Myselves

         My name is Eric Stanton. I am a forty eight year old man; tall, what they call “ripped,” dark hair with sparse grays, and rough, patchy facial stubble. I am a creep. At least that is what the people at work say.  They are not very nice to me. I do not know what it is that I do to deserve their treatment, but it hurts my feelings. I want to cut all of their throats.
         Delilah tells me I should. Delilah should shut up. Delilah is my friend. She is my friend in the sense that she is always talking to me – whether I want her to or not. I think she wants us to be a Bonnie and Clyde type of couple, but I think I could find a less annoying Bonnie.
         I do enjoy Delilah’s company when she is around. She seems know when I have been mistreated by a coworker, because she always seems to show up after an altercation. I am a janitor at a hospital. Delilah is clearly not a medical professional because she does not wear scrubs, but I think she does work somewhere in the hospital. I have never cared enough to ask. People in the hospital always give us dirty looks as she follows me around the hospital while I clean. They cannot believe that a woman as young and beautiful as Delilah would be talking to an old creep like me. I do not know how old she is. Again, I have never cared enough to ask.
      I do not like her very much as she is truly annoying, but she is there when I need to vent. Mostly, we just talk about me and how I am unfairly treated at work. It feels good to have someone to vent to. I tell her I want to kill them all sometimes. She encourages this. I do not believe that she thinks I would do such a thing. I think she is trying to make me feel better. It works.
      Right now, Delilah is in the passenger seat of my car after my shift. I do not remember offering her a ride home, but here she is. I have already told her that I will not bring her home. She can walk from my place. She never seems to care about this. I told her this the first time she jumped in my car uninvited so that she would not jump into my car uninvited again, but it did not work. I think she is desperate for friends, and she always seems to show up when I am upset, so I let her be my friend. I do not know where Delilah lives, or how far she walks from my house. I do not care.
      Delilah showed up to talk while I was working today. They stared at us. They always stare at us. I think that they cannot believe that a young, beautiful woman with gorgeous, flaming red hair and a buxom figure would be talking to an old creep like me. But she does talk to me, and on days like today, her presence is comforting.
      Richard Court is my boss. I want to kill him.
      Today, I heard his voice in my ear piece demanding that I clean a particularly nasty mess in one of the bathrooms. Some old incontinent geyser who will be dead soon, probably. He had an accident. I always get the worst jobs, but I think it is because I do what I am told and do not complain. I tell Richard Court that I will get on it right away. I always do what Richard Court says.
      Bo got over the earpiece joking about how I am the boss’s pet, but the boss does not even like me. I always do what I am told, and Bo tells me I should tell Richard Court to screw himself. This makes me laugh. I tell Bo to be quiet before he gets us both in trouble. I tell him to worry about his own work and I will worry about mine. Then I hear Richard Court telling me specifically to keep the channel clear unless it has to do with work.
      I have never actually met Bo, but I can tell from his voice that he is black. Maybe that is why Richard Court never yells at him when we chat over the walkies. He is scared of being called racist if he disciplines Bo. Or maybe he just does not like me. I am, after all, a creep. And no one here likes me, except for Delilah.
      I apologize to Richard Court and say that Bo just makes me laugh sometimes, and I cannot help but to respond. Richard Court tells me “for the last time” that there is no Bo.
      This angers me. I have come to the conclusion that Bo told me a false name, part of his game. Bo loves to play games. But Richard Court knows exactly who I am talking about; he heard him, too.
      I hate being singled out, and I wanted to kill Richard Court at that moment. That is when Delilah showed up. Perfect timing as always. She stood in the bathroom doorway while I cleaned. I gave her a face mask to cover her nose and mouth and keep away the reviling stench. She listened to my bitter story, and the detailed explanation of all the ways I wanted to kill Richard Court. She followed me around for a little bit until I was calm, then she left me. While we were talking, they stared at us.
        “Listen, Clive,” Richard Court says later that day as I am standing in his office right before I leave work. He calls me by my roommate’s name; the name I gave on my application. Bo is not the only one who plays games.
