Below is the first chapter of a manuscript of a novel I have been working on. I’ve decided to serialize the chapters on this platform. Perhaps that will motivate me to finish it. Please feel free to comment and give feedback. I will put up a paywall on following chapters because I want this to become a published novel so I’m not giving all of the story away for free. But this first chapter is free. Enjoy and thank you for reading!
Nobody ever listens.
Mike thought as he sat on the still plastic mattress covered in a worn and torn fitted sheet. It was once a crisp white article of linen, long ago. Now the fitted sheet was struggling to hold onto the mattress on this metal stretcher. The flat sheet meant covered him up had residue from stickers and looked pale from constant bleaching. Mike just sat on the mattress without the flat sheet, his knees pulled up to his chest under the seafoam green gown that was all he was wearing.
The room seemed to burn his eyes with the fluorescent lights and the empty space. Inside this room there was nothing stimulating, aside from his stretcher seat was a set of cheap-looking cabinets with a built-in sink in the Formica counter. The sink had no faucet, and the drain had been plugged up. He could see outlets on the walls covered with metal covers that where screw shut. Fixtures where heart monitors or a TV once were on the walls were barren, Mike could only guess that this room used to be a regular hospital room, until it was converted to a room for people like him.
Outside his room sat some tall black lady with braided hair and eyelashes so thick he couldn’t make out the color of her eyes. She sat in a plastic chair with a clipboard in her lap, occasionally looking at him in the room and then at her clipboard. Mike could tell she had her phone on the clipboard with how much her shoulders hunched, and her spine curled towards her lap. But between every few minutes of moving her finger over the screen she was trying to hide on her lap, she would look at Mike and then look around the hallway outside of his room where the rest of the emergency department was. Probably bustling with activities from the random sounds Mike would hear.
Before fighting the boredom of this room Mike had been walked in by Officer McNeil and then was handed over to some hospital workers, two had green scrubs, one older lady had teal scrubs, and now this black lady with the big lashes sitting guard outside his room had a pair of salmon-colored scrubs. He wondered why they had assorted colors; he had asked the slender fellow with hazel skin and glasses who wore green scrubs why the variety of colors, but he didn’t hear Mike. All he did was take away Mike’s possessions and instruct him to strip and wear this ugly hospital gown with nothing under it. It was humiliating, more than being handcuffed by Officer McNeil and being brought to Creekshore Memorial Hospital and Medical Center’s Emergency Department.
Sitting here had not gotten any better for Mike. A tall lady with a pixie cut and sharp cheekbones, dressed in a red wine-colored pair of scrubs entered. She squeezed past the distracted girl with thick eyelashes and brought in a cart with tubes of assorted colors.
Now what could that color coordination mean? He thought as the lady approached him. She read a slip of paper and asked him,
“Can you tell me your name and date of birth, handsome.”
Handsome? He guessed she was either being polite or had poor eyesight. He decided not to dwell on it and keep her waiting for an answer.
“Michael Treble. April 7th, 1996.” He replied after clearing his throat. She looked up from her paper.
“Say that again, please? I couldn’t hear your.”
Of course not. No one ever does. He cleared his throat more and repeated
“Michael Treble. April 7th, 1996.” She leaned in but still stayed more than arms reach away. As if she was afraid, afraid that he would grab her. She cocked her ear and shook her head.
“I’m sorry, my dear. I didn’t catch that. You gotta speak up for me. Maybe I’m a bit deaf today.” Mike had heard it all before when others never heard him. Every excuse and joke were the same thing to him: condescending. He drew in a brew that caused his chest the puff out and expelled
“MICHAEL TREBBLE, DATE OF BIRTH: APRIL SEVENTH, NINETEEN NINETY-SIX!” The lady in the wine-colored scrubs jumped back and Miss Eyelashes dropped her clipboard which set her phone crashed to the tiled floor with it. Some man in a grey button up shirt and black slacks jogged up to the doorway to see what was inside. They all stared at Mike, and he felt like withering up under the gown. The man in the grey and black marched up past the lady with the cart of tubes and glared into Mike’s face. SECURITY was printed on the left breast pocket of his shirt and his name badge hung on the right. His first name displayed was Stew.
“Is there a problem here, young man? A reason why you’re yelling?” Mike felt his heart start to rise in his face as he looked up at those judging grey eyes. He wanted to cry and tell this guy that the lady he was jumping to the rescue of wasn’t in any danger, she just couldn’t hear him when he talked with his normal voice. But he didn’t expect this guy, who carried more whites and greys in his hair that its original color was lost with time, to understand or even hear him. Mike just shook his head and big Stew turned to the lady in the wine-colored scrubs.
