TSCC - "Seven Days In Pescadero" - PG-13
TITLE: Seven Days in Pescadero
RATING: PG-13 (Language)
AUTHOR: Castellan Craft
CHARACTERS: Sarah-centric
WORD COUNT: 4,364
WARNINGS: Minor spoilers for T2 and Terminator: TSCC, episode 7 of season 1, “The Demon Hand.”
TIMELINE: Set prior to Terminator 2: Judgment Day during the three years in which Sarah was incarcerated as a metal patient.
SUMMARY: “What can happen to a person inside four walls… it screws with your head.” ~ Derek Reese.
Seven standout days from inside the Pescadero mental institution. Mostly speculation based on back story tidbits we’ve got.
AUTHOR’S NOTES:
1. Seriously, first piece of fanfic I’ve written in… years. I blame indiefic_scc for going and writing a few that were so gosh darn good I suddenly had the urge to dabble again (Curse you! *fist shakes*). Decided to start small.
2. Completely un-beta-ed. I don’t have any friends that are versed in the fandom, and my own experience of T1 is piecemeal and interrupted. For all I know, I misspelled P(r)escadero (Why yes, I did. Thanks deslea
). I welcome corrections, comments, and critique.
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own it, never will, blah blah blah, but I could tell you if it was mine I’d sure as hell make sure that Sarah Connor and Canceled would never find them selves in the same sentence.
~~~~~
Day 1
“This really is the best you could have hoped for,” Sarah’s court appointed public defender pointed out. “It’s a fine place to find your self compared to the state prisons.” He was neatly laying out the last of the paperwork he needed her to sign having handled her legal case.
She thought for a minute he enjoyed how easy it had been: assault, battery, breaking and entering, attempted arson, and too much evidence stacked against her. All he had to do was advise her to take a damn insanity plea and he’d get his paycheck. Her vehemence against the very idea of being crazy almost seemed to make it easier for him. Mitchell Weber, this fresh faced young man straight out of law school had been able to say whatever he wanted after she’d been dragged from the court room deemed unfit to stand trial whilst screaming about the bombs, the fire, and the killer metal.
“A state prison wouldn’t be trying to ram drugs down my throat.”
“They are a mandatory condition of your rehabilitation,” Mr. Weber said monotonously. She thought he’d enjoyed it… but now she could just see he was bored. A defense attorney salivates at the idea of being at the side of some wrongly persecuted public figure and coming out of the court room just as much a hero as the defendant. Instead he got landed with an apparent whack-job. If only he knew how justified she was regardless of the laws she’d so blatantly broken.
She settled back in the cold metal chair, glaring daggers at the papers and pen arrayed before her. “You know, they aren’t going to read your mind. If you want this straight jacket undone, you’ll have to ask the orderlies. Otherwise I can’t sign shit and you’ll never be rid of me.” Bitter sarcasm seemed the last oasis left to her inside four barren white walls.
As Weber stood and tapped on the reinforced glass window of the locked door, he showed the faintest spark of intrigue. “What did you do, punch out a nurse your first hour here?” The door swung open and revealed an ill humored middle aged man with the keys still grasped in his hand.
“Nope. Him,” she said with a sardonic smirk directed at the orderly in the hope of increasing the discomfort she knew he was still in. His nose was bandaged.
“Why am I not surprised,” Weber asked before turning back to the asylum employee. “I need Ms. Connor to finalize some paper work with me. Could you please remove that straight jacket?”
The bulky man looked between the two several times with apprehension. When Sarah’s derisive smirk failed to falter, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Just a few minutes, I’ll go get the other restraints. She’ll be locked to the table, but can sign anything you want in reach.”
One small victory for Sarah; she’d managed to scare the man. 32 small victories for the disgruntled guard later that night. “Checks” were every 15 minutes, and he was sure to be none too quiet about it during the eight hours she tried fruitlessly to sleep. Considering she’s spent the last 10 years pointing rifles at even quieter bumps in the night, she had a feeling she was never going to sleep well again so long as she was trapped here.
~~~~~
Day 96
Sarah glanced from left to right, surprised she wasn’t among the 2 others in the circle wearing restraints. She’d been brutal the first week, but had finally grown tired enough to not needlessly take out her anger on the staff. When the hostility had slackened off, her case manager had insisted moving her to the lower security ward was an appropriate reward and motivational tool at the three month case review point. Over the weeks, Dr. Silberman was convinced he’d figured out most of her violence inspiring triggers, so had the brilliant idea of welcoming her into group therapy. Allowing her human interaction and free use of her limbs was supposed to be some half assed attempt at building a rapport she guessed.
“What should we talk about today?” Silberman glanced about eagerly, hoping for earnest suggestions. All he got back were 8 expressions ranging from vapid to annoyed. “Anyone? Come on Joann, you’re always so creative… nothing to suggest? Any sort of icebreaker to help us all get to know each other?”
“How about the first person you’ll deck when you get out of here and why,” Spew suggested. The gangly young man’s real name was Henry, but he still stubbornly insisted on Spew. The patients indulged him, the staff did not.
