Patient 37459

Patient 37459 

By Ryan L.

Rated Pg-13

“Have you read the file, doc?” Dr. Thomson asked.

“Yes, I believe I have what I need. 37459. Patient’s name is Hubert Frylund. Diagnosed clinically insane after murdering seven men, three women, two children, and a dog in a span of three months. L.A. area. Suspected of killing at least twenty others though not confirmed as yet.” Said Dr. Leonard.

“Yeah, he goes on a killing spree and the state wants to help him. Hard to believe.” Dr. Thompson said.

“Oh, I have my doubts. But I must meet with Mr. Frylund and see for myself.”

“Well, if you’re ready, they’re waiting for you Down Below. The guards will take you to the Hold.”

“Yes, I believe I know the way. Good day to you, Doctor.”

“And you.”

Dr. Leonard sauntered down the hall with the flickering fluorescent lights. He counted how many were in need of new lights. Too many. The air was dead and still inside the Staging Compound, like a stench his lungs refused to inhale. The dank, sour-rich aroma was palpable at best. Though he could never discern where the smell came from. On his first day he thought of asking, but thought better of it. He wrapped his coat around him and shivered, striving to keep up appearances, to walk with the distinguished command and élan doctors of his standing deserved. He stopped at the nearest window and searched out into the grounds. Five guard towers with snipers. Invisible grids all along the ground. Of course he couldn’t see them, but he was told they were there. And somewhere past the walls and cameras, a line set to a self destruct frequency in the collar of every patient.

Dr. Leonard exhaled against the glass and drew a picture of a smiling face and watched as the condensation dripped and distorted the image into a monster. He sighed, suddenly tired and spent from the night’s work. He paused in wonder. A full moon, but almost no light whatsoever save from the towers and the rest of the Staging Compound.

Dr. Leonard pushed off against the window and scoffed at his misgivings. He was a man of science, not superstition. There was nothing off about the place. Save a thousand insane patients who’d like nothing more than to sink their teeth into his flesh just to see how he’d react.

At the elevator Dr. Leonard pushed on the DB button. He waited for the elevator to rise to his level, exchanged a few pleasantries with a passing doctor passing with her intern, and stepped into the metal atrocity when it finally arrived. He never felt safe in the elevator. All the creaking and groaning made him uneasy. And the slow and steady grinding was enough to drive any man insane. Perhaps it was the building that drove the patients insane. But no, they all came here because they were already diagnosed for insanity. It was his job to find a way to treat them.

The grinding came to a stop and the small chime sounded a long, lament that echoed through the adjacent hall of yet more flickering fluorescent lights. He walked down the hall, nodding to the guards as he passed by. They served their purpose. He only wished he could wear their armor to ward off makeshift  sivs and shanks. Some even wore bulletproof vests. He passed the hand and eye security measures and proceeded into the restricted area.

At the end of the hall, Dr. Leonard finally reached the Red Door with two guards flanking the entrance.

“You ready, doc? Don’t worry, this guy even blinks at you the wrong way we’ll stun him.” The guard said.

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary. I’ll be speaking with him alone. Just be ready if I have need of you.”

“As you say, Doc.”

Dr. Leonard walked through the Red Door and into the near-blinding White Room. A single white table and two white chairs on either end were all that stood out besides the two-way window, four cameras, and the vents in the ceiling ready to unleash sleeping gas.

Dr. Leonard sat down in the remaining chair and examined his patient. Shaved bald. Brilliant blue eyes. Something definitely off from the start. Far too awake. Far too alert. The eyes of both predator and prey. Unrelenting. The man didn’t blink. Not once. On his face the man wore the most benevolent smile the Dr. Leonard had ever seen in his life.

“Good evening, Mr. Frylund.”

“Evening, Doctor.”

“Since this is our first session together, I thought we’d start be getting to know each other better." Dr. Leonard continued. He placed he folder on the desk with an almost nonchalance he perfected over the years to show the patients he wasn’t intimidated. These men and women could always tell. The smallest hint of weakness, and treatment would be impossible. A new doctor would have to be assigned.

“You and I will have to differ on your proposition doctor. You need to get to know me, that’s how this works. I don’t need to know you.”

“That’s a very closed mindset, Mr. Frylund. Having a mutually beneficial relationship is the best kind to have. It helps to know about each other. In fact, I was thinking we-“

“What do you need from me, Doctor?”

“I would like to get to know you, Mr. Frylund.”

“I’m sure you’ve read my file. Every doctor I’ve seen has read my file. Why, Dr. Keller before you, read my file. Do you want to know what I did to him?”

