Unfinshed Short Story 1 of 2

A Captive Mind

An unedited and incomplete project, cast aside to the forgotten folders of the hard drive.

The Daily Friz

            Derrick awoke to the sound of slowly cracking wood somewhere in the downstairs of his home. Moving about in his bed, in a manner as to not wake his wife Laura, Derrick reached for his thin framed glasses that were neatly placed next to him by his alarm clock. “Just a little after four in the morning.” He thought to himself glancing at the clocks red glow. His two small daughters Susan, 12 and Anna, 9 shared a room down the hall from Laura and his own bedroom. Derrick began to recline back in bed when he heard the noise again, instantly jolting him back to the cause of his original wakefulness.

            As he slid out of the bed, so smoothly as if he were a shadow slipping away from the sun rise, there came the soft spoken voice of his beautiful young wife, “What time is it dear? I didn’t hear the alarm.” Laura said with her eyes still partially closed.

            “I thought that I heard something downstairs. I’m going to have a look at what it was and then I’ll start the coffee before I come back up. You’ve still got a few hours till the kids get up, I won’t be long.” Bending over he went to offer a kiss on Laura’s head but the gesture halted because she had already fallen back to sleep and rolled over.

            Making his way down the old staircase, Derrick glanced at his girl’s room. None of their lights were on yet. No doubt the noise was just some shifting of the old house’s aged oak boards. As he managed his way downstairs it became quite obvious that morning sun had yet to grace him with visibility in the downstairs. In the darkened room he shuffled over some form of misplaced child’s toy while feeling his way to the wall, where his light switch would be to greet his hand.

            An odd cold breeze was the first thing he noticed before he reached the lights, followed by the sensation of something warm and wet on the carpet as he inched his toes into it. Derrick reached for the light switch barely touching it, a powerful hand grabbed his arm, the light flickered on only for a brief second and then off…

            “I can’t do this anymore, Doc. Not today at least, no more today.” Derrick said cold sweat pouring off of his pale face. With trembling hands he cradles his sides, shaking his whole body slightly.

            “You’re doing fine Derrick. You are safe here, no one can hurt you. Please, I need to know what you saw. Derrick, there was a hand, it grabbed you. The light came on briefly; did you see who it was?”

            Crying now, Derrick curled featly into his padded set. The prodding persisted from the elderly psychologist sitting across from him. With a loud tear-filled burst Derrick screamed, “NO! No more. Please no more!”  At the sound of his loud cry, two men entered the room and subdued him. Each man pinning one Derrick arms behind his back as he tried in vain to struggle with his eyes clenched shut, as if to hold back the flood tears.

            As Derrick pleaded for the men to let him go, they stood steadfast until hearing an order from aged psychologist. “Put him in solitary until he clams down, we’re done for today.”

            “What about the food-cart Doctor Kennedy? It’s due by in a few minutes.” Asked the younger of the two men, Derrick still loosely flailing his legs.

“Missing a day’s meal will not kill him, not this one at least.” Doctor Kennedy said turning away from the whole situation and shaking his computer’s mouse to deactivate a blank screensaver.

            The empty cell-like room with thick carpeted floors and rounded corners shone brightly with its florescent lighting bouncing off the chipping white paint of the walls. The younger orderly in a kind manner, assisted Derrick into the room and promised to set aside a tray from him, apologizing if the meal would be cold when he received it. Derrick still upset from his own thoughts and memories, heard nothing of what the man said to him, but he knew him from previous days to be a kind person, not jaded by a lengthy career in this hospital’s walls. With the jingling of keys and a final echoing metallic, clunk, the door was closed and soon the footsteps began to fade away from him.

            Crying in a rounded corner he soon began to calm and his forced memories were abandoned for the moment, and the surreal prospect of where he is taking their place in his mind. “What the hell is going on here? Why am I here?” The questions roaming around in his head find no answer from his memories. As he tries to recollect anything longer than a few days ago his mind goes blank, only brief flashes of his wife and children occasionally butt in. “I remember a funeral, I don’t think I was allowed to be there. Come on Derrick think, think!” Lightly bouncing his fist off his head he jolts a memory of being in jail then going to a trial, a man shouting at him from the witness stand, pointing at him accusingly.

            His head began to thump to the beat of an excited heart. Pain shot through the side of his head. Derrick began rubbing his skull, as if to sooth some relief out of the motion. As his figures parted his hair the course skin of his finger touched bare skin at the back of his scalp. Feeling around the patch of missing hair, he felt fresh scaring and what he guessed was some stitching still clinging to a wound. “I don’t remember any of this at all.” He said to himself. The room began to swirl around him. A sickness began to unfold in the pit of his stomach. Vomiting what seemed to be darkly colored water, Derrick went backwards losing consciousness, and he fell into the thick carpeting. 

            Opening his eyes as he came to his senses, Derrick was now seated in the corner of a couch in what he guesses to be the building’s dayroom. The space was large and there were people wearing the same light blue gown as he was all around him; some playing cards, others talking amongst themselves, a few even talking to themselves. In front of him an older floor model television with a smaller one on top of it was playing some sort of western from a VHS player in need of adjusting its tracking. The screen flickered about every few short moments giving him a clear view of the screen.