      Richard Court continues, “This needs to stop, or your ass is canned. I don’t want to have to tell you again.”
      This angers me further. I do not like having my job threatened. I am the best employee they have, even if everyone thinks I am a creep. I want to fly into a rage. I want to wrap my hands around Richard Court’s neck until I feel the last breath leave his body. He should not treat me like this. I do not deserve this treatment.
      In the car, on the way home, I am still fuming, so the fact that Delilah weaseled her way into my front seat is less annoying. She tells me new ideas for torturing Richard Court. She always helps me derive ways to torture those who wrong me. It is fun to think of doing these things. I imagine how good it would feel to do them.
      Delilah gets a fire in her eyes when we talk like this. It excites me. It makes me want her. Sometimes I think of caving and making her my Bonnie, but then she opens her mouth and I remember how annoying she is.
      I park in my driveway and walk toward my house. I get to the door and turn to say good-bye to Delilah, but she is already gone. She always seems to leave without me realizing it. I enter the house and am met with the same putrid stink that has been residing in the residence for quite some time. I cannot get the smell out no matter how much I scrub, bleach, sanitize, and spray. It might help if Clive cleaned sometimes, but he does not. I do all of the cleaning.
      Clive is not home. I see less and less of him lately. I think maybe he has found a girlfriend. It does not matter to me as long he pays his rent. Dishes are piled up. All dishes I have used. Clive has not even been home to use dishes, or he just has not been here long enough to. That is just as well. Clive annoys me.
      I do the dishes. I am usually tidy, but I hate doing dishes. I scrub the kitchen again, hoping that this time is the charm to finally get rid of the stench. It does not work.
      I make dinner. It is now five thirty at night. My nights consist of cooking a meal for myself, since Clive is never home. I would not cook for him anyway. I am not a slave. Anyway, after I cook I eat at the table. It is not proper to eat in the living room. My mother always said so. She is dead now.
      While I eat, I think how funny it is that none of them remember me. They know I am a creep, but they do not remember me. Why would they? Half of them were not even born yet the last time I worked there.
      After dinner, I go into the basement and build. I like to build birdhouses, and paint them. I am almost done building the one I am working on now. I am going to paint it red with a blue roof. Of course I will paint windows on it as well. It needs to look like a real house, but for birds.
      After I tire of building, I watch the television for an hour. I am only allowed an hour a day. That was all that my mother ever allowed.
      After the television, I go to bed and dream of all of the ways I want to kill them all.

      Ameka is beautiful. She is a receptionist on the third floor. I enjoy working on the third floor. I enjoy looking at her. I want her, but she is black. My mother told me that black women are dirty. Just as well, Ameka is easy on the eyes and fun to look at.
      Sometimes, she catches me staring at her. She smiles politely and I look away, embarrassed. I think that Ameka barely knows that I exist. She does not know my name, that is for sure. I wish I could talk to her, but she probably thinks I am a creep like the rest of them. I wish there was a way I could know.
      Delilah is jealous of Ameka, and she always seems to be there when I am fantasizing about Ameka and getting excited over my fantasies. I think that she thinks I want to make Ameka my Bonnie. I do. But Ameka is not my Bonnie. She is my Juliet. We could never be together.
      “I don’t get what you see in her.”
      I did not even know that Delilah had been standing next to me. I am beginning to doubt that she even works in the hospital. I think she slinks around here just to annoy me. She seems to find me no matter which floor I am working on.
      “What is it to you?” I ask, annoyed. I begin to push my mop bucket. There is vomit that needs to be cleaned up, and Richard Court asked me to do it fifteen minutes ago. Ameka distracts me.
      Bo distracts me, too. He jokingly told me to take a nap by the dumpster instead. I ignored him today. Richard Court has already threatened to fire me for talking to Bo.
      “It’s nothing to me. I just don’t get it.”
      “It is none of your business.”
