“Savages. Fucking savages,” said McKenzie Youngblood under
her breath as she power-walked through the halls of Aspire Mental Hospital.
Every jacked up orderly and nurse made her skin crawl. Every image of “crazies”
suffering in silence on their padded cells made her stomach turn. The walls and
floors probably hadn’t seen a sponge and bucket since the Reagan
Administration. If they did, it was most likely off the backs of these
patients.
The closer she stomped toward Dr. Oliver Killian’s office,
the hotter McKenzie’s blood boiled. Her flat shoes were the most audible part
of the hallway. Her chubby scowl and gray business suit indicated she
meant…well…business. Deep inside, a wildfire began to grow as these white
orderlies scowled at her black skin. Nonetheless, she was a professional first
and foremost. Just deliver the papers to Dr. Killian, get in, and get out. A
pepper spray bottle in her leather briefcase would only be used as a last
resort.
McKenzie adjusted her suit and skirt and gave a hard series
of knocks on Dr. Killian’s office door. “Come in!” he commanded and she did
just that.
The first thing she noticed was the pristine condition of
his office. Bookshelves with infinite wisdom, wooden plaques containing various
college degrees, a marble office table with the latest computer technology
sitting on it, and not one speck of dirt or dust unless one were to count Dr.
Oliver Killian sitting with his hands behind his white fluffy hair. He adjusted
his glasses and asked, “What can I do for you, young lady?”
“My name isn’t young lady. It’s McKenzie Youngblood and I’m
a process server. The Paulson City Courthouse sent me here.” She pulled a thick
manila envelope out of her briefcase and dropped it unceremoniously on the
marble table. “You’re being sued by your former patients. Rough treatment,
suppression of rights, unnecessary procedures, lengthy incarceration with no
due process of any kind…you’re in deep trouble, Dr. Killian. It’s your right
and your responsibility to contact the courthouse within a week of receiving
these papers. Otherwise, the case will go on without you. Any questions?”
Dr. Killian’s sarcastically pleasant demeanor turned to
silent rage as he rifled through the papers and read them hurriedly. “Psychiatric
patients don’t have rights. This case will never stick.”
“Well, then I guess you have nothing to worry about,
Doctor.” McKenzie leaned forward and said, “And I use that term loosely.”
Slamming the papers on the table, Dr. Killian, without
raising his voice, seethed as he said, “Our facility is one of the best in the
country. We are the good guys. We’re not the ones committing heinous acts on
the street. We’re not the ones making life difficult for our loved ones. These
patients are here because they deserve to be here. They’re a threat to society.
How dare you question my methods!”
“Technically, I don’t have to stand here and have a debate
with you. I could just walk out of this hospital and tell the judges you were
served. But I’ve got to know something before I head out. When was the last
time these patients have seen the summer sun? When was the last time they’ve
had visitors? When was the last time they’ve had love or kindness of any sort?
I know how this place works. Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat.
Beatings, lobotomies, electroshock, repeat. Day after day, every hour on the
hour. This isn’t a hospital. It’s a death camp, especially for minorities and
women, which make up eighty percent of your patient roster.”
Dr. Killian stood up and slammed his palms on the table, still
maintaining his silent anger. “We use those methods because they work. They’re
the only thing that will. Crazy people don’t learn any other way. They don’t
listen to reason. They don’t comprehend order and decency. They don’t live in
our reality. If we don’t do this to them, the world will. These patients should
be thankful for the lessons we teach them. Instead, they want to make a few
bucks off of us and complain about us to the liberal media. If anybody should
feel oppressed right now, it’s me and my staff!”
McKenzie leaned in closer until she was almost touching
noses with Dr. Killian. She did her best to contain her own anger as she told
him, “You’d better hope the judges and jury buy into your twisted propaganda.
If not, then you’ve got a shit storm on your hands, buster. Who knows? Maybe
this dump will be closed once and for all. Good luck with your trial.” Just as
she was turning around, Dr. Killian grabbed hold of her wrist, his bony fingers
barely making a dent in her thick skin. “You have three seconds to pull your
hand away and then I’m whipping out the pepper spray.”
“Okay, Miss Youngblood. You win. You can have a tighter grip
if you prefer that.” Upon releasing his clasp, Dr. Killian pointed his
elongated, creepy finger at the door to his office.
McKenzie turned around and saw two beefy orderlies standing
there with their arms folded and their faces fixed in death stares. “Great
idea, Dr. Killian,” she said. “You can have yet another lawsuit on your hands
and hemorrhage money like no tomorrow. You tell these orderlies to back off or
I’m taking your ass to court.”
