Cliffton Fanfiction: Intractable - Chapter 6
If you want to read the previous chapters in this fanfic about Devin's mental instability, they are linked below.
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
---------
Can’t fucking sleep. Something’s wrong with the ventilation in my room. Fucking wonky. I think it broke sometime after my last session with Al -- been having a lot of trouble breathing ever since then. Had three fucking “special sessions” with the doctor -- something goes wrong after each one. I stare at the ceiling, wondering what’s going to interrupt my Designated Rest Period this time. Seems we never get to rest when the schedule says we’re supposed to. I don’t fucking get it.
Don’t fucking get anything about this place. The staff calls us “intractable” to our faces yet says we’re here to heal. The fuck? How can we heal if we’re “intractable” cases? Why bother with the bullshit? This place has nothing to do with healing. Just fucking admit it, dudes.
My heart starts hammering. Breathing gets even harder. There’s not enough fucking air in here. I hate the fucking wonky ventilation. I lie on my bed. Grab my arms, hard enough it hurts. Need the pain right now -- at least I can trust that. It’s grounding.
Want to scratch my arms. Fucking can’t. The doctors will see the marks and ask me about them. It happened before -- once. And that was more than enough. Couldn’t give them a good answer about the scratches. They injected me with this weird fucking tranq. It made me have all these freaky dreams about some kid named Ernest or Ethan or something who said he was my best friend before he died. The kid was surrounded by fucking flames, too. Ash and smoke in front of his face so I couldn’t even see what he looked like. Scared the shit out of me. Never want to see him again.
I’ve never even had a best friend. Nobody ever liked me. Too fucking dorky and weird. Came from a “bad family.” Who would wanna be my friend? “Ernest” from my dreams is just a drug side effect. Don’t wanna see him again -- so why do I keep fucking thinking about him?
Gotta stop thinking about someone who doesn’t exist. I try to breathe -- there’s still not enough fucking air in this place. Can’t breathe. Need to get outta here. I decide to stop trying to sleep and sit up. Glance at my arms -- and notice all the fucking scratch marks. Don’t remember making those. Fuck.
My stomach sinks. The doctors are gonna notice that -- fucking Al included.
Beverly, one of the Care Assistants, knocks on my door and pokes her head into my room, making my heart fucking hammer. “Designated Rest Period is over. It’s time for Group, Devin,” she says.
I pull the covers up over my arms so she doesn’t see the marks on them. Beverly raises an eyebrow -- she noticed something. “What are you hiding?” she asks.
Fuck.
“Don’t have anything to fucking hide,” I mutter, keeping the covers over my arms. If she sees them, I’ll get another dose of that weird tranq. Can’t have that. Just can’t.
Beverly walks into my room. I shrink away from her. She fucking yanks the covers away, revealing my scratched up arms. “Don’t have anything to hide, do you?” she drawls.
“Nothing to hide,” I say, though that’s an obvious fucking lie.
I feel sick when she takes out a weird device and punches some buttons on it. I know what that means -- she’s calling a doctor to come give me a tranq.
Think about making a break for it. Remember how well that went when I tried to escape Counselor Riley’s office. I hug my arms to my body -- can feel myself shiver. When fucking Al appears, I shiver even worse.
He’s holding a JetSyringe. Fucking smiling. Is injecting kids how he gets off?
Al approaches me. I’m fucking frozen. I want to run, and I can’t.
“You know self-harm isn’t a proper coping mechanism, right? You’re smarter than that, Devin,” he murmurs.
“I fucking know that, dude,” I mutter, glaring at him. Don’t care, though. It has nothing to do with being “smart” or not, okay?
“This will calm you down and help you cope in a healthier manner,” Al says. He holds up the JetSyringe. It kinda fucking glows.
“I doubt that,” I say. I hug myself tighter. Catch Beverly’s eye. She’s got a creepy smile, too. The fuck is up with people’s smiles in this place?
“Are you ready?” Al murmurs.
“Not fucking ready. Don’t want a tranq,” I mutter.
Doesn’t fucking matter -- Al smiles and jams the thing into my arm. I feel woozy. Think I might puke. The room fucking spins. My vision goes gray at the edges.
I fucking pass out.
* * *
When I wake up, everything’s on fucking fire, and I’m surrounded by flames. Can’t breathe. I start coughing and drop to the ground. That freaky Ernest kid appears. He’s obscured by smoke. A fucking silhouette. The fuck is going on?
How can he stand the flames? They’re bright orange and yellow and red. Flickering. Burning. Glowing. My heart thuds in my chest. Ernest -- or whatever his real name is -- offers me a hand.