“I’m well aware of what transpired between you and Dr. Keller, Mr. Frylund. That’s not what I’m here to talk about. Let’s start with your background.”

“Or the good Dr. Kapour. Such a pretty thing. Though, perhaps not anymore. Could you hear her screams? The other patients told me they could hear her from the other end of the grounds.”

“Mr. Frylund, we will not talk about you’re previous doctors. Now, I see you come from a wealthy family. Though you weren’t always so well off. From what I gather you grew up in various homeless shelters when you weren’t on the streets.”

“Yes, yes. It's dreadfully droll to you, I’m sure. Isn’t it Doctor?”

“Why do you think that?”

“You’re not interested in my childhood.”

“To the contrary, I believe examining your childhood will prove to be very academic. Very beneficial for the both of us.”

“None of it matters, Doctor.”

“Why do you say that, Mr. Frylund?”

“The only thing that matters is the taste. The smell. They say our sense of smell is the strongest sense associated with our memories. For instance, if you find yourself in the market on a warm, spring afternoon and you happen to smell the cinnamon buns the small bakery across the street is baking, you may suddenly remember a time when you ate a cinnamon bun from years ago. Something just clicks that memory into place and you remember. Even if it wasn’t significant. Just an ordinary day. An ordinary day, other than the fact that on that particular day, your mother bought a cinnamon bun for you.”

“Did you and your mother frequent the market? Does a cinnamon bun mean anything to you, Mr. Frylund?”

Mr. Frylund sat back against his chair and examined Dr. Leonard as one would a painting. His brilliant blue eyes bore a hole through the Dr’s skull where it drilled deeper and submerged, an unwelcome guest. Dr. Leonard could feel it. The cold, dead weight of the stare seeped into him. He shifted and cleared his throat before continuing.

“Answer the question, Mr. Frylund.”

“Do you know a Mr. Gregor, Doctor?”

“I admit not very much, I’ve never treated him. But let’s stay on track, Mr. Frylund. I’m still waiting for an answer.”

“If you would humor me, Doctor. A story first. You see, young Mr. Gregor has a mark for every kill. He carved them into his skin himself. One for every kill. He’s running out of space, they say. He’s admired by some of the other patients here. But not me, do you know why?”

“An answer, Mr. Frylund. I would like one right now.”

“One cannot savor a kill for what it really is if he must mutilate himself. He’s so detached from his own work and doings, it’s sad, really. I pity the man. For he must carve a reminder that he’s alive, that he exists. That his life has worth, such as it is. I do not concern myself or care about such trivial things as sinking a blade through my skin. My mark, my scars, are all kept nice and neat in here. Like a filing cabinet. Do you understand what I’m getting at?” Mr. Frylund said, gesturing to his temple. He leaned forward in his chair and wrested his bound wrists on the white table.

“No, I don’t believe I follow.” Dr. Leonard said. He shifted in his seat again, berated himself for doing it yet again, knowing full well his patient must have noticed. A disturbing thought occurred to him as he returned his patients stare. But he decided he best not walk that road.

“I helped them all remember. I helped myself remember. Does that not fall under your definition of a mutually beneficial relationship? I help them, they help me.”

“I believe you’re referring to the people you’ve killed.”

“And a dog, Doctor. We mustn’t forget about the canine. Why, he was once a trusty companion to some small eleven year old boy. Would you like to know where he lives? Check up on him? I can’t, you see?” Mr. Frylund held up his bound writs. “There’s no way for me to see how much I’ve helped the poor lad remember.”

“I doubt that little boy would agree with you, sir.”

“Really?” Mr. Frylund exclaimed, his eyebrows raised, small wrinkles forming on his forehead. “Well, imagine that. That’s the thanks I get. I may have to go back someday and help him remember a few more things. Maybe then he’ll show some gratitude.”

“Mr. Frylund, surely you understand these murders are a horrible, horrible thing you’ve done. All for, as you say, making them remember? Remember what, exactly?”

“Well, if you’d allow me to finish, I’m still getting around to that. But first, let me ask you something, my good Doctor.”

“I’m the one asking questions right now, Mr. Frylund. Do you understand what you did was a crime?”