“You alright, Lauren? Did he try anything?” Now she shook her head and replied,
“Nah, Stew. He just yelled, went from zero to eleven with his volume. Just confirming his info, and then collecting the blood for medical clearance.” Lauren was already pulling blue nitrile gloves over her thin hands and pulling out a mixture of tubes with different colored plastic tops. She swiftly gathered a rubber strap and a needle with a cup on the end of it. Stew nodded and turned his bulky frame back to Mike.
“You gonna behave yourself and let this nice beauty drawn some blood?” Mike looked at the needle and cradled his arms at the elbows. He looked into those grey eyes and replied,
“And if I don’t, then what?” Stew looked confused for a moment and barked,
“Don’t mumble at me, boy. If you got something to say, you have my undivided attention.” Mike was tempted to yell it but figured that it would only make this worse and then held out his right arm. Stew nodded and gestured for Lauren to step forward. While she applied the rubber strap and Stew monitored like an attack dog at the ready, behind him more people came to the room. One was the older lady with frizzy red hair and with her was a handsome man with large-framed eyeglasses on his tan face. They circumvented Stew to see what was going on, the room became congested with humanity and Mike felt cornered by these standing figures in different uniforms. Their faces, like a mixture of masks, looking at him with undetectable judgements. The Tan man with the glasses spoke while Lauren traced her finger around the crook of Mike’s elbow ditch.
“I’m doctor Roc. Normally I would shake your hand but I don’t want to interrupt our phlebotomist while she draws your blood.” Then Lauren spoke,
“Okay Michael don’t move. Quick pinch.” Mike didn’t look at what she was doing but felt the sharp bite in the arm and the alien sensation of something thin and cold inside a part of his body that felt violating. He wanted to pull away but with everyone in the room he was afraid to make any sudden movements. His head began to feel hot, and Lauren spoke again,
“Breath, handsome. Breath and it will go by easier, and you won’t pass out.” Mike took in gulping breaths and now Dr. Roc interjected,
“Try to slow your breathing, Michael. The steady breath is the calming breath.” Mike felt annoyed now by this coaching and felted crowded up by these people in this barren room. He did the best he could to breathe slower but felt his chest aching for more air as the needle was still in his arm. His arm still protested the presence of this intruder. He looked up at Dr. Roc who had a calm face, his faded green eyes behind those large-frame glasses seemed attentive and welcoming. His face was that of a movie star’s, he could easily be playing the role of some action hero, globetrotting and jumping out of planes. Then the violating needle was no longer felt in his arm. He looked to his right and found Lauren taping a square of cotton gauze on where she stuck him.
“All set, Michael.” She snapped labels on the three tubes that were dark crimson with his blood. She set them in a plastic bag that had an odd symbol of partial circles overlapping to form a triangle and the word BIOHAZARD under it. Dr. Roc nodded as she took the samples and her cart out of the room. Now Stew the security guard, Dr. Roc and the older redheaded lady who hadn’t said anything were standing over Mike. Dr. Roc took notice of this arrangement of hospital staff and said to Mike,
“I have some questions to ask you. Would we be good to talk together?” Mike nodded and Dr. Roc instructed Stew and the lady in teal scrubs to go out of the room. Stew gave an exiting glare at Mike to communicate a warning. Now the movie star looking doctor sat on the edge of Mike’s mattress and began,
“So, tell me: what brought you to the hospital at this hour of the night?” Mike could see on the man’s driver’s watch that it was almost one-thirty in the morning. Mike shrugged and then answered,
“The cops brought me in.” Dr. Roc looked puzzled and leaned forward,
“Sorry, Mike. But I’m afraid I didn’t catch that.” Mike groaned, although Dr. Roc seemed to hear that and looked with a sideways glance. Mike did his best to raise his voice again,
“The cops found me at the overpass on Route 112 and they brought me here!” Dr. Roc nodded but a puzzled looked came over his face now,
“The shops pounded me at the clover hatch on…Route 112? Is that what I heard you say.” The heat started to climb up Mike’s neck, but he didn’t want to scream and bring that goon, Stew, back into the room. Mike didn’t want to know what would happen then.
“No!” He groaned again and leaned to Dr. Roc and spoke as firmly as he could into Dr. Roc’s ear. The young doctor almost jumped away but stayed seated while Mike spoke with effort, “I was picked up at the highway overpass by the cops. They brought me here and said to the nurse that I was trying to kill myself.” Dr. Roc nodded and looked Mike in the eyes. Those meadow green eyes seemed to ease the soreness of Mike’s throat from having to talk loudly.
“I heard that from your nurse and read the report. One Officer McNeil came upon you trying the scale the fence of the overpass. Were you planning to jump?” Mike just stared back at the handsome doctor. He was feeling exhausted, and his head was still foggy from earlier in the night. He considered the questions and shook his head and then shrugged.
“Well, which is it, Mike? Were you planning to kill yourself? Or were you doing something else?” There was another pause and Dr. Roc added, “The more honesty you show me, the more I can get you help.” Mike leaned forward and answered, “I did want to jump but my mind was feeling weird from these pills I took.”