“Can’t stand up -- the smoke. The fire,” I cough. That fucking smoke fills my lungs as I speak.
“It’s not real,” Ernest says. “It’s just a dream -- it can’t really hurt you.” He keeps his hand extended.
The fuck kind of dream says it’s a dream? How can I know this isn’t real? A large, burning beam falls from the ceiling. Crashes right behind me. Sets the floor itself on fire. My heart stops as the flames race towards me. Don’t care if it’s not real, I don’t wanna get burned. I take Ernest’s hand. We run out of the house, flames fucking towering around us.
We end up on a empty street in front of the burning house as it’s destroyed. I blink. The place is fucking familiar -- like I’ve seen it somewhere that’s not a dream. Impossible. I would remember if I ever saw something like this.
Ernest turns to me, his eyes huge and sad. I can see his face now, though it’s still kinda distorted. Like I’m seeing it through PlastiGlass. “You don’t remember, do you?” he murmurs.
“The fuck is there to remember? This is just a weird tranq dream,” I mutter. I’m still holding his hand. Somehow, I don’t wanna let go.
“I have something to show you,” he says. Voice is fucking urgent.
Don’t think I have any choice but to follow him, so I do. Grip his hand harder than I need to. This place scares me. This street? Something’s wrong here.
Something’s even more wrong when I find myself back in the Home for the Intractably Insane. I recognize my too-white hallway. I look at Ernest. “Why the fuck are we here?” I mutter.
“You want to escape, right?” he asks. Still has my hand.
I don’t let go, even though I don’t know how we got here. “Of course I wanna fucking escape,” I say.
“I’ll show you how, but we don’t have much time,” he whispers. He pulls me towards the Care Assistants’ Station and gestures at it. “Listen. There’s a shift change at 5PM. Nobody’s in the Station for five minutes. They leave it open -- the day shift Care Assistants are careless. If you sneak in, you can steal the codes to override security and open all the doors on this ward and beyond -- including the one to get you out of here.” He points to a high shelf, one I could reach with difficulty. “That’s where they store the codes. There are ones for the whole Home. They don’t trust the system because of hackers, so they store the codes on MobiDrives.”
Wait, what?
“The fuck?” I say. “You serious? That’s insane.” No way would that work -- for many reasons.
Ernest half-smiles. “You are in the Home for the Intractably Insane,” he murmurs.
“How would I even override the codes if I managed to steal them?” I wonder. Can’t believe I’m considering the plan -- this is a fucking dream. Can’t fucking escape based on something I heard in a dream.
“The little black box by the JetSyringe Prepartion Workstation is a mini CompuPanel. Press your palm to it, and it’ll activate. Your handprint is in the system -- I made sure of it. Just stick the MobiDrives into the side of the CompuPanel,” he says. Fucking grins. So proud of himself, even though he’s not fucking real. Even though this is just a fantasy I made up from having too much tranq in my system.
“There’s one little -- huge -- problem,” I sigh. I still have his hand. Worry fucking knots my stomach as I take a look at the Care Assistants’ Station. “The building is supposed to be a fucking maze. Even if I get out of this ward, how will I make out of the Home itself?”
“There are maps inside the CompuPanel, plus more codes if the ones on the shelf aren’t enough,” he says. Ernest looks behind him. I look, too.
The fuck is that?
A giant shadowy blob approaches us -- like something out of a monster vid. It’s as tall as the ceiling. My heart races. Something about that creature is evil. Makes my blood fucking freeze.
“I gotta go,” Ernest mutters. “You need to wake up. Now.” He lets go of my hand and starts to fade. I don’t want him to fucking fade. Don’t wanna be alone with that -- thing.
“What’s your real name?” I shout.
“E--” He vanishes before he can finish telling me.
I’m all alone now. The shadow creature keeps sliding towards me. It’s gonna fucking get me. Can’t fucking breathe. Can’t let it get me. I concentrate on waking up -- squeeze my eyes shut and hope like fucking hell I make it. Don’t wanna disappoint Ernest, no matter that he’s not real.
I manage to wake up right before the shadow reaches me. Its darkness feels like it’s less than a fucking inch from me when I do. My sheets are covered in sweat. Fucking gross. My heart thuds as I look around my room. No shadows. Was any of that dream real? No way it could be. Still, I can’t shake it. Can’t shake the possibility of escape it offered me.
Don’t care if it’s fucking real or not -- I’m gonna sneak into the Care Assistants’ Station and look for the codes, anyway.