            Derrick looked around as if he wanted secrecy and slowly reached his hand to the back of his head. Sure enough it was not a dream, not this time. The back of his head must look like a mismatched puzzle being forced together by clumsy hands. Lifting up the front of his gown he tried to unnoticeably peek down at his body, as if to inspect that everything else was in one piece. “It’s about time that you came to, Mr. Richards.” Said a voice from behind him, a firm hand following finding its rest on his shoulder. “I hope you didn’t mind but we had to change you out of your old clothes, looks like you got yourself so worked up that you got sick again.” The voice belonged to the young orderly.

            “It’s ok, um…” Pause hit him as he realized that he did not know this kind man’s name.

            “It’s still Brian, Mr. Richards. The same name I tell you every other day that I come in. It is ok though, the staff was briefed about your memory problems after your surgery, so we understand.”

            “Brian, wait, my surgery? What can you tell me about this surgery?” Derrick asked as if all his questions were about to be answered by this smiling man.

            Now sitting down next to Derrick, Brian looks as if he is about to recite a well rehearsed speech. His green-hazel eyes showing great sadness for what he is about to say, knowing what the result of his words will be having said all of this before. “What do you remember of when you first came here?” Brian said trying to avoid saying something in a frank manner that he obviously thinks should be let out slowly.

            “Not much, I think that I was a victim of a crime or something. I am not sure even how long I have been here to be honest with you.”   Derrick said coolly as if to let Brian know that he can handle anything that he may be able to tell him.

            Brian wet his lips and stared distantly at the fuzzy television screen as he began. “It was all over the news for quite some time. At first the headlines said critical condition and then latter it was known as a triple murder. You were the only one left alive. I’m sorry Derrick, your family is gone.” Brian paused assessing the man next to him. Derrick sat silent waiting for him to continue. “It was obvious to everyone that you had nothing to do with it, but with elections in the county at the time someone had to take the fall. Evidence surfaced saying that your wife was having an affair and with no other evidence they put you in jail after they persuaded a jury you had motive. After you tried to kill yourself in jail, your attorney arranged for you to come here.” Standing up slowly Brian turned to Derrick. “You’ve been here for the better part of five years now. With no family to speak of and no more money, Doc’s been the only one working with you to get the truth out. His surgery was supposed to help you remember through the shock but it’ll take time till you’re well enough to remember all that you have been through.”

            Nearing the television, Brian thumped on the VCR with his palm, the picture becoming just a little more clear. “Damn thing, it’s a wonder these donations lasted this long.”

            “Five years?” Derrick said silently as Brian walked past him leaving him to mall over the shortened retelling of the story of his family’s murder. His mind began to race as if to search for some memories either verifying or disproving what he had just heard, but none came.

            “I’ll see if the nurse’s station is unlocked. If it is I’ll warm up your tray for you, this stuff has been sitting for a while now.” Brian said from across the room, picking up a small tray of unidentifiable food.

            Left alone now, Derrick began to pick at the rubber gripping made into the soles of his socks. The background noise of the television and muffled voices seemed distant to him now. He had a lot to think about and a lot more questions that now needed to be answered. The gravity of the situation had yet to sink in. Derrick’s mind was not on his lost family, not now. His mind wrapped around the one great question, why?

            As Brian handed him his tray filled with small portions of processed food he said nothing. Brian smiled and glanced eagerly at the clock turning away from Derrick and walking toward the hall, where no doubt he awaited the next shift’s arrival. Leaving this place was not a luxury that Derrick had. Not even his thoughts of the outside world gave him a hopeful comfort. When trying to remember something other than the slaying of his family seemed impossible and the effort only brought about more painful swelling in his brain.

            “Hey man, don’t eat that shit! I saw the guard bring that special from the backroom.” said a pale and dangerously thin middle aged man, while setting down next to Derrick. Derrick sat quietly prodding his food with the handle of a plastic spoon. “That stuff will make you a zombie. They load chemicals and drugs into it; also they put turkey extracts in everything they make to sedate us!” Pausing briefly, Derrick glanced at the man. A ringing in his ears began slowly with a pulsing rhythm, each beat giving him pain and brought with it an unjustified rage, like a wounded animal biting at someone treating its injury.

            “Hey man, I’m just trying to help you, ya’ know? Can’t let them get to us.” At the man’s last words Derrick sprang up tossing aside his tray of untouched nourishment and he flew at the pale man pinning his shoulders to the floor. As the fragile man kicked, the chairs closest were over turned. Derrick struggled not even knowing why he was attacking this man, but realizing that he must. The others in the room about him turned to view the fight, some of them screaming encouraging chants, others crying for help! The blows made by Derrick seemed to have an unnatural power as they split the paper thin skin of the slender man, spilling his blood in spattered sprays over Derrick.

            Derrick suddenly felt numerous arms wrap around his waist and limbs. With a last crazed move he lunged for the small television knocking aside one of his new opponents. Handling the television with closed eyes he hurled it behind him. In a crash of sparks and blood, Derrick was finally pinned, he eyes facing where his projectile had landed. It was Brian; he lay over the pale man in a position as if to protect him taking the blow of Derrick’s anger. The orderly’s head was cut deep with thick dark blood forming into a pool underneath him.

            “You son of a bitch” sounded one of the men holding him down as he was struck on the back of the head hard with what could have been a flash light. Derrick’s head bounced off the hard ground beneath him from the blow, sending him unconscious and for the moment granting him peace from his pain and these uncontrolled actions.

Should this abomination ever be completed?

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Tags: Short Stories, Story, Unfinished, Forgotten, Incomplete, Frizbeen, The Daily Friz