Checking out, Checking in
Who: eidetic_graham, psyd_seward, with a later visit by eats_the_rude
When: JUNE 17TH. The late afternoon of Will's arrival.
Where: Saint Theresa's Sanitarium
Summary: Despite all the consolation and comfort given to him by the many voices over the network, Will Graham was not as convinced by this new 'reality' as the majority may have. For the safety of himself and what sanity he may have left, he commits himself to the local crazy-house with hopes that he might wake up in a hospital bed in Florida.
Warnings: N/A
Alone.
That was where he found himself, hours after he had pitched a fit with the orderlies just to convince them to put him away. It didn't take much, however. One look at his doleful eyes spoke volumes of how deep into quiet hysterics he had sunk. It was like looking at a sick puppy who had been terrorized by a group of cruel children and had retreated into the safety of its tiny simple mind.
Graham sat on a lone chair in his clean In-patient clothing, hands folded, eyes staring off, and all tucked away in a quiet well-sanitized room. He had tried the bed, his body longing for sleep, but his mind was still on the fast-track to Hell. Who could sleep when the images of the night prior kept creeping up before his eyes; so real he had the initiative to pull his .44 special.
A small relief that he had given up his heavy arsenal at the front desk. Trading a safety trigger for the safe-house.
This was the right choice.
He had to tell himself ad nauseum. This was the only choice that made sense in an empathetic mind such as his that had no room for the bizarre and fanciful. He had lived enough nightmares while wearing a Federal badge to commit himself to another.
This was the right choice.
They would take care of him here. Dope him up, knock him out... and soon... soon he would wake up in a normal psych ward.
In the normal ho-hum world.
And he'd go back to his normal house, on a normal beach, and get himself shit-faced again, like he normally did every other night.
When: JUNE 17TH. The late afternoon of Will's arrival.
Where: Saint Theresa's Sanitarium
Summary: Despite all the consolation and comfort given to him by the many voices over the network, Will Graham was not as convinced by this new 'reality' as the majority may have. For the safety of himself and what sanity he may have left, he commits himself to the local crazy-house with hopes that he might wake up in a hospital bed in Florida.
Warnings: N/A
Alone.
That was where he found himself, hours after he had pitched a fit with the orderlies just to convince them to put him away. It didn't take much, however. One look at his doleful eyes spoke volumes of how deep into quiet hysterics he had sunk. It was like looking at a sick puppy who had been terrorized by a group of cruel children and had retreated into the safety of its tiny simple mind.
Graham sat on a lone chair in his clean In-patient clothing, hands folded, eyes staring off, and all tucked away in a quiet well-sanitized room. He had tried the bed, his body longing for sleep, but his mind was still on the fast-track to Hell. Who could sleep when the images of the night prior kept creeping up before his eyes; so real he had the initiative to pull his .44 special.
A small relief that he had given up his heavy arsenal at the front desk. Trading a safety trigger for the safe-house.
This was the right choice.
He had to tell himself ad nauseum. This was the only choice that made sense in an empathetic mind such as his that had no room for the bizarre and fanciful. He had lived enough nightmares while wearing a Federal badge to commit himself to another.
This was the right choice.
They would take care of him here. Dope him up, knock him out... and soon... soon he would wake up in a normal psych ward.
In the normal ho-hum world.
And he'd go back to his normal house, on a normal beach, and get himself shit-faced again, like he normally did every other night.