I have to take this fucking chance, as crazy as it is. Like Ernest said, I am in the Home for the Intractably Insane.
next chapter
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5
---------
Can’t fucking sleep. Something’s wrong with the ventilation in my room. Fucking wonky. I think it broke sometime after my last session with Al -- been having a lot of trouble breathing ever since then. Had three fucking “special sessions” with the doctor -- something goes wrong after each one. I stare at the ceiling, wondering what’s going to interrupt my Designated Rest Period this time. Seems we never get to rest when the schedule says we’re supposed to. I don’t fucking get it.
Don’t fucking get anything about this place. The staff calls us “intractable” to our faces yet says we’re here to heal. The fuck? How can we heal if we’re “intractable” cases? Why bother with the bullshit? This place has nothing to do with healing. Just fucking admit it, dudes.
My heart starts hammering. Breathing gets even harder. There’s not enough fucking air in here. I hate the fucking wonky ventilation. I lie on my bed. Grab my arms, hard enough it hurts. Need the pain right now -- at least I can trust that. It’s grounding.
Want to scratch my arms. Fucking can’t. The doctors will see the marks and ask me about them. It happened before -- once. And that was more than enough. Couldn’t give them a good answer about the scratches. They injected me with this weird fucking tranq. It made me have all these freaky dreams about some kid named Ernest or Ethan or something who said he was my best friend before he died. The kid was surrounded by fucking flames, too. Ash and smoke in front of his face so I couldn’t even see what he looked like. Scared the shit out of me. Never want to see him again.
I’ve never even had a best friend. Nobody ever liked me. Too fucking dorky and weird. Came from a “bad family.” Who would wanna be my friend? “Ernest” from my dreams is just a drug side effect. Don’t wanna see him again -- so why do I keep fucking thinking about him?
Gotta stop thinking about someone who doesn’t exist. I try to breathe -- there’s still not enough fucking air in this place. Can’t breathe. Need to get outta here. I decide to stop trying to sleep and sit up. Glance at my arms -- and notice all the fucking scratch marks. Don’t remember making those. Fuck.
My stomach sinks. The doctors are gonna notice that -- fucking Al included.
Beverly, one of the Care Assistants, knocks on my door and pokes her head into my room, making my heart fucking hammer. “Designated Rest Period is over. It’s time for Group, Devin,” she says.
I pull the covers up over my arms so she doesn’t see the marks on them. Beverly raises an eyebrow -- she noticed something. “What are you hiding?” she asks.
Fuck.
“Don’t have anything to fucking hide,” I mutter, keeping the covers over my arms. If she sees them, I’ll get another dose of that weird tranq. Can’t have that. Just can’t.
Beverly walks into my room. I shrink away from her. She fucking yanks the covers away, revealing my scratched up arms. “Don’t have anything to hide, do you?” she drawls.
“Nothing to hide,” I say, though that’s an obvious fucking lie.
I feel sick when she takes out a weird device and punches some buttons on it. I know what that means -- she’s calling a doctor to come give me a tranq.
Think about making a break for it. Remember how well that went when I tried to escape Counselor Riley’s office. I hug my arms to my body -- can feel myself shiver. When fucking Al appears, I shiver even worse.
He’s holding a JetSyringe. Fucking smiling. Is injecting kids how he gets off?
Al approaches me. I’m fucking frozen. I want to run, and I can’t.
“You know self-harm isn’t a proper coping mechanism, right? You’re smarter than that, Devin,” he murmurs.
“I fucking know that, dude,” I mutter, glaring at him. Don’t care, though. It has nothing to do with being “smart” or not, okay?
“This will calm you down and help you cope in a healthier manner,” Al says. He holds up the JetSyringe. It kinda fucking glows.
“I doubt that,” I say. I hug myself tighter. Catch Beverly’s eye. She’s got a creepy smile, too. The fuck is up with people’s smiles in this place?
“Are you ready?” Al murmurs.
“Not fucking ready. Don’t want a tranq,” I mutter.
Doesn’t fucking matter -- Al smiles and jams the thing into my arm. I feel woozy. Think I might puke. The room fucking spins. My vision goes gray at the edges.
I fucking pass out.
* * *
When I wake up, everything’s on fucking fire, and I’m surrounded by flames. Can’t breathe. I start coughing and drop to the ground. That freaky Ernest kid appears. He’s obscured by smoke. A fucking silhouette. The fuck is going on?
How can he stand the flames? They’re bright orange and yellow and red. Flickering. Burning. Glowing. My heart thuds in my chest. Ernest -- or whatever his real name is -- offers me a hand.