Dr. Killian whispered into her ear, “What good is a
lawsuit…if you can’t even make it to the courthouse? You think you’re the only
one to serve me papers lately? You think you’re the only one who’s trying to
sue me? We’re not just doctors and nurses. We’re magicians. We make
lawsuits…disappear.” He licked her ear hole to punctuate his last point.
She turned around to try and slap him, but he ducked out of
the way and allows his orderlies to grab her tightly by both arms. McKenzie
struggled and fought while screaming curses at her captors, but their grips
would only serve to leave purple bruises on her arms later on. They bent her
over the table and yanked her hair so that she was facing Dr. Killian, who glared
at her with ophidian eyes.
“Nobody’s taking my money away,” snarled Dr. Killian. “We’re
making enough of it as it is. Turns out locking people up is quite the
lucrative business. The more patients we’ve got, the richer we all are. It’s
basic economics.” He leaned his face close to McKenzie’s. “You’d have to be crazy
to stand up to capitalism. So crazy, in fact…you’d need your own padded cell.”
With the orderlies’ hands firmly behind McKenzie’s neck, Dr. Killian planted a
sloppy tongue kiss on her lips and slammed her forehead against the table.
McKenzie’s head swam as she was roughly dropped to the
ground. Sparkling stars and colorful clouds filled her vision as darkness
threatened to overtake her. She tried to stand up on her own two feet, but her
legs and arms felt like rubber. Any last chance of rebellion was snuffed away
when an orderly kicked her in the skull and sent her on a one-way ticket to
dreamland.
It felt like an eternity since she slipped into unconscious
hell. Waking up from it proved to be an even bigger drain on her body. She
tried to wiggle around yet again, but leather straps held her horizontally
against a metal table. She tried to yell for help, but her lips were held
together with what appeared to be medical tape. Despite being in bondage, she
never stopped struggling, especially when Dr. Killian’s hazy image swirled into
view.
“Fighting isn’t going to make things better, Miss
Youngblood. Or should I say, Patient #855341. Why fight something you have absolutely
no control over? Why keep fighting and expecting different results? That is the
true definition of insanity. You’ll eventually leave this place like any other
patient of mine. How soon depends on your ability to conform to my rules.
From this point going forward, you will do what I say. You
will think the way I tell you to think. You will be cured of your insanity.
Your brain is mine to play with. Your body is mine to puppeteer. It’s crazy to
rebel against basic human order. It’s crazy to think you’re capable of winning.
It’s crazy to bring a can of pepper spray to a gunfight.”
As soon as Dr. Killian dangled the can of pepper spray in
front of McKenzie’s face, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and ripped
the tape off that way. She spit in Dr. Killian’s face before taking deep
breaths and trying to relax for the horror she would have to endure.
He smiled, wiped the spit off with his finger, and sucked it
down like maple syrup. McKenzie shivered in disgust before Dr. Killian grabbed
her by the throat and squeezed as hard as he could.
As she gagged, wheezed, and struggled for oxygen, Dr.
Killian held the spray bottle to her eyes and laughed maniacally as he pulled
the trigger. Except instead of a blizzard of hot chemicals, he got a beeping
noise. He slowly let go of the chokehold and allowed McKenzie to cough violently
and regain her breath.
Dr. Killian studied the device even further, his face
growing more and more confused. He glared at the bottle before peeling the
label off and seeing that the pepper spray was actually a beacon.
“What? You thought the courthouse wasn’t going to
investigate their own process servers going missing? In about five minutes, the
cops are coming to tear this place apart. You could have taken your blood money
and paid off your patients like a good corporate stooge. You could have kept
this quiet. But you made this shit personal and it’s going to get as loud as a
motherfucker up in here!” McKenzie smiled as the words and rage dripped from
her mouth.
It didn’t take five minutes. Sirens blasting off in the
distance echoed throughout the room and Dr. Killian paced back and forth in
nervousness. “No, no, no, no, no! I’m supposed to be the good guy in this
story! I’m doing God’s work!”
“Sorry, Dr. Killian…but it’s crazy to rebel against the
system,” said McKenzie with a wink.
“Okay, Mrs. Black Lives Matter! Okay, you Snowflake Justice
Warrior! You want to be a martyr?! I’ll make you a martyr!” Dr. Killian pulled
shock pads from the sides of the table and electrocuted McKenzie’s brain. She
could feel her insides droop. She could feel her face fall off. She could feel her
brain melting like butter on mashed potatoes. Her eyes popped out of her skull
at one point. But she never lost that smile no matter how many volts of electricity
she was subjected to. Why would she? It was hard to frown at the prospect of
justice being served. She was a process server, after all.
