Intertwined

INTERTWINED

—by—

Vito Pace

Copyright 2013 Vito Pace

Smashwords Edition

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER I

I awoke in a cold sweat. Disoriented and not fully awake, I wondered where I was. With my head in a muddle and still feeling groggy, my eyes darted about the room searching for a clue. I tried to move my hands, but I couldn’t. They were strapped down to a bed. My feet were tightly fastened, too. As I lay there like Frankenstein’s monster, I was certain of at least two things: I was helpless, and I was scared to death. As perspiration covered my forehead, I trembled. A pool of sweat formed above my eyebrow and proceeded to channel its way directly into my eye. I turned my head and closed my eyes for a few seconds to stop the stinging. When I reopened them, I spotted the engraving on the bed rail: Property of the North Oaks Psychiatric Center.

I knew of this place. It was a state-run facility, which was located only about two miles from where I grew up. It had two, four-story buildings located on opposite sides of Sunset Highway. One of the buildings, the one on the east side of the highway, had bars on the windows. As a kid, I remembered rumors of a tunnel which ran underneath Sunset Highway and connected the two wings. Rumor has it the building on the west side of the highway was for patients who had less severe mental problems. The building on the east side was for the really crazy people who were uncontrollable and considered to be dangerous. These people needed to be locked up and constantly monitored. Judging from the bars on the window, I knew which category I was in.

My room had all the comforts of home. A bed complete with wrist and ankle straps and a plastic bed pan under my rump, which incidentally, was slightly off center and beginning to numb my right cheek. There was an uncomfortable-looking vinyl chair to the left of my bed. Bolted high up on the wall, was a TV stand—however, no TV. I supposed in this environment, mirrors, wall art, or anything else which could be used to inflict bodily harm was excluded from the room. But, most disturbing of all was the video camera over the door. It was pointed directly at my bed. I was being closely observed. The Simplex clock on the wall read exactly eleven minutes after six.

The view from my window was Sunset Highway. It was as it always seemed to be, under construction. Just beyond that, I could see the hospital’s west wing. The building was a dreary fortification. Its part brick, part rust façade, fell far short of a panoramic view.

A distant commotion erupted in the hallway. It was faint at first, but the crescendo of voices grew louder. The disturbance seemed to be just outside of my room when suddenly, the door swung open violently.

The British are coming! The British are coming! yelled an old naked man.

His shriveled, prune-like body was more than my sore eyes could take. Two nurses scurried in apologetically, coaxing the old man back down the hall.

As the noise faded down the hallway, my door reopened once more. This time, an orderly entered holding a tray of food. That’s why you don’t have a TV in your room. This hospital provides its own entertainment, she remarked flippantly.

She went about her business without any response from me, unfolding the table attached to the side of the bed and placing down a tray of food. Without any hesitation, she began to spoon-feed me.

The food was not appetizing. It appeared to be something of a Salisbury steak served with a scoop of instant potatoes, string beans, a bowl of green Jell-O, and a pint of apple juice. I was not hungry, but the persistent orderly kept shoveling the food down my throat. What I wanted was someone to wipe the perspiration off my face, particularly my eyes. They were still burning.

Do you think you could wipe my face with a damp towel or something? I mumbled to the orderly. Some sweat dripped in my eyes, and they’re stinging like crazy.

The orderly took a step back as she folded her arms. With her sarcastic manner, she looked at me straight in the eyes and then smirked.

What’cha you think this is, sugar, a country club or something? I’ve got other mouths to feed!

She then cracked a smile, reached for a napkin, and haphazardly wiped my face. She then picked up the empty tray of food and, as quickly as she entered, she exited.

Early in its existence, North Oaks Psychiatric Center was considered to be a premier mental institution which had only the highest qualified doctors on its staff. The state-of-the-art building and up-to-date equipment made North Oaks the most recognized psychiatric ward in the area. Now, however, it was just pretty much used for keeping menaces of society off the streets. A lack of funds, as a result of state cut-backs, affected North Oaks and eventually tarnished its reputation. The facility was not known for its quality staff members anymore, and the building itself was old and outdated.

It was now seven o’clock. My stomach was not feeling too well. I wasn’t sure if it was the deep-rooted depression located at the pit of my stomach or just the Salisbury steak I just ate. Most likely, it was a combination of the two.