“Can’t stand up -- the smoke. The fire,” I cough. That fucking smoke fills my lungs as I speak.
“It’s not real,” Ernest says. “It’s just a dream -- it can’t really hurt you.” He keeps his hand extended.
The fuck kind of dream says it’s a dream? How can I know this isn’t real? A large, burning beam falls from the ceiling. Crashes right behind me. Sets the floor itself on fire. My heart stops as the flames race towards me. Don’t care if it’s not real, I don’t wanna get burned. I take Ernest’s hand. We run out of the house, flames fucking towering around us.
We end up on a empty street in front of the burning house as it’s destroyed. I blink. The place is fucking familiar -- like I’ve seen it somewhere that’s not a dream. Impossible. I would remember if I ever saw something like this.
Ernest turns to me, his eyes huge and sad. I can see his face now, though it’s still kinda distorted. Like I’m seeing it through PlastiGlass. “You don’t remember, do you?” he murmurs.
“The fuck is there to remember? This is just a weird tranq dream,” I mutter. I’m still holding his hand. Somehow, I don’t wanna let go.
“I have something to show you,” he says. Voice is fucking urgent.
Don’t think I have any choice but to follow him, so I do. Grip his hand harder than I need to. This place scares me. This street? Something’s wrong here.
Something’s even more wrong when I find myself back in the Home for the Intractably Insane. I recognize my too-white hallway. I look at Ernest. “Why the fuck are we here?” I mutter.
“You want to escape, right?” he asks. Still has my hand.
I don’t let go, even though I don’t know how we got here. “Of course I wanna fucking escape,” I say.
“I’ll show you how, but we don’t have much time,” he whispers. He pulls me towards the Care Assistants’ Station and gestures at it. “Listen. There’s a shift change at 5PM. Nobody’s in the Station for five minutes. They leave it open -- the day shift Care Assistants are careless. If you sneak in, you can steal the codes to override security and open all the doors on this ward and beyond -- including the one to get you out of here.” He points to a high shelf, one I could reach with difficulty. “That’s where they store the codes. There are ones for the whole Home. They don’t trust the system because of hackers, so they store the codes on MobiDrives.”
Wait, what?
“The fuck?” I say. “You serious? That’s insane.” No way would that work -- for many reasons.
Ernest half-smiles. “You are in the Home for the Intractably Insane,” he murmurs.
“How would I even override the codes if I managed to steal them?” I wonder. Can’t believe I’m considering the plan -- this is a fucking dream. Can’t fucking escape based on something I heard in a dream.
“The little black box by the JetSyringe Prepartion Workstation is a mini CompuPanel. Press your palm to it, and it’ll activate. Your handprint is in the system -- I made sure of it. Just stick the MobiDrives into the side of the CompuPanel,” he says. Fucking grins. So proud of himself, even though he’s not fucking real. Even though this is just a fantasy I made up from having too much tranq in my system.
“There’s one little -- huge -- problem,” I sigh. I still have his hand. Worry fucking knots my stomach as I take a look at the Care Assistants’ Station. “The building is supposed to be a fucking maze. Even if I get out of this ward, how will I make out of the Home itself?”
“There are maps inside the CompuPanel, plus more codes if the ones on the shelf aren’t enough,” he says. Ernest looks behind him. I look, too.
The fuck is that?
A giant shadowy blob approaches us -- like something out of a monster vid. It’s as tall as the ceiling. My heart races. Something about that creature is evil. Makes my blood fucking freeze.
“I gotta go,” Ernest mutters. “You need to wake up. Now.” He lets go of my hand and starts to fade. I don’t want him to fucking fade. Don’t wanna be alone with that -- thing.
“What’s your real name?” I shout.
“E--” He vanishes before he can finish telling me.
I’m all alone now. The shadow creature keeps sliding towards me. It’s gonna fucking get me. Can’t fucking breathe. Can’t let it get me. I concentrate on waking up -- squeeze my eyes shut and hope like fucking hell I make it. Don’t wanna disappoint Ernest, no matter that he’s not real.
I manage to wake up right before the shadow reaches me. Its darkness feels like it’s less than a fucking inch from me when I do. My sheets are covered in sweat. Fucking gross. My heart thuds as I look around my room. No shadows. Was any of that dream real? No way it could be. Still, I can’t shake it. Can’t shake the possibility of escape it offered me.
Don’t care if it’s fucking real or not -- I’m gonna sneak into the Care Assistants’ Station and look for the codes, anyway.
I have to take this fucking chance, as crazy as it is. Like Ernest said, I am in the Home for the Intractably Insane.
next chapter