Silberman skillfully bit back an exasperated sigh. “Now, Henry, I really don’t think we should be contemplating such negativity. You’ll only be hurting yourself in the long run if you spend so much time stewing on such things; it’ll eat you up inside. Perhaps instead-”
“The first person we’ll see,” Sarah cut him off before she could stop herself. Her voice was uncharacteristically contemplative. “When we’re released,” she added in explanation. She was staring at the floor, not really sure why she’d chimed in at all. Later, she’d blame it all on the double dose of valium that had been forced on her an hour before the session.
Silberman’s smile was all plastic, but his eyes betrayed surprised. “Well, that could certainly be very positive. Who would you want to share that first new day with? What would you do? Do you want to start Sarah?”
“No.” She looked up from the floor long enough to give him a dead eyed stare that didn’t give away that she was silently beating herself senseless for saying anything at all.
“I’d see my dogs,” Joann said quietly, sheepishly. She was always sheepish. “I don’t think I’d be ready to be seen. I’d take my pit bulls to the park.”
Sarah’s arms were hanging limply at her sides off the chair as she listened. These drugs really were kicking her ass, though she didn’t know if the relaxed limbs or the fact that she was actually listening was a greater sign of that.
“I’d see my parents,” Spew said suspicious cheerfully. “And make them a nice big pot of… stew.” He ended on a smile that was only a barring of teeth. Two people gave a weak chuckle. The rest either didn’t get it or didn’t care.
They went around one by one. Sarah passed by means of ignoring the first time they came round her, staring blankly at the floor though still listening. When she was the only one left, Silberman began to insist.
“Come on Sarah, everyone else has been kind enough to open up.”
Spew smiled. “Yeah, I wanna hear this. Jake said over lunch that you got landed here for torching some place so it could be cool.”
She offered the young man a tight smile. “Tried torching. Attempted arson.”
He offered a scoff in return. “You lose cool points.”
“I’d go to the range,” she said with a slow blink as she looked back at the floor. It was a stupid admission, but she wasn’t yet concerned with convincing them she was “cured” as the diagnosis she had to refute wasn’t solid yet.
“Who would you go with Sarah?” The doctor already had a pen prone over the notes section of her file.
“My son.”
It wasn’t much of a stretch: they knew she had a son and had taken him away from her prior to the trial in fact. But she felt her gut wrench in apprehension as she felt her eyes betray her. She didn’t cry, didn’t even come anywhere close to it, but the few rapid blinks were enough for a trained eye like Silberman’s.
Shit. She’d given him an in.
~~~~~
Day 121
Sarah had her feet tucked under her mattress to make her sit-ups easier and quicker. The yellowing ceiling of the familiar locked ward greeted her eyes with each decent as her back met the floor. She had to be in shape because she knew what was coming next.
She didn’t consider her first escape attempt five days ago all that monumental. She’d certainly tried like hell, but it was more a learning experience then anything. Layout of the building, numbers of guard, general patrol patterns, and many locked gates were carefully catalogued away in her mind. It may have been her first attempt, but it wouldn’t be her last.
But there were things worth worrying about more immediately.
The snap of footsteps in the hallway drew her attention, and she stood to face the door prepared. Every night since the attempt, the few guards and orderlies she’d made fools of took out their frustrations on her. Except that wiry one with the blonde hair… he’d gotten fired for his screw up. That had been monumental, but just fueled the rage of his still employed peers.
They’d come three strong tonight. Even after bar brawls in Nicaragua, knife fights in Tijuana, and all the work outs to steel herself for the here and now, this was getting old. No fair fights, no chance they’d learn to let her be and just drop it, not even an opportunity to get a dirty shot in. Just needles, batons, and her own mind flaying her raw for ever landing herself in this situation. In here she felt naked; every weapons cache and preparation for the future that had brought her comfort and made her feel like something was being accomplished was just a source of frustration now. She could see each armament lining the walls of a bunker just out of reach, clear as day in her mind and as a boot met her gut.
Tonight proved to be meaningful not so much from actions taken but due to mental tipping points reached. Sarah Connor still continued to struggle and gave no quarter, but there was a resignation to it. The man who just had her foot planted against his ribs would never notice of course, but she realized there was no winning this fight and that there would only be waiting it out. She no longer hoped for some bitter victory. Oddly, she found herself only going so far as to spare hope that this would be the night they’d finally leave a mark that the nurse would see on her daily morning rounds.
And that was just depressing.
~~~~~
Day 290
She couldn’t tell if it was the four walls or the fluorescent lights, or maybe the combination there of; feeling boxed in with no where to run was bad enough, but the harsh glare could make a person feel exposed. Either way, something was messing with her head. As much as she hated Dr. Silberman’s condescension and his blind ignorance of what was coming despite her constant warnings, she still found herself so gnaw for company she was actually beginning to settle on him.
“You’re very good at hiding, aren’t you Sarah?”
“Thank you Captain Obvious. You are a ray of enlightenment, as always.” She tried to make it sound sarcastic, but failed to give it much inflection at all around a hoarse throat. She sometimes wondered how much they paid him; so far he’d tolerated a number of bumps, bruises, and a brief asphyxiation at her hands yet still kept coming back. Was his paycheck worth it, or was he so pathetic as to have also settled on her company? Or perhaps it was even less then that; maybe she was just a hobby to him, a puzzle to crack. She settled on that point of view because it made it so much easier to be angry with him.
