Page 59 of The Wicker King

LIKE MOST TERRIBLE THINGS

He got used to it.

Time passed both quickly and slowly in the hospital—kind of like a weird, oppressive summer vacation. Where every day seemed like it took ten thousand years, but then you looked up and three months had passed in what felt like an instant. They didn’t expect much from him other than to get up and go through the scheduled routine. After the first couple of weeks, his roommate had stopped flinching every time he walked into the room.

It wasn’t difficult there. Of course, on the other hand, there was nothing to distract him from thinking about what had happened.

And if he thought about it too much, it got hard to breathe. But he couldn’t not think about it because this was the first time in about ten years that Jack wasn’t immediately accessible to him in some way. It felt … indescribably terrible. Like someone had chopped off his arm, or blinded him in one eye.

But as with most things, he got used to it. He didn’t have a choice.

THE HOSPITAL

The thing that really killed him about being there was the tedium. Other than going to the library, writing, and sleeping, there wasn’t much else to do. It’s not like he could really make friends. August had had enough of dealing with crazy people to last him a lifetime.

Solitude was boring, but at least he didn’t have to actively participate in his roommate’s frantic ranting or enraged howling.

Besides that, the food was crap. Things were soggy, salty, bland, or had a mysterious texture. He was pretty sure everything had a mild sedative in it, and out of suspicion, he had tried not to eat for the first three weeks. But all that had gotten him was some more one-on-one therapy.

Sometimes when he went to bed, the only thing that could get him to sleep was thinking, At least this isn’t jail, at least this isn’t jail, over and over until he succumbed to exhaustion.

WISH

August sighed and slumped against the window. They wouldn’t let anyone outside.

It was raining and some of the patients were afraid of the noise or got too excited. It was easier to just keep them all in, rather than having to keep track of who was allowed out and who wasn’t. That was the thing about this place. It was so batshit that if you didn’t have problems coming in, you’d definitely have them going out. But that was such a cliché that he never actually vocalized the thought.

He wanted to see Jack.

He wished they had been kind enough to jail them together. Let them be with each other. Let him stand at Jack’s side, like he was meant to.

There was a wild animal inside him that wanted to claw at Jack’s cell till his fingers bled, and to scream until Jack heard how much he didn’t want to stay away. But he pushed the urge down and away.

Because he was sane. And he didn’t belong here.

A PSYCHOLOGIST

“What were you thinking before your actions on January thirtieth?”

August closed his eyes. He didn’t remember thinking anything. It had been too far past the point where he’d simply decided to stop thinking altogether.

“You have to answer the questions, Mr. Bateman. It is a part of your treatment.”

His psychologist changed every other month or so. This month’s version was stern, bearded, and encased in tweed.

“It wasn’t so much thinking,” August said after some time. “It was more like following instructions. And for the record, I swear I’ve told you guys this before. Jack would ask me to do something and I would just do it. The concept isn’t confusing.”

“So, what you’re saying is that everything is Mr. Rossi’s fault.”

“No. That’s not what I said at all. It was definitely a two-person activity. There was just … obligation involved. It’s really difficult to explain. Is what Jack said about it on file?”

“I’m sorry, but that’s confidential information.”

August propped his legs up on the desk in front of him defiantly and crossed his arms. “Well, I’m sorry that you’re such a dick.”

STERILE

Hospital staff found him leaning against Jack’s door with his hand splayed out over the small window. He’d thought that they would be put in separate facilities, but every day he woke up here, he felt otherwise. He decided to look. It had taken weeks, but he’d finally found it; August could feel him living behind the door. Sleeping, maybe. It was a warm March afternoon. It was very exciting.