Suddenly, my stomach began to rumble. It churned intensely. Strapped to the bed, I began to vomit violently. Almost convulsive, I lost control of my bowels, as well. I lay flat on my bed covered in bodily fluids, desperately drained and shuddering uncontrollably.

As my body began to calm down, I was in desperate need of help. Help me, please! I pleaded in a weak and shaky voice. Nurse…anybody…I need help…please!

Nobody responded. I tried again.

Help me, can anyone out there help me?

Again, there was no response. I knew people were in the hallway just outside the door because I could hear them talking. Totally frustrated and on the verge of tears, I tried again.

Damn it, I know you can hear me! Can you get in here and help me, already?

Finally, an orderly popped his head in the doorway.

We’ll be right in to take care of you, sir! he said as he immediately popped back out.

I lay like that for nearly an hour, when an incensed nurse stormed in.

Oh, for Christ sakes…you did a real number on yourself, didn’t you? Now we’ll have to change you! The orderly trailed behind. While Nurse Ratchett unstrapped my hands, he proceeded to sponge bathe me. He also changed the linens and put a fresh bed pan under my rump. Julia, the actual name on her name tag, re-strapped me to the bed after I was cleaned up.

I’ll be back with your medication! she said in a nasty tone as she left the room.

The orderly trailed her out. After a couple of minutes, she returned with a couple of pills and a plastic cup filled with water. She put the pills in my mouth one at a time. Each time she followed with a cup of water.

I’m getting sick of this shit day in and day out! she muttered as she left the room for the final time.

Within minutes, I felt drowsy. Whatever she gave me was definitely working. I felt a little more relaxed. My mind started to wander from this miserable place to one that will always be with me. It was a place I had dreamed of every night of my life—a wonderful place. I would do anything to dream about it again. With this, I drifted off.

I awoke to a nurse taking my blood pressure. Still half asleep, I squinted to focus on the time. Eight o’clock.

I’m so sorry for waking you.

The shift change was a welcome surprise.

We are required to take your blood pressure every morning. I tried to do it without waking you, but I guess I’m not that good at it. She then smiled as she tore away the Velcro arm band. The doctor will be in shortly.

Preoccupied with my own dilemma, my heart began to race. It was another dreamless night. Knowing now where I was, I started to put together the events which brought me here.

What day is it today?

Thursday. She smiled at me again and left the room.

If today was Thursday, that meant I must have been in this hospital for two days. I know this because I remember Tuesday morning. The medication I was on made the last couple of days vague, but it was all coming back to me slowly. I continued to think. If today is Thursday, that means it has been exactly one week since my last dream. I’ve been waking up extremely anxious ever since the dreams have ended.

On Tuesday, that cold November morning when I snapped, I remember waking up and completely freaking out. The reality of who I was hit me like a freight train striking a stalled car on the tracks. I got out of bed wearing only a pair of boxers and an undershirt. In a panic-stricken frenzy, I made my way to my apartment door. Without thinking of putting on clothes, I opened the door and ran down the three flights of stairs which lead to the street. I recall screaming, I can’t be real…I can’t be real! I was the one who should have died! I made my way to the street. Running with no shoes on my feet, I continued to yell uncontrollably. I must have looked like a rabid dog foaming at the mouth to the local’s downtown. In a frantic rage, I began pushing people out of my way as I shouted, Help me…I can’t take this anymore…I can’t take this anymore! Two police officers walking their beat then grabbed me and tried to put me on the ground. With extremely high amounts of adrenaline oozing through my veins, I felt I had the strength of a tornado. As I almost escaped the hold of the two officers, one of them pulled out his nightstick and struck me over the head. The next thing I knew, I awoke in this hospital.

I still had to cope with my existence in this world and deal with the hard reality of who I was. That was not a pleasant thought for me. You see, I hate who I am and always have. I always wanted it to be him. I was devastated by the realization.

The door to my room swung open. In stepped a well-dressed man wearing a brown tweed jacket and a tie, and over it all, an unbuttoned white coat. He was middle-aged with salt-and-pepper hair and a well-trimmed goatee.

Hello, Willie, he said glancing at his clipboard. I’m Dr. Joe Calabro. He made his way to the bed. Please call me Joe, he added, unfastening the wrist and ankle straps. Feel better? he asked as he adjusted my bed in an upright position.

Much, I replied, rubbing my wrists.

Feel free to get up and stretch your legs.