“What pills?” Mike shrugged. Dr. Roc crossed his arms and asked,
“Would they happen to be Benzos?” Mike didn’t know what that word meant and shrugged. He didn’t know what the pills he took were really, they were just something to calm him down, he thought. The doctor now stood up and said, “Your urine came back positive for Benzodiazepines, a strong class of drugs that people need a script for. Do you have a script for such drugs?” Mike shook his head. Dr. Roc asked, “Where did you get them?” Mike didn’t want to answer, he felt embarrassment burning his face and Dr. Roc seemed to notice.
He sighed and remarked, “I see. Well Mike I’m not going to call the cops if you got high off some stolen drugs. All I want to know is this: were you having suicidal thoughts before you took the drugs?” Mike soaked in this questioned and looked around the room and then at the body of Dr. Roc who seemed restless as he stood there with his hands on his hips. Mike didn’t want to look up at that Hollywood quality face and have those inviting green eyes cast more judgments on him. Mike just looked down at the sea foam fabric covering his lap and nodded. Dr. Roc let out another sigh and squatted down to look up at Mike. Tears were now burning in Mike’s eyes as those meadow green eyes looked up.
“So, Mike, here’s what’s gonna happen: I’m going to assess you and wait for your bloodwork to come back. If there’s nothing abnormal and your vital signs stay within normal limits, then I’m going to send you to our Mental Health Evaluator. They will discuss with you what they can do to help you.” Mike didn’t really understand this plan, but Dr. Roc continued while putting a hand on Mike’s shoulder, it was soft and warm but felt strong, the other hand covered the doctor’s chest, “I’m only the medical side of care. It seems like you need psychiatric care. So let me cover my bases and then wait for results so we can move you out of here.” Dr. Roc proceeded to ask a bunch of questions about Mike’s health and Mike either nodded or shook his head, more of the latter. As Dr. Roc asked his questions, he took his stethoscope and pressed it gently to Mike’s heart, then each lung, and then to his belly in four sections. His soft but strong hands pressed around Mike’s throat and then checked pulses on each side. Mike took notice of how scripted the questions were and how Dr. Roc didn’t seem to focus on his work, as if his mind was in other places. Once the assessment was completed, he shook Mike’s hand and told him they would come back to him with an answer.
Now Mike was alone in this striped room. With only the young lady with the thick eyelashes sitting outside the room. She never said anything to Mike as he sat on his bed waiting and she just looked around the hallway since her phone appeared to be broken or out of battery life. The passage of time seemed to trickle out like a leaky faucet, it wasn’t any help that there was no clock in this room or in the hallway that Mike could see. His mind began to feel trapped, like this room was some new design of cage for a human shaped animal.
He felt that he couldn’t sit anymore so he stood up, the bright yellow socks with little grey rubber bumps were the only barrier between the soles of his feet and the hard tiles of the dirty floor. Miss Eyelashes jumped when he climbed off the stretcher bed. She almost dropped her clipboard but had recovered and was now staring at Mike, as if he were some wild animal that she ran into on a hike. Mike slowly paced the room and didn’t give her much attention, hoping that it would relax her a bit.
Why is she so scared of me? I’m not gonna hurt anyone.
Then the security guard named Stew was back, walking by on his patrol. He stopped while standing next to Miss Eyelashes and locked eyes with Mike.
“Why aren’t you back in bed?” Mike looked back at the chubby face with grey scruff and just shrugged. He knew talking wouldn’t get him anywhere, because no one ever listened to him. The big guard seemed to size up Mike and held a look on his face that said he wanted an excuse to charge at him. Mike just stood by his stretcher with his arms crossed, waiting out for the tough security to make the next move. Stew turned to the young lady in the chair.
“How are you holding up, Fabby?” Miss Eyelashes gave a double take from whatever was down the hall that she was focused on. Fabby replied,
“Oh, I’m alright Big Stew. Seems this big guy was tired of sitting still, but he hasn’t asked me for anything.” Stew looked back at Mike who thought, Me? Big? She must be having a laugh. I’m not big at all. Stew seemed to become bored and sighed as he gave one final stare-down with Mike before walking off to his patrol of the hallways. Then the short woman in teal with frizzled hair came back, as if to enter the stage in a play. He realized she was his nurse but only after he was out of the emergency department. She walked up to Mike but stopped at about arm’s length and then spoke,
“Good news, all of your labs came back with no issues. So, you will be admitted to our Mental Health Unit.” Mike looked at her and she tilted her head at his expression. He was carrying a confused scowl, and she didn’t seem to have much of a reaction other than curiosity about what he would say.
“So, what happens now?” Mike asked but she didn’t hear him. It was no surprise to him, as frustrating as it typically was.