“I don’t mean physically… that much would be obvious. I mean how even here, for no reason at all, you hide who you are from the people that could help you most.” He paused as he flipped through 10 year old news articles in his notes. “You can’t flash some fake ID; I know your real name. You can’t pretend to be a retail clerk from North Carolina; I know that’s a lie. But you can’t hide what you’ve been through either. You can’t pretend to be normal after all you’ve endured. Everyone heard about the Phone Book Killer… and I can understand how terrifying that must have been for you.” His sympathetic expression was disturbingly heartfelt.
She felt the skin around the old shrapnel would in her left leg tighten as she leaned forward to face him full in the eyes. “No, you don’t.”
“He was a methodical killer,” Silberman said, looking back in the bulging manila folder that was slowly filling with more and more of her life. “Precise in his patterns, unwavering from the path of actions he’d chosen… some might even say mechanical in how he continued on just as he’d intended, no matter what obstacles were thrown up in his way. Cold and unfeeling as metal.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Bravo. I’m projecting my delusions onto a long gone serial killer that turned my life upside down as some twisted method of coping with post traumatic stress. Is that it?”
“It is perfectly understandable to want to rationalize something that is seemingly so inhuman in its disregard for-”
He never got a chance to finish as she overturned the metal table in one swift motion. Any other day she would have screamed, lashed out, been close to tears of rage, but today, she was just too tired. She wasn’t even angry, just exasperated. Sarah didn’t feel insulted by his notions as she sometimes did, today he just struck her as a complete idiot that she didn’t have patience for. Ironically, Silberman seemed even more disturbed by the sight of her just standing and glaring, fists clenched but unmoving without the comforting span of the table acting as a barrier between them then he was when she was actively out for blood. That sight was only in place for a few heartbeats though as the orderlies tackled her to the floor.
It was easier today to numb herself to the sting of her flesh being slapped against the concrete in one all too familiar push. It wasn’t about her, or her comfort, or her honor… all that mattered was protecting John, and that made the indignities a bit easier to bear.
Maybe next week she’d be lonely enough to have more tolerance for idiots.
~~~~~
Day 368
“As I’m sure you can see, Ms. Connor has made significant progress in the last year.” Dr. Silberman was gesturing toward Sarah on the other end of the other wise empty cafeteria. He’d wanted her to be a bit more involved in the discussion, but was pacing a bit restlessly nine tables away. Pacing around tables was better then throwing them though, so he didn’t actively discourage her. “We were planning on moving her to the low security wing, which is why we wanted to meet with you.”
Todd and Janelle were listening closely, but the latter kept glancing nervously at Sarah as she paced barefoot in her scrubs. They couldn’t really see what the psychiatric case manager was pointing out as they had nothing to compare it to. All they had were brief overviews of why John had needed a foster home in the first place. But the doctor’s tone was carefully crafted to be reassuring.
“The lower security wing allows for regular visitation rights. The idea arose that maybe this accomplishment could be celebrated with a visit from her son.”
Sarah finally came to a halt and let her head thump lightly against the cold glass of the nearest window. She knew these people just wanted to take care of her son, but it was still hard to shake the feeling that they were just an obstacle so she purposefully put herself out of arms reach. She’d obviously spent too many years beating problems to a pulp as she’d twice now used the length of the cafeteria to reconsider issuing threats, managing to banish the urge before actually reaching the table and turning around again to pace the agitation off. Thankfully no one could see that far under her skin.
Janelle leaned in close to Dr. Silberman and spoke in hushed tones. “She wouldn’t hurt him, would she?”
Sarah bit down hard on a retort as it was clear this woman didn’t know her voice was carrying across the hall. She felt she could learn more by just letting them believe she was oblivious.
The doctor matched her quiet tones. “Her son? Not at all. They may have lived a rigorous life style, but she was never physically abusive of John. This may be hard for him in other ways though. I can’t say as I’m not his doctor. Is he receiving any therapy to help him re-adjust?” As both shook their heads, he continued. “Well, I know some very good child psychologists if you’d like their contact information. You might wish to confer with one before this, but just based on what you’ve told me over the phone he’s settling in steadily. His problems seem to be more a case of indoctrination rather then actually sharing in his mother’s delusions, so being away from her for so long has done him good.”
“Then why would you want us to bring him here,” Todd asked with apprehension.
“I think it would help her. John has obviously been her rock for years, but he was too malleable to her influence having been raised by her. Now that he’s more firmly rooted in reality, he could be a good anchor through which she can find that same reality.”
The two looked at each other and stood to leave. “We’ll need to think about this,” Janelle said.
“Whether you believe the things I’ve seen or not,” Sarah called out loudly, “he’s still my son. I don’t think anyone here would say love is a delusion.” She sat at the nearest table, still a good distance from them. The slumped posture was still easily seen though, making her look frail and just a bit more relatable. “I just want to see my boy.”
She didn’t sleep that night. She could only worry about whether she could have said or done more to convince them.
~~~~~
Day 375
“Connor?” One of the orderlies pointedly tapped where a watch would be on his wrist.
She raised her chin and made to object, but John piped up first. “Eat me,” he told the man bitterly and turned back to the pieces on the table. Neither of the guards or doctor Silberman was happy John had brought a chess board with him as it could be a long game to play, but had acquiesced upon John’s insistence that he could, “kick mom’s ass,” faster then they could haul her out of the room. It’s true that she had never been as good at the game, but every minute over the exact mark of one hour left them disgruntled with her.