      I enter the hospital room that I am supposed to clean. A patient’s daughter vomited upon learning of his passing. She had come in the room just after they removed the body. They have already stripped and remade the bed, but have been waiting for me to come and clean the vomit.
      “Jeez, man. Don’t you ever speak in contractions?” Delilah asks.
      I sigh, annoyed. I wish she would go away. I begin mopping.
      “Ya know, contractions? Like when two words go together to make one, shorter word. It’s much easier to talk that way. You sound so formal and proper. It’s annoying.”
      “Please shut up,” I say. The excitement and arousal that had begun by watching Ameka has dissipated. Delilah does this to me.
      “I didn’t say anything.”
      I turn to face Cady. The bitch.
      “You talking to your imaginary friends again?” She is mocking me.
      “I do not have imaginary friends.” I am talking in a plain tone. Cady is a nurse at the hospital, and I dislike talking to her. I would prefer to talk to Delilah, but she must have run when she saw Cady coming. Cady scares her. I am not afraid of Cady.
      “No, of course not,” Cady says as she rolls her eyes. “You just talk to people who aren’t there.”
      “Delilah was here.”
      “Yeah, you say that every time. Who’s Delilah?”
      I shrug. “I think she works here somewhere.”
      “And she has time to waste talking to you?”
      I say nothing. I know very well that Cady has seen me talking to Delilah. She is one of the ones who gives me dirty looks when she sees me with Delilah.
      Cady chuckles. “Well, it was nice of you to show up. We have a patient waiting for this room.”
      “I had something else to do first.”
      “Like stare at Ameka?”
      I close my eyes and stop mopping. “I do not stare at her.”
      “Everyone knows you stare at her. Why are you such a creep?”
      I turn and glare at her. “I am not a creep.”
      “I’m just glad it’s not me you stare at.”
      “I would never stare at you. You are ugly and fowl.” Ameka is soft and poetic. Ameka will be spared when I kill the rest of them.
      I turn and begin mopping again. I hear her behind me, struggling for a comeback. Then, the sound of her footsteps reverberates off the surroundings until she is too far away for me to hear them. I will crucify her. I will make it slow and painful. I will enjoy watching her suffer. She will be the first to die.
      I enjoy these thoughts. They give me pleasure.
      “When are you gonna get it over with and just kill that bitch?”
      Delilah is back. She must have hid when Cady came around. I wonder where, just out of curiosity. I do not ask because I do not want her to think I place interest or concern in her.
      “Soon,” I answer as I wipe up the last of the vomit.
      “You know, I think you should chain her in your basement for a little bit. Like, for a few days, ya know.”
      My heart races. I like this idea.
      “I could torture her,” I say. “I could make her watch me build her coffin.”
      “And then bury her alive in it!” Delilah squeals.
      I am excited even more. I know Delilah does not believe I would be capable of such things. She would be scared of me if I she thought I could. It makes me happy to know that she can talk to me like this and does not think I am a creep.
      “I could help you!” she cries. “I could drug her, and I could bring her to you!”
      This takes away my excitement. The idea of doing anything with Delilah does.
      “You have a job to be doing now?” I ask as politely as I can muster.
      Delilah smirks at me, but I can see the hurt in her face. She wants to be my Bonnie so bad. I hate that about her. She turns and walks away from me, and I head in the opposite direction toward the elevator. They all shoot dirty looks at me. I am the resident creep. Everyone knows it. If only they knew the real me.

      Delilah did not want a ride home today. I hurt her feelings. It is all just as well to me. She is annoying and I do not like having her in my car. It is a nice quiet ride home. I can think of whatever I want and not have her there to disrupt my train of thought.
I can think about Ameka. I think I am in love with Ameka, my Juliet. I wonder if I am also her Romeo. I think I could ask her out on a date, if not for her skin color. Oh, my Juliet!
      I scrub the kitchen again. It still smells in here. Clive is not home again, so I use his carpet cleaner. The stench has no doubt penetrated deep within the carpet fibers. I will spend the night scrubbing the walls, floors, and furniture. The smell is too strong, and I cannot stand it any longer. I wonder if it smells in here because Clive is so unclean.