“What do you remember, Doctor? How much can you really remember? I see a man sitting before me with glasses, white and grey streaks in his hair, beginning to bald a bit, yes? No ring on the finger, markings on your skin from a watch I imagine you only take off when you shower and when you pass through this fine institution’s security and while with dangerous patients like me.” Mr. Frylund stopped and took a long, exaggerated gasp of air. “And . . .” He exhaled, long and slow. “That look in your eyes, the same look I’ve seen in far too many people. Are you fatigued from a weary life, Doctor? Looking back and realizing you don’t remember most of it? Oh, no. No, no. It’s all there, you see? We never truly forget, not entirely. People are amazing. No one truly forgets what they do, what their senses pick up, their various experiences, what they learn. Oh no! No! It’s all in there. We all have an eidetic memory. It’s just some of us can tap into it more than others. Oh yes! It’s as simple as that.”

“Mr. Frylund, unless you’re willing to cooperate, I think we may be done here for the night. We can continue tomorrow.”

Dr. Leonard pushed back his chair, gathered his file and made for the door.

“How about last week, Doctor? Tell me what you did last Wednesday. What did you have for lunch? Just answer me that, before you go.”

“I don’t remember. Good night to you, Mr. Frylund.”

“Where did you stop for a drink after work? Was it the same watering hole with the young and attractive bartender with the long black hair and big, shimmering brown eyes? The bar with the wings you like so much? Still can't think of much to say to Stacy the bartender?”

“No I- how could you possibly know all that?”

“No? Then I suppose you stopped by to see your dear aging mother. I must say, stashing her in a home is cold, even to a killer like me. What, can’t be burdened with caring for your own mother? For shame, Doctor. And they call me the animal. I always took care of my mother. I’d argue that my greatest gift to her was killing her myself.”

“You sick bastard! How do you know about my mother? Tell me!”

“Alzheimer’s is such a cruel twist of fate. To forget, even more than most people do, it’s a cruel twist of fate, I say!”

“Tell me how you know!”

“Just visiting her day after day. Though, let’s be honest here, Doctor. You only see her maybe once a month, at best. And maybe on the holidays. Though not last Thanksgiving, correct? Or Christmas. Hell, not even on her birthday. March twenty-second, if memory serves. Ah, it does. Good.”

Dr. Leonard took his chair and jammed it against the floor of the Red Door. He turned, ignoring the guard shouting at him to let them in. He flung himself over the table and grasped the freak by the throat and thrust him against the wall where he bore his weight against the psychopath.

“You tell me what you know! How do you know this?”

Mr. Frylund smiled the same angelic smile and chuckled softly to himself. His eyes shifted up as the vents exhaled the sleeping gas into the room. Three heartbeats and Dr. Leonard could feel his vision closing in on him. He staggered a few steps away from the freak and slumped against the wall for support. He opened his eyes for a moment and realized he and the freak lay on the frigid floor. The freak was still smiling at him and was the last thing Dr. Leonard saw.

After a hearing with the board and several favors, Dr. Leonard found he wasn’t fired. Of course, he could never work with the freak again. In the long history of the medical institution in which he worked, no doctor had attacked a patient. He was issued a warning, should such a thing happen again, he would be terminated. But he didn’t care. Mr. Frylund haunted his dreams at night. His words slithered through his soul during the day. At times he even suspected the freak could somehow be following him. Of course, that was when he was at his most paranoid and irrational state of mind. At times he even saw the man in his other patients, only for a moment. Then gone. So quick was the transformation he rejected the notion of having seen it in the first place. It was insanity.

A Year passed. Two. Dr. Leonard wasn’t allowed to follow the treatment of Mr. Frylund. But that didn’t stop the more sympathetic doctors from provided what little information they could. In two years three doctors pulled out of treatment. Dr. Ferguson quit altogether. Dr. Crane checked herself into a psychiatric hospital and was never heard from again. Dr. Swanson tried to kill himself by jumping off one of the towers. A security guard stopped him. Four more doctors moved on to other patients, stating for the record they could not treat him and moved he be executed immediately. And all the while Dr. Leonard thought of what the freak said. Three years, two months, and two weeks to the day of the doctor’s assault, Dr. Leonard found himself calling the home he placed his mother in. He was transferred to her line and waited for her to pick up. He knew she wouldn’t know who he was, but he had to talk to her.

By the fifth ring, Dr. Leonard made to hang up the phone but stopped as he heard the phone pick up.

“Hello? Mom? It’s me, Leonard. Your son. Listen, I wanted to tell you I’m coming to see you this weekend. I know you don’t remember me, but I’ll bring pictures and show you. I just want to make sure you’re okay. I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. I’m sorry.”

“You just missed her, Jack.”  A calm, collected voice said.

“Who is this? Joyce? You sick? I’m trying to call my mother; can you get her for me?

“No, Jack, may I call you Jack? It’s me.”

“Who is this?”

“I see you already forgot. But don’t you worry, I’ll help you remember.”

