No resemblance to any persons living or dead is intended. If you think you see yourself or someone you know in this story, then you are one sick puppy.
* Esh *
She would not be able to order events in her mind until much later, but she believed World War III was fought, won, and lost between her shampoo and her second rinse.
*
She hung up with an enormous sense of relief. Breaking her weekend plans with Jared had been surprisingly easy. He never questioned the "sudden emergency" excuse she had given him. His pushiness over the past few weeks had made her nervous. While she had accepted his ring with enthusiasm, she had grown increasingly reluctant to set the date. She had given Jared a reason to be pushy, she thought, but she was still delighted to avoid spending the weekend at his cabin. She had only a slight twinge of guilt when she taped a "be back Monday" note on her door for the landlady. A long, hot shower was definitely in order, she decided.
The running water must have masked the noise of a dying way of life. She could not remember how long she had stayed there in civilized hot water and soap, but she always remembered stepping out into hell.
*
"Kewpie," the doctor called softly. "Wake up, Kewpie, time for meds." He looked into the tiny isolation cell through the observation port. The patient sat cross-legged on the floor and did not respond.
The doctor smiled and reached for the monkey wrench at his feet. "KEWPIE!" he said loudly, "I said TIME FOR YOUR MEDS!" He suddenly hammered on the metal door with the wrench. Kewpie didn't seem to hear the racket, but the other two inmates in identical isolation cells began to howl.
"Now look at what you did!" exclaimed the doctor. "You've disturbed the unit. No meds for you, my boy, no meds today." He chuckled a bit and rapped the door once more before strutting out of the unit. The meds were secure in his inner jacket pocket. He thanked Kewpie's unknown insurance company for providing the means to pay off his school loans more quickly. His connection had a particular market for thorazine, and the doctor had a particular patient who wouldn't get better whether he got his thorazine or not. Life was good, the doctor thought.
That life was busily ending before he reached the outer door of the isolation unit.
*