“Making any friend’s at school?” She nudged her black bishop along an escape path from a white one that was prone for a kill. The question hung between them for a moment, dry and dull and not at all what she actually wanted to say.
“A few,” he said with a shrug, and trudged one of his pawns forward. He wasn’t even really sure he wanted to be here. It was obvious that he liked Nintendo, the better food, and not having to carry a weeks worth of supplies on his back through the jungle anymore. Enjoying an easy life was one thing, but she was worried they really had changed him to the point where he wouldn’t be ready when that life came crashing down.
The ramparts of her rook came crashing upon one of his knights. “Not getting in to any trouble, are you?”
John glared at her from behind his hair. It’s grown a lot since she’d last seen him, and she felt a pang of regret for having missed a whole year of his life. “I haven’t blown anything up lately. No shooting either.” He pushed his pawn to her edge of the board and reached forward. For just a minute she thought he was actually trying to take her hand till he grasped the knight she’d just captured and swapped it with the pawn. “Checkmate.”
She gave him a proud grin and reached out to tussle his hair, which he ducked out of just from habit. He started packing the pieces.
With him now being on the edge of leaving, it was too much to keep in. She walked around the table to lean against the edge of it closer to him. “John,” she said with a firm hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
He looked up, hurt. “They said you were getting better.” There was an accusatory undercurrent to his voice.
Sarah knelt beside him, whispering urgently. “You can’t give up, even for a second John. Too much depends on you.” He refused to meet her eyes as he shoved the last few pieces into the box. He shrugged away from her roughly before making for the door. “John Connor,” she started in with a more authoritative tone. Truth be told, she barely knew how to be a mother compared to a drill sergeant. He stopped by the door, but only because it had to be unlocked. “It’s not safe,” she said harshly.
He didn’t turn around and instead only spared a side long glance. “Why’d you have to be such a freak?”
He was already out the door when she ran after him. “It’s not safe,” she shouted over the shoulder of the guard who was already wrestling her back inside. “No one is ever safe!” That last was far more shrill as she swung a vicious uppercut into the man’s jaw.
Janelle was already running out into the hall to gather John up into her arms. Todd was a few paces behind his wife, and so was still in the side observation room to witness the moment something hit the window they’d been behind only a short span ago. It was reinforced like all the glass here and so did not break, but cracked viciously under the impact of a chair Sarah had thrown. If she’d been more accurate, one of the orderlies would now have a broken arm.
The outburst was enough to send Sarah back to the heavier security ward. She tried to escape again while en route to it. She wouldn’t have visitation rights again for a very long time. Not that it mattered much; John didn’t want to come and visit again any time soon.
~~~~~
Day 1,042
Everything had been blurring lately. Some of the staff thought she was bordering on catatonic, spending so much time lost in her head. It was easy to do when you got so little sleep and would doze off with your eyes open, half remembered people and places dancing just barely out of sight.
“Ms. Connor? I’m from DCFS. I brought some paperwork for you.”
For so long she thought she’d lost her son just to the allure of a normal life that a young boy would undoubtedly choose over the hell she put him through. Now she knew he just didn’t believe.
“Everything should be in order. All we need to do it cross the t’s and dot the i’s.”
Last night as she watched the playground burn for what felt like the millionth time, something was different. She saw herself, and she saw John. Sarah saw the happy normal life they could have had swallowed up in fire. The same fires that had been burning through her mind for years.
“It basically states that you voluntarily and unequivocally consent, that you’ve been advised of the legal consequences of this relinquishment…”
Had she lit those flames in the first place?
“…that you understand that your consent in irrevocable…”
Was she really crazy?
“…and once these papers are signed all parental rights will be terminated.”
She couldn’t even remember Kyle’s face clearly anymore.
“Sign here… and we’ll get a certified copy to the judge.”
Sarah stared blankly at the DCFS representative blankly for a time. He drummed his fingers absently on the table, but met her gaze patiently. He’d been doing this for enough years that he was well used to the full spectrum of reactions that people had to the idea of their child being taken from them. When she mutely took the pen and signed, he nodded. Numb… that one was common enough.
Sarah felt the pen slide through her fingers as she let it fall back against the table. The bottom fell out of her stomach as she watched this man walk away as if her son himself were stuffed in his briefcase.
She wasn’t going to be able to live with this. She didn’t eat that night.
The idea of trying to break out or just letting herself waste away was a debate that ran through her mind for hours. Some tiny part of her chimed in bitterly that it still believed anyway, so parental rights didn’t mean anything because John would long be a man by the time she was ever released.
It all changed when the officers came late that night.
The pictures of that familiar expressionless face brought it all rushing back clear as day… and it was chasing her son. It wasn’t that she didn’t hear the cops; she just didn’t care enough to listen. Sarah had watched enough people die trying to fight these things so she wasn’t going to give them more to go on. Breaking out won out as the chosen course of action with a touch of “or die trying” tacked on the end.
At least as she spat the paper clip hidden under her tongue into her hands to pick the lock of the restraints, she remembered Kyle’s face crystal clear again.