The bitter sting of realization plunged into Dr. Leonard’s heart and held it in place, still and cold. His phone hand trembled, the reverberations etching into the hard plastic of his cell phone, threatening to break and snap. The cold, dead air, all consuming, caressed his skin and bore down on him, crushing his lungs, devouring the precious air.

“You? How? How did you?”

“I can’t tell you that, Jack. Why, you’re absolutely crazy, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. And you shouldn’t.”

“Where is my mother? You tell me, you sick son of a bitch!”

“Or was it a jackal?”

“What?”

“I’m joking, Jack. Where is your sense of humor? This is a happy time. For both of us. You should be happy, like me.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“I mean she’s gone, Jack.”

“You… No. No. You. You killed her? You killed her? Answer me, damn you!”

“Yes, I did. I had the privilege of serving as her salvation. It was my honor to do so. You see, she remembered. She called your name, Jack. In the end, even in her condition, she remembered. When was the last time she recalled your face? Recognized you? Remembered her little boy? It was my pleasure. I saved her. People remember, before they die. They smell what they need to smell. Taste what is there. Feel the most important things. Hear and see what they are meant to. But I’m not done, Jack.”

“What do you mean? What could you possibly do to me now? You sick fuck! I’ll kill you! You hear me! I’ll kill you!”

“Don’t worry so much, Jack. I’ll be your salvation. I’ll help you remember.”

Dr. Leonard rushed through security and into the holding blocks. Once there, he dashed to Patient Cell D-349 and peered though the hard plastic window of the door and into the small room. He had to be sure the man was still in there.

 There, Mr. Frylund sat cross-legged on his bed, staring back at Dr. Leonard with brilliant blue eyes and a sincere smile. Dr. Leonard slammed a fist against the door. Once. Twice. He walked back and slammed a foot against the door. The guards were closing on him. He pulled at the cell door. Slammed his shoulder against it with all his strength.

“You! You! How? How did you do it? Guards! Let me in! You tell me! How did you do it! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”

As the guards seized Dr. Leonard he could hear the freak inside give a soft chuckle. He rose from his bed and walked to the door so he could better see the struggling doctor through the plastic window.

“Why, what do you mean, Doctor? I’ve been behind these walls for years now. I couldn’t have killed your mother. See?” He held his bound wrists in front of his face.

“See? See? Did you hear him? Did you hear what he said? He killed her! He killed her! Let me go! I’ll kill you, you sick bastard! I’ll kill you! You heard him! He did it! He killed her! No! No! Let go!

“You should calm down, Jack.” Mr. Frylund said.

“Listen! Hear him? Did you hear that? I never told him my name! How does he know? No! No! Let me go, damn it! She told him! She had to have told him! He killed her! Let me go!

“Jack, do you remember?” Mr. Frylund said behind the plastic.

“Patients name is Jack Theodore Leonard. Diagnosed clinically insane after the attempted murder of several guards and staff. Convinced a former patient killed his mother. Treatment has been slow. Patient not responding well to the drugs. All attempts to show the him that patient 37459 is and has been under supervision for three years, four months, and twenty-seven days have proven to be futile. Patient insists 37459 is responsible for the death of Ellen Grant Leonard. The patient, 95473, has uttered one question in an obsessive compulsive manner: ‘Do you remember?’”

“That’s right. It’s weird; I used to work with the guy. Seemed normal to me. Then one day he burst through here and tried to off 37459. Are you sure you’d like to talk to Frylund?”

“Yes. Mr. Leonard is obviously insane, but I’m intrigued. I’m curious as to what Mr. Frylund has to say on the matter.”

“Hello, Doctor.”

“Yes, Mr. Frylund, good afternoon to you.”

“I understand you wanted to ask me something?”

“Yes, I did. It concerns Mr. Leonard. I believe he was one of your doctors when you were in treatment.”

“How could I forget? How is the good doctor faring?”

“Not well. He still believes you killed his mother.”

“Impossible, I assure you.”

“Of course, you’ve been under surveillance every moment for the past three and a half years.”

“Is there something I can help you with, Doctor?”

“My patient only says one thing to me, or anyone. It’s an odd question to ask and no one seems to know what he’s talking about. I wanted to ask you if the question means anything to you.”

“And what question is that, Doctor?”

“Mr. Leonard repeats the question, ‘Do you remember?’ over and over again. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Yes. Yes it does. It means everything to me. You could say I helped the good Doctor Leonard remember a great many things.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll tell you. But first, let me ask you a question, Doctor.”

“Ask.”

“What can you remember?”