A Jar Of Angst

"Uh…" Ae rubbed the back of their neck awkwardly, then crouched down to be at eye-level with Whumpee. The poor thing was covered in cuts and bruises peeking through every hole in their tattered shirt. "There, there…"

"Is it over?" Whumpee wept. "Is it really over? I'm out? You're not here to hurt me?"

"We're here to take you to safety," Bee assured them clumsily. It was weird to hear them try to sound reassuring and gentle. They were the type to bark commands at others, not comfort the downtrodden.

"I'm gonna wait upstairs," Cea said, quickly escaping the situation. Bee followed after them without a word. Ae was left alone with a sobbing Whumpee, still clutching the fabric of their pants and refusing to let go when they tried to gently pry their fingers off.

"Hey," Ae tried. "You're okay now. Let go."

"What if they come back?"

"Whumper?"

Whumpee nodded.

"They won't. We gave them a good scare, I doubt they'll even stay in the city. Uh, where do we bring you? Any family we can notify?"

Whumpee shook their head. "They died. They were… They were killed. Whumper killed them. In front of— In front of me. I couldn't do anything. I tried, I swear I tried, but I couldn't do anything."

Oh. They were traumatised beyond belief. This was definitely out of their ballpark. "Okay, um… Then, I guess, a police station—"

"No!" Whumpee cut in, desperate. "No, they know the police, the police will notify them, please, not the police, anything but the police—"

"Okay, okay. Uh… Man, I mean— A hospital?"

"Can I go with you?" they asked in a small voice. "You saved me."

"We don't really… Hm. I mean… Uh…"

"I won't be a bother. I don't eat much, I can sleep in the corner on the floor, you won't even notice I'm there—"

"You're most definitely not sleeping in the corner if you come with us," Ae said sternly, feeling a little more in their element. "We'll rearrange the rooms, Bee can come sleep with me, you can get Bee's room. If you're afraid to sleep alone, Cea can sleep with you. Then we even have a spare room. Come on, let go of my pants and let's sort this out."

Whumpee stared up at them with their big, teary eyes. "I can really stay with you?"

"Yes. I'm sure the others would agree to it. Come on, Whumpee. Let's go."

Whumpee nodded. "Thank you. I… I'm just so scared. I'm sorry for crying like this."

The woods were cold and wet and full of shadows by the time he slowed and crumbled down at the base of a large tree. He couldn’t keep going at the pace he had kept for the last 30 minutes since he had stepped outside.

He thought he might’ve heard someone calling his name but after extended listening he hoped he was only being paranoid because as much as he strained he heard nothing after that.

His poly-cotton scrubs were damp with perspiration and dotted with spots of blood where thorns and sticks had caught him. His feet were far worse off with only the hospital socks between them and the forest floor.

He would sit and catch his breath for only a few minutes before he’d keep going. In the back of his mind he was aware that exposure was a real threat especially in contrast with the single layer of cotton he was wearing.

The sound of twigs breaking in a sharp crack stopped his heart for a moment. His first thought was it would be a deer. Guards would be much louder, lumbering, he tried to reason as his eyes darted around the dimming forest.

Fear pierced his chest as he registered a person about 15 yards from him.

Then he realized who it was-

It was his dad. He’d recognize the sheriff’s hat and those sloped shoulders anywhere.

At first, Xavier felt relief—real, aching relief.

A beat of silence passed between them, thick with a strange ache. His father looked tired—his hair disheveled, but his clothes were too clean for the forest. He took a few slow steps forward, hands visible.

“Xavier,” he said, quiet. “There you are.”

And for a fleeting moment, something bloomed in Xavier’s chest. His throat tightened. His fingers twitched. His dad had come. Himself. Not staff. Not other officers. Maybe—

-Maybe if he asked the right way. If he explained it carefully. If he was calm. Maybe this was the way back. Maybe his dad could see he wasn’t dangerous, he wasn't sick. Maybe he could see how badly Xavier needed his help- maybe- just maybe he could help.

Xavier rose slowly, unsteady. “Dad…” His voice cracked. “I’m okay. I promise. I am sorry- I just- I can’t stay there- I can’t.”

His father’s face didn’t shift from his guarded expression.

A ripple of movement behind the trees made Xavier’s stomach pit.

Two deputies emerged from the woods. Quiet. Measured. Slowly pacing so as not to spook their target.

Xavier’s eyes darted between them. “Dad?” he said again, his voice raw, but the man’s mouth was a tight line.

One of them held a radio. They circled to move into place behind Xavier.

He blinked.

Oh.

He wasn’t found—he was located. Tracked. Only to be brought back in.

And his father wasn’t here to save him. He was just the one who could catch him.

The hope that had flared so briefly snuffed out.

Xavier flinched but did not resist as one of the deputies took him gently by the arm, the other hovering a foot or two away. He stood mutely as his dad placed his too large jacket over his shoulders. He said something about it being cold.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t beg. He went stiff and quietly, allowing them to walk him out of the woods with a deputy’s hand gripping his arm and to a road where the police cruisers were parked. The other deputy used his radio, “Yep- we found him. Positive.”

No one else spoke.

They put him in the back of his dad’s cruiser, lock clicking on the door. He stared mutely through the windshield at the deputy’s car leading the drive back. Mud caking his ankles, socks torn and dyed red in places. His father rode in silence in the cruiser’s passenger seat, back rigid, not once looking back, saying nothing.