At least as the door’s lock gave way, she knew she wasn’t crazy.
RATING: PG-13 (Language)
AUTHOR: Castellan Craft
CHARACTERS: Sarah-centric
WORD COUNT: 4,364
WARNINGS: Minor spoilers for T2 and Terminator: TSCC, episode 7 of season 1, “The Demon Hand.”
TIMELINE: Set prior to Terminator 2: Judgment Day during the three years in which Sarah was incarcerated as a metal patient.
SUMMARY: “What can happen to a person inside four walls… it screws with your head.” ~ Derek Reese.
Seven standout days from inside the Pescadero mental institution. Mostly speculation based on back story tidbits we’ve got.
AUTHOR’S NOTES:
1. Seriously, first piece of fanfic I’ve written in… years. I blame indiefic_scc for going and writing a few that were so gosh darn good I suddenly had the urge to dabble again (Curse you! *fist shakes*). Decided to start small.
2. Completely un-beta-ed. I don’t have any friends that are versed in the fandom, and my own experience of T1 is piecemeal and interrupted. For all I know, I misspelled P(r)escadero (Why yes, I did. Thanks deslea
). I welcome corrections, comments, and critique.
DISCLAIMER: Don’t own it, never will, blah blah blah, but I could tell you if it was mine I’d sure as hell make sure that Sarah Connor and Canceled would never find them selves in the same sentence.
~~~~~
Day 1
“This really is the best you could have hoped for,” Sarah’s court appointed public defender pointed out. “It’s a fine place to find your self compared to the state prisons.” He was neatly laying out the last of the paperwork he needed her to sign having handled her legal case.
She thought for a minute he enjoyed how easy it had been: assault, battery, breaking and entering, attempted arson, and too much evidence stacked against her. All he had to do was advise her to take a damn insanity plea and he’d get his paycheck. Her vehemence against the very idea of being crazy almost seemed to make it easier for him. Mitchell Weber, this fresh faced young man straight out of law school had been able to say whatever he wanted after she’d been dragged from the court room deemed unfit to stand trial whilst screaming about the bombs, the fire, and the killer metal.
“A state prison wouldn’t be trying to ram drugs down my throat.”
“They are a mandatory condition of your rehabilitation,” Mr. Weber said monotonously. She thought he’d enjoyed it… but now she could just see he was bored. A defense attorney salivates at the idea of being at the side of some wrongly persecuted public figure and coming out of the court room just as much a hero as the defendant. Instead he got landed with an apparent whack-job. If only he knew how justified she was regardless of the laws she’d so blatantly broken.
She settled back in the cold metal chair, glaring daggers at the papers and pen arrayed before her. “You know, they aren’t going to read your mind. If you want this straight jacket undone, you’ll have to ask the orderlies. Otherwise I can’t sign shit and you’ll never be rid of me.” Bitter sarcasm seemed the last oasis left to her inside four barren white walls.
As Weber stood and tapped on the reinforced glass window of the locked door, he showed the faintest spark of intrigue. “What did you do, punch out a nurse your first hour here?” The door swung open and revealed an ill humored middle aged man with the keys still grasped in his hand.
“Nope. Him,” she said with a sardonic smirk directed at the orderly in the hope of increasing the discomfort she knew he was still in. His nose was bandaged.
“Why am I not surprised,” Weber asked before turning back to the asylum employee. “I need Ms. Connor to finalize some paper work with me. Could you please remove that straight jacket?”
The bulky man looked between the two several times with apprehension. When Sarah’s derisive smirk failed to falter, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Just a few minutes, I’ll go get the other restraints. She’ll be locked to the table, but can sign anything you want in reach.”
One small victory for Sarah; she’d managed to scare the man. 32 small victories for the disgruntled guard later that night. “Checks” were every 15 minutes, and he was sure to be none too quiet about it during the eight hours she tried fruitlessly to sleep. Considering she’s spent the last 10 years pointing rifles at even quieter bumps in the night, she had a feeling she was never going to sleep well again so long as she was trapped here.
~~~~~
Day 96
Sarah glanced from left to right, surprised she wasn’t among the 2 others in the circle wearing restraints. She’d been brutal the first week, but had finally grown tired enough to not needlessly take out her anger on the staff. When the hostility had slackened off, her case manager had insisted moving her to the lower security ward was an appropriate reward and motivational tool at the three month case review point. Over the weeks, Dr. Silberman was convinced he’d figured out most of her violence inspiring triggers, so had the brilliant idea of welcoming her into group therapy. Allowing her human interaction and free use of her limbs was supposed to be some half assed attempt at building a rapport she guessed.
“What should we talk about today?” Silberman glanced about eagerly, hoping for earnest suggestions. All he got back were 8 expressions ranging from vapid to annoyed. “Anyone? Come on Joann, you’re always so creative… nothing to suggest? Any sort of icebreaker to help us all get to know each other?”
“How about the first person you’ll deck when you get out of here and why,” Spew suggested. The gangly young man’s real name was Henry, but he still stubbornly insisted on Spew. The patients indulged him, the staff did not.