“If you have no questions, I will fill out some paperwork at the desk and in a few minutes, you’ll be moved downstairs.”
“Wait! I have questions: What’s the unit like? Why am I being admitted? Don’t I have a say in going to a Psych ward? Hey, I’m talking to you!” She was walking away but stopped at his last exclamation. She looked over her shoulder and her eyes seemed tiny without the magnifying lenses in front of them.
“You say something, dear?” Mike stepped forward and she spun around to square up with him and backed out the door. Mike stopped and put his hands up to try and communicate that he wasn’t going to hurt her and said as loud as he could without yelling,
“Why am I going downstairs?” She tilted her head again and he realized she didn’t hear his question, not completely at least.
“Did you ask why you’re being admitted?” Mike nodded and the little nurse looked up at him with those magnified eyes and spoke as if she were telling him some common trivia fact,
“You tried to kill yourself, dear. We can’t send you home after that. You got to meet with the Psychiatrist downstairs. Talk with him and he will tell you how to get home.” Mike felt as if he had been tricked. He knew that attempting suicide was a serious event and that people were taken away for it, but he never knew where. He never knew of anyone or heard of any story of people who try to hurt themselves getting taken to a regular hospital. He had seen some movies of people in lunatic asylums; massive old buildings with giant rooms filled with weird people dancing around and screaming while big guards dressed in white stood by, ready to drag troublemakers away. Mike shook his head,
“No! I can’t go there! I’m not crazy. I was just sad and went for a walk. I didn’t try to kill myself!” But the short, old nurse was looking at her wristwatch and looked back at him.
“I’ve got to go write up the paperwork, dear. Just sit tight and we’ll get you out of here.” She spun on her heels and went down the hall. Mike went to the doorway to chase after her and then Fabby jumped to her feet,
“No sweetheart, please stay in the room!” Mike looked around the doorway and saw that about thirty feet away was the corner of the nurse’s desk. The old nurse with the frizzy red hair was back in there, tucked into a seat. Stew the security was standing by the entrance of the desk area, looking back at Mike and pointing for him to go into the room. Mike had the urge to storm up to the desk, but he thought better of it. He suddenly had the urge to pee. He looked at Fabby and then saw that behind her was a door to a bathroom. He pointed and she took a moment to look over her shoulder and then came back to say,
“Yes, that’s the bathroom. You need to use it?” Mike nodded and she stepped aside so he could walk across the hall and enter. When he went to shut the door, he found it didn’t latch and then noticed that Fabby had stopped it with her hand.
“The door’s got to stay open, sweetheart. It’s the rules.” Mike felt a new level of humiliation, he couldn’t take a piss without some random woman standing on the other side of a partially opened door. He felt like screaming or hitting the wall, but he thought of Stew waiting for him from down the hallway. Mike just settled for trying to empty his bladder. He had no pants or underwear on, just the flowing seafoam green gown. He did his best to lift the front of the gown without letting his ass hang out in the back so that he could aim into the toilet. The sensation to void was there but so was the awareness that any sound would be heard by that young lady four feet behind him. Struggling, he was finally able to produce a stream and cringed when the splashing of the toilet water echoed in the room. He did his best to aim in the bowl of porcelain while avoiding the water at the bottom. It was a decent attempt and when he felt relief he flushed and washed his hands.
When he turned around the door opened and there was Stew, pushing a wheelchair up as Fabby held the door open.
“Your chariot awaits. Have a seat.” The big guard spoke, and Mike felt frozen for a moment. There was no space where he could run and get away. He decided to just follow along, to see where this was going. He was scared, but also curious about what the Mental Health Unit would be like. He sat in the wheelchair, feeling his bare butt stick to the vinyl seat and propped his yellow sock covered feet on the stirrups.
Then they were in motion with Fabby walking ahead with a bag that Mike recognized that bag had his clothes and belongings in it, he saw one of the nursing aides in green scrubs fill it when they made Mike strip in the bathroom up front in the Emergency Department. A part of his mind wanted to snatch that bag from Fabby and take off. But he didn’t know where the entrance or exits to this department were, so he could easily run into other staff or security guards and the thought of what they might do to him for running away made him clench in the wheelchair. He overheard Stew speak into a radio,
“Unit 4 to Command. Escorting patient to B1 holding.” Some static echoed as the group came up to an elevator and Fabby rang for it. Then the static produced a muffled voice,
“Copy that 4. Proceed.”
“What does he think: I need his permission?” Stew growled behind Mike’s ear. The elevator doors opened to show a small space. Stew rolled the wheelchair in first and Mike was facing the back of the tiny cubicle while Stew and Fabby stood behind him and the elevator moved. He wondered why They had him facing the back of the elevator and the only answer he could surmise was: So that you can’t run away so easily. Mike was beginning to feel more like some criminal with each passing moment.
Maybe I should have made a run for it.