The building came into view like a fortress. Gated windows, locked rooms, and staff at every corner, clipboards in hand and ready for his return he knew.

Xavier felt his pulse quicken against his will.

He stayed completely still in his seat, even as the deputy opened the door and motioned for him to come out.

And even as the second came around and gently touched his arm, “Come on, Xavier. It’s okay.”

“No,” he said quietly, almost too low to be heard.

The deputy hesitated for a moment, glancing back at the sheriff for a fraction of a second. “It’s okay, Xavier. Just up the steps.” This deputy had used to play paperclip basketball with him at the station when Xavier was younger.

Xavier could feel his body locking up. “No,” he said louder. “No, I am not going back- please-”

Neither replied to this. One nodded to the other and then he was being dragged out with a strong grip to his upper arm.

His dads jacket slipped off his shoulders to the ground.

An orderly stepped outside followed by others. “We can take it from here. Thank you, officers.”

Like a stray dog being returned.

“Please don’t make me go-” Xavier’s voice broke. He twisted and weakly tried to pull away, his injured stockinged feet dragging on the pavement trying to get a purchase- any kind of leverage.

It took both deputies full effort now to hold him between them.

He caught his father’s eyes- standing by the car, hands clenched at his sides, watching, silent.

“Dad! I’ll be good- I’ll be good, I promise- just don’t make me go back- I can’t stay there-” Xavier shouted, a pitiful last effort, even by his standards. His voice was rough and ragged with desperation.

But his father didn’t move.

Didn’t come forward.

Didn’t order them away.

Didn’t so much as say a word.

The familiar grips of orderlies were taking his upper arms, bending him forward and guiding him up the stairs and through the door.

Xavier craned his head again and caught the distant, sunken look of a man who had delivered his own son to strangers and now watched them drag him away like a convict.

*

Inside was a team of people waiting for him. He was no longer struggling. Immediately there was a paper pot with two little pills being brought to his face. He swallowed them and the sip of water in the accompanying pot without hesitation, for once not caring what they were.

“Attaboy, just something to bring you down a little. Now why don’t we clean you up?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at the nurse speaking. He wasn’t listening. His mouth was still too dry. His legs moved out of instinct, half-dragged, half-guided, his thoughts a blur of bereavement and quiet horror.

His father had watched as they dragged him away begging. Just watched.

He was being led back down the corridors before his dazed mind could consider what might be in store for him now.

He wasn’t taken back to the ward—no, straight to Observation.

They stripped him of everything.

He stayed still as his muddy, blood-spotted, and tattered scrubs were taken off him and put straight into the waste bin. After a lukewarm and antiseptic soap shower by the nurses, he was handed a gown. Then not even the usual tied fabric one—just paper. Thin. Crinkling with every movement. The kind reserved for kids on suicide watch.

A few months ago, a shower with two adult women could only be imagined as a video he’d watch on incognito mode. The Xavier a few months ago never could’ve guessed this turn of unfortunate events.

Staff members hovered at every turn, holding clipboards, radios. No one said he was being punished but he knew.

There were no more requests, no soft nudges to comply.

Now there were just hands guiding, turning and moving him.

They spoke about him like he wasn’t there… which was mostly true. and when they did speak to him, it was clipped and slow and careful. Like they were addressing a five-year-old.

-We’re going to sit down now.

-You’re safe, but you made a dangerous choice, and we need to help you from doing it again.

They led him to a Quiet Room he hadn’t been in before—bare mattress on the floor, camera high in the corner, large one way mirror on one wall. The orderlies lowered his lightly sedated pliable form down to the matted floor while a nurse reviewed the protocol.

“You’re here so we can keep you safe,” she said both sweetly and firmly, “You made a scary choice today, Xavier. You ran away. And sometimes when kids run away, it means they’re not making safe choices for their bodies or their minds.”

He stared at her, eyes half lidded. She smiled back.

“You’re not in trouble,” she added, too brightly. “But you’re going to have some restrictions for a while until we settle back down. Now will you let me give you a little medicine to help you sleep? You need rest after your big day.”

Xavier still stared blankly at her. An orderly crouched down to shift his body and pull his gown up his hip exposing pink scrubbed skin. The orderly unnecessarily held him in place so the nurse could administer the sedative. He didn’t resist. She pulled the gown back down and gave him a little pat, “Now that wasn’t hard at all, well done.”

The group then filed out while Xavier mutely watched them close the door and the quick acting injection settled over him. He blinked slowly and let it take him over.

This was the consequence.

Sick people needed boundaries. Sick people needed those who know better to help them understand these.

*

He laid on the thin mat hours later, arms tucked tight to his chest, staring at the corner of the ceiling where the camera methodically blinked red. The lights never fully dimmed here. They called it “low-stimulation lighting,”.

No, he wasn’t being punished, they said.

I am currently attempting to write eldritch madness. I wanted the character to:

Not be instantly villainous because they are not mentally stable. That's just a shitty ableist cop-out.

Not be because they glimpsed the monster or whatever, that always seemed kinda corny to me. The real problem is that she understands what she saw.

Be driven insane by actual physics. Not the models we know of but actually knowing the truth and never being able to communicate it.

Have it technically be her fault. She knew what she was doing, and knew that there might be side effects. But she could've never expected something this big.

Lots of whump. From self destructive tendencies to harm from the people around her, she is going to struggle.