         I think about what might happen if I bring Ameka here. I want to have that intimacy with her, but I do not know if she would be understanding of Clive’s uncleanliness. And then I remember that she thinks I am Clive, if she has any idea that I exist.
         This makes me think once again how odd it seems to me that not a single one of them knows who I am. They do not remember me from the last time I worked there, stamping the address of the hospital onto envelops at my mother’s desk while she was taking care of patients. I was twelve. They thought I was a creep then, too.
         Because cleaning took so long, I do not have time to get into building. I wish I could begin building Cady’s crucifix, but instead, I eat dinner, watch an hour of television, and go to bed. As I fall asleep, I fantasize about torturing Cady. She is a bitch, and I hate her. I want her to suffer for all of the mean things she has said to me. She is the worst of all of them. I get excited as I think about hurting her. I run to the bathroom to take care of myself quickly, then fall asleep easily.

         I am not working on the third floor today. I need to see Ameka. I am falling in love with her. I cannot tell anybody. She is the wrong color. My mother would never approve of this relationship. She is dead now, but she taught me well.
         It has been an uneventful day. I have not seen Delilah at all today. I am assuming that she is upset with me still. I do not care. I can work without the annoyance that is Delilah’s penetrating voice. Sometimes, I want to punch her. I would never hurt Delilah though, because I know she means well, and she is my only friend.
         It is almost time for me to clock out when Richard Court says he needs someone to clean a chemical spill on the third floor. The janitor working on that floor is on break. I try to drop my mop in time to respond before anyone else does, but Bo gets to his headset before I do.
         “I got this one, Creepy Clive,” he says. That is their nickname for me. I haven’t heard it in a long time. “You ain’t need to spend no more time lookin’ at that girl. She ain’t even the right color for ya. Now me, I think she and me make a good couple.”
         He is teasing me. I do not know if it is all in good fun or not, but it angers me nonetheless. No one deserves Ameka. She is mine. On top of that, he is embarrassing me over the headset.
         “That is enough, Bo,” I scold over my headset. “You will not talk about her like that, and you will not embarrass me like this again. I will get the chemical spill on the third floor. I am not doing anything right now.” That is a lie. I was doing something.
         Richard Court gets over his headset. “Clive, after you get that spill, I need to see you in my office.”
         “Man, ignore that jerk off,” Bo eggs me on. “Y’always do what he says. Grow a pair, man.”
         “Shut up, Bo. I am not in the mood.”
         “Clive,” Richard Court scolds. “Clear the walkie for useful conversation. Get to work!”
         I am in trouble. Bo is not. This is not fair. It angers me, and I do not answer Richard Court. As I push my cleaning cart to the elevator, I fume. I mumble to myself. The elevator doors open to reveal Delilah, almost as if she is waiting for me. I can always rely on Delilah to be there when I am upset.
         “You look glum,” she comments, playing with her shoulder-length red hair, which looks especially fiery today.
         “Bo is teasing me again,” I say grimly as I push my cart onto the elevator beside her.
         “Jeez, man,” she says in her annoying, squeaky voice. “Why do you even listen to anything he says?”
         “He gets to me.” I push the button for the third floor. I am on the sixth.
         “Well, I don’t get it.”
         “He embarrassed me over the headset. Everyone heard it.”
         “No one heard it,” Delilah protests, looping her arm in mine as the elevator begins to move.
         “Richard Court wants to see me after I am done with this chemical spill.”
         “Why on earth would he want to talk to you?”
         The elevator stops on the fifth floor and a nurse going on her dinner break gets on. She smiles politely and pushes the button for the floor she wants to go to.
         “I responded to Bo,” I answer Delilah’s question. “We are not allowed to talk over the headset. Bo never gets in trouble. I always do.”