Silberman skillfully bit back an exasperated sigh. “Now, Henry, I really don’t think we should be contemplating such negativity. You’ll only be hurting yourself in the long run if you spend so much time stewing on such things; it’ll eat you up inside. Perhaps instead-”
“The first person we’ll see,” Sarah cut him off before she could stop herself. Her voice was uncharacteristically contemplative. “When we’re released,” she added in explanation. She was staring at the floor, not really sure why she’d chimed in at all. Later, she’d blame it all on the double dose of valium that had been forced on her an hour before the session.
Silberman’s smile was all plastic, but his eyes betrayed surprised. “Well, that could certainly be very positive. Who would you want to share that first new day with? What would you do? Do you want to start Sarah?”
“No.” She looked up from the floor long enough to give him a dead eyed stare that didn’t give away that she was silently beating herself senseless for saying anything at all.
“I’d see my dogs,” Joann said quietly, sheepishly. She was always sheepish. “I don’t think I’d be ready to be seen. I’d take my pit bulls to the park.”
Sarah’s arms were hanging limply at her sides off the chair as she listened. These drugs really were kicking her ass, though she didn’t know if the relaxed limbs or the fact that she was actually listening was a greater sign of that.
“I’d see my parents,” Spew said suspicious cheerfully. “And make them a nice big pot of… stew.” He ended on a smile that was only a barring of teeth. Two people gave a weak chuckle. The rest either didn’t get it or didn’t care.
They went around one by one. Sarah passed by means of ignoring the first time they came round her, staring blankly at the floor though still listening. When she was the only one left, Silberman began to insist.
“Come on Sarah, everyone else has been kind enough to open up.”
Spew smiled. “Yeah, I wanna hear this. Jake said over lunch that you got landed here for torching some place so it could be cool.”
She offered the young man a tight smile. “Tried torching. Attempted arson.”
He offered a scoff in return. “You lose cool points.”
“I’d go to the range,” she said with a slow blink as she looked back at the floor. It was a stupid admission, but she wasn’t yet concerned with convincing them she was “cured” as the diagnosis she had to refute wasn’t solid yet.
“Who would you go with Sarah?” The doctor already had a pen prone over the notes section of her file.
“My son.”
It wasn’t much of a stretch: they knew she had a son and had taken him away from her prior to the trial in fact. But she felt her gut wrench in apprehension as she felt her eyes betray her. She didn’t cry, didn’t even come anywhere close to it, but the few rapid blinks were enough for a trained eye like Silberman’s.
Shit. She’d given him an in.
~~~~~
Day 121
Sarah had her feet tucked under her mattress to make her sit-ups easier and quicker. The yellowing ceiling of the familiar locked ward greeted her eyes with each decent as her back met the floor. She had to be in shape because she knew what was coming next.
She didn’t consider her first escape attempt five days ago all that monumental. She’d certainly tried like hell, but it was more a learning experience then anything. Layout of the building, numbers of guard, general patrol patterns, and many locked gates were carefully catalogued away in her mind. It may have been her first attempt, but it wouldn’t be her last.
But there were things worth worrying about more immediately.
The snap of footsteps in the hallway drew her attention, and she stood to face the door prepared. Every night since the attempt, the few guards and orderlies she’d made fools of took out their frustrations on her. Except that wiry one with the blonde hair… he’d gotten fired for his screw up. That had been monumental, but just fueled the rage of his still employed peers.
They’d come three strong tonight. Even after bar brawls in Nicaragua, knife fights in Tijuana, and all the work outs to steel herself for the here and now, this was getting old. No fair fights, no chance they’d learn to let her be and just drop it, not even an opportunity to get a dirty shot in. Just needles, batons, and her own mind flaying her raw for ever landing herself in this situation. In here she felt naked; every weapons cache and preparation for the future that had brought her comfort and made her feel like something was being accomplished was just a source of frustration now. She could see each armament lining the walls of a bunker just out of reach, clear as day in her mind and as a boot met her gut.
Tonight proved to be meaningful not so much from actions taken but due to mental tipping points reached. Sarah Connor still continued to struggle and gave no quarter, but there was a resignation to it. The man who just had her foot planted against his ribs would never notice of course, but she realized there was no winning this fight and that there would only be waiting it out. She no longer hoped for some bitter victory. Oddly, she found herself only going so far as to spare hope that this would be the night they’d finally leave a mark that the nurse would see on her daily morning rounds.
And that was just depressing.
~~~~~
Day 290
She couldn’t tell if it was the four walls or the fluorescent lights, or maybe the combination there of; feeling boxed in with no where to run was bad enough, but the harsh glare could make a person feel exposed. Either way, something was messing with her head. As much as she hated Dr. Silberman’s condescension and his blind ignorance of what was coming despite her constant warnings, she still found herself so gnaw for company she was actually beginning to settle on him.
“You’re very good at hiding, aren’t you Sarah?”
“Thank you Captain Obvious. You are a ray of enlightenment, as always.” She tried to make it sound sarcastic, but failed to give it much inflection at all around a hoarse throat. She sometimes wondered how much they paid him; so far he’d tolerated a number of bumps, bruises, and a brief asphyxiation at her hands yet still kept coming back. Was his paycheck worth it, or was he so pathetic as to have also settled on her company? Or perhaps it was even less then that; maybe she was just a hobby to him, a puzzle to crack. She settled on that point of view because it made it so much easier to be angry with him.