I’d like that, I responded as I made my way up. In a feline stretch, I added, The straps were beginning to cut off the circulation to my hands.

Well, I don’t think the straps will be necessary anymore, so we’ll just leave them off, he replied. The doctor went on to say, When you first got here, however, you had to be heavily sedated. You weren’t an easy guy to control. I’ve already started to decrease the doses of sedatives we have been giving you so you and I can begin to work through this difficult time. I will be meeting with you regularly starting as soon as this afternoon. Sounds like a plan?

Yeah, I nodded.

Aside from a couple of nurses with questionable bedside manner, he joked, the people here at North Oaks do want to help you.

I immediately thought of Julia. The doctor smiled at me and exited the room.

Dr. Calabro seemed sincere—like a regular, down-to-earth guy who just wanted to help people. His visit eased my anxiety, at least for now.

About ten minutes later, an orderly arrived with my breakfast. He placed the tray of food on the table over my bed, and then sat down on the chair. I figured, now that I was mobile, they’d be watching me.

Powdered eggs, toast, and half a grapefruit were on the menu this morning. To wash it all down was a warm glass of prune juice. As if the food wasn’t appalling enough, protruding through the eggs was a long, black hair. It really didn’t matter to me, anyway. The last thing I felt like doing was eating. Disgusted, I pushed the tray of food away from me.

Something wrong? asked the orderly.

I’m not hungry. Can you take this slop away? I grumbled.

The orderly got off the chair and immediately took the tray out of the room.

As I gazed out the window at Sunset Highway, my eyes welled up with tears. I felt numb. I was helplessly sinking into quicksand, knowing there was no one to throw me a rope. There was only one way for this to end—I would let it suck me in.

As I stared at the traffic below considering my options, I knew the first thing I had to do was get out of this place. There was no getting out on my own. I would need to be released. I would have to convince these people—to convince the doctor—that I was no longer a danger to others or to myself. I would have to show him I was getting better.

It was now just about noon. Most of my morning was spent being interrupted by nurses and orderlies, all carrying out their tasks mechanically. Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, Doctor Calabro stepped into the room. He was holding a pizza in one hand and a bottle of ginger ale in the other.

Thought you could use some real food, he said as he placed the pizza and soda on the bed table. I’ll be right back, he added as he dashed back out of the room.

I recognized the box and the aroma. This was a Papa To To’s pizza—pronounced Papa Dough Dough’s by the locals. Everybody in this town knew that Papa To To’s made the best charcoal oven pizza in the world. Up until about a week ago, I would have been salivating like Pavlov’s dogs if somebody had put one of these pies in front of me. When the perfectly orchestrated blend of parsley and basil used in their special crushed tomato sauce was combined with the fresh whole mozzarella on a perfectly baked thin crust, it was like you died and went to Naples. But today it was as though it was purchased from the frozen food aisle at a grocery store. I had no interest.

The doctor reappeared holding a robe in one hand and a pair of slippers in the other.

Not very formal, Willie, but that’s all I could come up with for now, he said as he handed me the clothes.

While I got dressed, the doctor picked up the pizza, handed me the soda, and instructed me to follow him. He then opened the door leading to the hallway, and we both exited the room. This had been the first time I left my room since I have arrived here. The doctor escorted me down the hallway. The corridor was congested with people sitting in wheelchairs. It was like an obstacle course trying to get by them. Most of the patients were sitting quietly with blank looks on their faces. It was like they had no expression. They seemed to be mesmerized by the ceiling tiles. Others were chattering nonsense to themselves and to us as we passed them. I heard the sound of a midday siren coming out of the mouth of an elderly woman. Paul Revere was still warning us of the British. He did, however, have a hospital gown on this time. As we continued on, I noticed a younger man rocking back and forth while touching the wall repetitively. At the same time, he was chanting, I’ll need the bait to catch the rat! I’ll need the bait to catch the rat! We forged on ahead.

The doctor gave me a brief tour of the patients’ lounge at the end of the hallway. It was complete with tables, chairs, couches and a widescreen TV. The doctor explained how staff members were always around to assist patients in any way we might need them.

After the quick tour, we walked down another hallway which was located to the left of the patients’ lounge. Halfway through the hall was an electric, metal gate. There was a woman on the other side who at Dr. Calabro’s command buzzed us through. On the other side of this gate was a hospital security guard, strategically located right in front of the elevators. Carrying only a walkie-talkie, a night stick, and what appeared