe. Watch ‘em struggle. It’s fantastic, having all that power. I can make it slow, watch their faces go red and purple, and eventually they go slack. Or I can make it quick and dramatic. I don’t like that so much. They flail about too much. When it’s slow, I like looking them in the eyes. They’re so scared of me, but they can’t look anywhere else. And slowly, but surely, the light in their eyes just… goes away. It’s so satisfying.” Ryan bit his lip, smiling at the image. “Write that down on your fucking iPad. I’m sure that’ll make interesting bedtime reading.”

Gavin was dumbfounded for a few seconds, not quite sure how to respond to Ryan’s tirade. Working with this man really is going to be a challenge, Gavin thought to himself.

“Do you think about that often?” Gavin asked.

“What? Choking someone? Or killing in general? I suppose. Today I’m angry that I’m stuck in here again. I’m missing out on Game Time. Boo-fucking-hoo. But I do fucking hate being in here.”

“How did you end up in here? You’ve barely been here a day.”

Ryan sighed. “I smashed my bedside table.”

“And why would you do a thing like that?”

“Because I was angry.”

“And why were you angry?”

“Jesus, what is this, fucking Twenty Questions or some shit?” Ryan snapped. “I was mad because I was told my mentor was coming around to see me. And you fucking didn’t, so I was lied to, and I don’t like being lied to.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, Ryan. I had a lot on my plate last night, and by the time I had finished, it was late. So late, I should have been out of the office for at least two hours.”

Ryan seethed silently. He stared Gavin down, but Gavin returned his gaze confidently, before turning to his iPad to look at his notes.

“Now, I will be with you twice a day for the foreseeable future – around this time of day, and mid-afternoon. If you show signs of improvement, then these visits might be cut down in the future. How does that sound?”

“Thank fucking Christ.” Ryan muttered.

“You’re pleased?”

“Someone sane that’ll actually talk to me and not treat me like a baby. Did you know I’m pretty smart? I’ve got a degree and everything.”

“I’ve seen. I’m impressed. That’s really impressive for someone from your background. In animation, was it? Why’d you give that up?”

“Because it’s a tough industry to crack and I was getting fed up of going to interview after interview and not getting anywhere. It’s when this whole thing started,” Ryan said, gesturing his hand to the room around him. “And now I’m here.”

Gavin smiled sympathetically. He was lucky that he’d had job security since day one. Although he couldn’t imagine snapping to the point where he resorted to murder. That thought didn’t need to bother him now – he had a job, and his job was to help people like James Ryan Haywood.

“What do you prefer to be called? James or Ryan? It says Ryan here, but if you’re looking to reinvent yourself-“

“James,” he spat, “no one’s called me that since my mother. Ryan is just fine. I’ve always been a Ryan, and always will be.”

“Alrighty then,” Gavin said, making a mental note. “Ryan it is.”

The rest of Gavin’s time with Ryan was spent going over the rules. No smoking in the building, he had to get smoking permission from the guards on duty. He had to be prompt for meals and cooperate at all times, lest he end up in the Comfort Room again. Strictly no physical contact with other patients or staff members, and any form of abuse will not be tolerated.

As their time drew to a close, Gavin pressed a button on his iPad.

“What’s that for?” Ryan asked.

“Just letting the guards know to come and let me out.”

“They’re not outside?” Ryan responded, sounding genuinely surprised.

“No. This is about trust, Ryan, and I don’t think that having those guards outside does anything to help us.”

Gavin got up to leave. Ryan stayed on the floor. As Gavin turned his back, Ryan spoke up.

“Doctor Free?”

“I’ve said, call me Gavin-“

“Gavin?”

“Yes, Ryan?”

“I’d like to choke you, one day.” Ryan declared, smirking. “Not to death. Just to see what you’d look like. I’d like to rough you up a bit.”

Gavin gulped and felt his face burn bright red.

“I’ll see you later, Ryan.” Gavin said, trying not to convey any fear in his voice.

***

“So, how was he?” Gavin’s superior asked when Gavin returned to the staff room. Another doctor shoved a cup of coffee in his hands – clearly they were all eagerly awaiting his return.

“Hard to get used to. He’s very… superhero villain. All smirks and creepy smiles. But I can tell it’s going to be interesting. Hard, challenging, probably disturbing, but interesting.”

“He didn’t threaten you? Or make any unsavoury remarks?”

Gavin paused.

“No, sir.”

*** That night, Gavin dreamt of Ryan. He dreamt he was locked in the Comfort Room, with Ryan smiling an odd, genuinely friendly smile at him. They were both kneeling. Gavin craned his neck upwards as Ryan outstretched his hands.

“Yes?” Ryan asked.

“Yes.” Gavin replied.