“I don’t mean physically… that much would be obvious. I mean how even here, for no reason at all, you hide who you are from the people that could help you most.” He paused as he flipped through 10 year old news articles in his notes. “You can’t flash some fake ID; I know your real name. You can’t pretend to be a retail clerk from North Carolina; I know that’s a lie. But you can’t hide what you’ve been through either. You can’t pretend to be normal after all you’ve endured. Everyone heard about the Phone Book Killer… and I can understand how terrifying that must have been for you.” His sympathetic expression was disturbingly heartfelt.
She felt the skin around the old shrapnel would in her left leg tighten as she leaned forward to face him full in the eyes. “No, you don’t.”
“He was a methodical killer,” Silberman said, looking back in the bulging manila folder that was slowly filling with more and more of her life. “Precise in his patterns, unwavering from the path of actions he’d chosen… some might even say mechanical in how he continued on just as he’d intended, no matter what obstacles were thrown up in his way. Cold and unfeeling as metal.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Bravo. I’m projecting my delusions onto a long gone serial killer that turned my life upside down as some twisted method of coping with post traumatic stress. Is that it?”
“It is perfectly understandable to want to rationalize something that is seemingly so inhuman in its disregard for-”
He never got a chance to finish as she overturned the metal table in one swift motion. Any other day she would have screamed, lashed out, been close to tears of rage, but today, she was just too tired. She wasn’t even angry, just exasperated. Sarah didn’t feel insulted by his notions as she sometimes did, today he just struck her as a complete idiot that she didn’t have patience for. Ironically, Silberman seemed even more disturbed by the sight of her just standing and glaring, fists clenched but unmoving without the comforting span of the table acting as a barrier between them then he was when she was actively out for blood. That sight was only in place for a few heartbeats though as the orderlies tackled her to the floor.
It was easier today to numb herself to the sting of her flesh being slapped against the concrete in one all too familiar push. It wasn’t about her, or her comfort, or her honor… all that mattered was protecting John, and that made the indignities a bit easier to bear.
Maybe next week she’d be lonely enough to have more tolerance for idiots.
~~~~~
Day 368
“As I’m sure you can see, Ms. Connor has made significant progress in the last year.” Dr. Silberman was gesturing toward Sarah on the other end of the other wise empty cafeteria. He’d wanted her to be a bit more involved in the discussion, but was pacing a bit restlessly nine tables away. Pacing around tables was better then throwing them though, so he didn’t actively discourage her. “We were planning on moving her to the low security wing, which is why we wanted to meet with you.”
Todd and Janelle were listening closely, but the latter kept glancing nervously at Sarah as she paced barefoot in her scrubs. They couldn’t really see what the psychiatric case manager was pointing out as they had nothing to compare it to. All they had were brief overviews of why John had needed a foster home in the first place. But the doctor’s tone was carefully crafted to be reassuring.
“The lower security wing allows for regular visitation rights. The idea arose that maybe this accomplishment could be celebrated with a visit from her son.”
Sarah finally came to a halt and let her head thump lightly against the cold glass of the nearest window. She knew these people just wanted to take care of her son, but it was still hard to shake the feeling that they were just an obstacle so she purposefully put herself out of arms reach. She’d obviously spent too many years beating problems to a pulp as she’d twice now used the length of the cafeteria to reconsider issuing threats, managing to banish the urge before actually reaching the table and turning around again to pace the agitation off. Thankfully no one could see that far under her skin.
Janelle leaned in close to Dr. Silberman and spoke in hushed tones. “She wouldn’t hurt him, would she?”
Sarah bit down hard on a retort as it was clear this woman didn’t know her voice was carrying across the hall. She felt she could learn more by just letting them believe she was oblivious.
The doctor matched her quiet tones. “Her son? Not at all. They may have lived a rigorous life style, but she was never physically abusive of John. This may be hard for him in other ways though. I can’t say as I’m not his doctor. Is he receiving any therapy to help him re-adjust?” As both shook their heads, he continued. “Well, I know some very good child psychologists if you’d like their contact information. You might wish to confer with one before this, but just based on what you’ve told me over the phone he’s settling in steadily. His problems seem to be more a case of indoctrination rather then actually sharing in his mother’s delusions, so being away from her for so long has done him good.”
“Then why would you want us to bring him here,” Todd asked with apprehension.
“I think it would help her. John has obviously been her rock for years, but he was too malleable to her influence having been raised by her. Now that he’s more firmly rooted in reality, he could be a good anchor through which she can find that same reality.”
The two looked at each other and stood to leave. “We’ll need to think about this,” Janelle said.
“Whether you believe the things I’ve seen or not,” Sarah called out loudly, “he’s still my son. I don’t think anyone here would say love is a delusion.” She sat at the nearest table, still a good distance from them. The slumped posture was still easily seen though, making her look frail and just a bit more relatable. “I just want to see my boy.”
She didn’t sleep that night. She could only worry about whether she could have said or done more to convince them.
~~~~~
Day 375
“Connor?” One of the orderlies pointedly tapped where a watch would be on his wrist.
She raised her chin and made to object, but John piped up first. “Eat me,” he told the man bitterly and turned back to the pieces on the table. Neither of the guards or doctor Silberman was happy John had brought a chess board with him as it could be a long game to play, but had acquiesced upon John’s insistence that he could, “kick mom’s ass,” faster then they could haul her out of the room. It’s true that she had never been as good at the game, but every minute over the exact mark of one hour left them disgruntled with her.
“Making any friend’s at school?” She nudged her black bishop along an escape path from a white one that was prone for a kill. The question hung between them for a moment, dry and dull and not at all what she actually wanted to say.
“A few,” he said with a shrug, and trudged one of his pawns forward. He wasn’t even really sure he wanted to be here. It was obvious that he liked Nintendo, the better food, and not having to carry a weeks worth of supplies on his back through the jungle anymore. Enjoying an easy life was one thing, but she was worried they really had changed him to the point where he wouldn’t be ready when that life came crashing down.
The ramparts of her rook came crashing upon one of his knights. “Not getting in to any trouble, are you?”
John glared at her from behind his hair. It’s grown a lot since she’d last seen him, and she felt a pang of regret for having missed a whole year of his life. “I haven’t blown anything up lately. No shooting either.” He pushed his pawn to her edge of the board and reached forward. For just a minute she thought he was actually trying to take her hand till he grasped the knight she’d just captured and swapped it with the pawn. “Checkmate.”
She gave him a proud grin and reached out to tussle his hair, which he ducked out of just from habit. He started packing the pieces.
With him now being on the edge of leaving, it was too much to keep in. She walked around the table to lean against the edge of it closer to him. “John,” she said with a firm hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”
He looked up, hurt. “They said you were getting better.” There was an accusatory undercurrent to his voice.
Sarah knelt beside him, whispering urgently. “You can’t give up, even for a second John. Too much depends on you.” He refused to meet her eyes as he shoved the last few pieces into the box. He shrugged away from her roughly before making for the door. “John Connor,” she started in with a more authoritative tone. Truth be told, she barely knew how to be a mother compared to a drill sergeant. He stopped by the door, but only because it had to be unlocked. “It’s not safe,” she said harshly.
He didn’t turn around and instead only spared a side long glance. “Why’d you have to be such a freak?”
He was already out the door when she ran after him. “It’s not safe,” she shouted over the shoulder of the guard who was already wrestling her back inside. “No one is ever safe!” That last was far more shrill as she swung a vicious uppercut into the man’s jaw.
Janelle was already running out into the hall to gather John up into her arms. Todd was a few paces behind his wife, and so was still in the side observation room to witness the moment something hit the window they’d been behind only a short span ago. It was reinforced like all the glass here and so did not break, but cracked viciously under the impact of a chair Sarah had thrown. If she’d been more accurate, one of the orderlies would now have a broken arm.
The outburst was enough to send Sarah back to the heavier security ward. She tried to escape again while en route to it. She wouldn’t have visitation rights again for a very long time. Not that it mattered much; John didn’t want to come and visit again any time soon.
~~~~~
Day 1,042
Everything had been blurring lately. Some of the staff thought she was bordering on catatonic, spending so much time lost in her head. It was easy to do when you got so little sleep and would doze off with your eyes open, half remembered people and places dancing just barely out of sight.
“Ms. Connor? I’m from DCFS. I brought some paperwork for you.”
For so long she thought she’d lost her son just to the allure of a normal life that a young boy would undoubtedly choose over the hell she put him through. Now she knew he just didn’t believe.
“Everything should be in order. All we need to do it cross the t’s and dot the i’s.”
Last night as she watched the playground burn for what felt like the millionth time, something was different. She saw herself, and she saw John. Sarah saw the happy normal life they could have had swallowed up in fire. The same fires that had been burning through her mind for years.
“It basically states that you voluntarily and unequivocally consent, that you’ve been advised of the legal consequences of this relinquishment…”
Had she lit those flames in the first place?
“…that you understand that your consent in irrevocable…”
Was she really crazy?
“…and once these papers are signed all parental rights will be terminated.”
She couldn’t even remember Kyle’s face clearly anymore.
“Sign here… and we’ll get a certified copy to the judge.”
Sarah stared blankly at the DCFS representative blankly for a time. He drummed his fingers absently on the table, but met her gaze patiently. He’d been doing this for enough years that he was well used to the full spectrum of reactions that people had to the idea of their child being taken from them. When she mutely took the pen and signed, he nodded. Numb… that one was common enough.
Sarah felt the pen slide through her fingers as she let it fall back against the table. The bottom fell out of her stomach as she watched this man walk away as if her son himself were stuffed in his briefcase.
She wasn’t going to be able to live with this. She didn’t eat that night.
The idea of trying to break out or just letting herself waste away was a debate that ran through her mind for hours. Some tiny part of her chimed in bitterly that it still believed anyway, so parental rights didn’t mean anything because John would long be a man by the time she was ever released.
It all changed when the officers came late that night.
The pictures of that familiar expressionless face brought it all rushing back clear as day… and it was chasing her son. It wasn’t that she didn’t hear the cops; she just didn’t care enough to listen. Sarah had watched enough people die trying to fight these things so she wasn’t going to give them more to go on. Breaking out won out as the chosen course of action with a touch of “or die trying” tacked on the end.
At least as she spat the paper clip hidden under her tongue into her hands to pick the lock of the restraints, she remembered Kyle’s face crystal clear again.
At least as the door’s lock gave way, she knew she wasn’t crazy.