         The nurse looks at us with confusion and disgust. She, like the rest of them, cannot believe that a young bombshell like Delilah would talk to an old creep like me. I wonder if this woman knows my nickname, and if she has ever used it. It had been so long since I heard it that I had forgotten all about it. It was shocking to hear Bo say it today.
         The nurse continues to stare impolitely as Delilah and I continue to talk.
         “Well, maybe it won’t be so bad.” Delilah is trying to comfort me. It is not working.
         “He told me the other day he would fire me if it happens again.”
         “Aw man,” Delilah says, stooping her shoulders. “He won’t fire ya. You’re the best janitor he’s got.”
         “Bo is not in trouble. This bothers me more than anything.”
         “Who’s Bo?”
         “I have never seen him. He is black. That much I know.”
         “You’ve never seen him?”
         “I only hear his voice over the headset.”
         “Ya know, maybe it’s Richard Court fuckin’ with ya.” She is getting excited. “Maybe it’s some scheme he’s pulled together to get rid of you.”
         “You just said he would not fire me.”
         “Yeah, but you’re Creepy Clive!” The second time in one day I have heard the name after going a long time without hearing it. “You creep the shit out of everyone in this hospital. Except for me of course. Maybe he gets over his headset and does the voice of Bo to get you riled up, just so he can yell at you later. Think about it, it makes sense.”
         The elevator opens and I push my cart out, not bothering to say goodbye to the rude nurse who rode with us. I am thinking about what Delilah is saying, and it makes sense. I wonder, however, if Richard Court is really that good at altering his voice. I think about Bo’s voice and then I think about Richard Court’s voice. I try to think of similarities, but how do you compare an old white man’s voice to a black man’s, whose age you do not know? I get angry because I realize that Delilah must be right.
         “I want to kill him,” I say loud enough for only Delilah to hear.
         “I want you to.” Sometimes I think that these conversations excite her sexually. They have that effect on me, and they make me want her. She is the only one who understands.
         “I want to cut his throat and watch him struggle for air –”
         “Only do drown in his own blood!” Delilah squeals loud enough that I fear others can hear. We are approaching Ameka’s desk and I do not want her to know the conversations I have with Delilah. I shush Delilah, reminding her that our conversations could get us both fired.
         I turn a corner and see Ameka at her desk. I am behind her. She cannot see me where I stand. She is so beautiful. I feel like I finally know what it is like to be in love. I have never been in love before. My mother does not count, because love for your mother is a given.
         I do not realize that I have a goofy smile on my face until Delilah laughs.
         “You got it bad!” she says. “I still don’t know what you see in her.”
         “She is a goddess,” I say dreamily. “She will be my queen.”
         “Maybe in another dimension, man.”
         I am getting excited watching Ameka. More excited than I already was talking about bad things with Delilah. The thrill of her catching me staring is intense and exciting.
         “Don’t you have a job to be doing?”
         Cady again. I hate her.
         “What about you?” I fire back at her. “You have a job, as well, I assume.”
         “I’m not the one sitting around staring at a woman that I don’t even know. Do you get your jollys off thinking about her at night? You’re a creep. You know that, right? Ameka is scared of you. She thinks you follow her home – ”
         “I do not follow her home.”
         “– and she thinks it’s weird that you stare at her all the time. We all think it’s weird. Why don’t you get a life, weirdo?”
         “I am not weird.”
         “Are you kidding? You don’t think it’s weird to stare at people.”
         “I do not stare at anyone. You just wish that someone would stare at you. No one would stare at you. You are ugly and fowl. You are mean and horrid and you make me sick to my stomach. You do not deserve to have anyone look at you in the adoring way you think I look at Ameka. You will die a slow and painful death and everyone will know you deserved it. You are a bitch and I will crucify you. I will build a cross to nail you to and everyone will take turns driving in the nails. I will hang you off the side of this hospital and you will die in pain. Maybe if you can convince me that you are truly sorry, I will be merciful and cut your throat to make it quicker, but I hate you, and that would take a lot of begging. More than you would be capable of with the amount of pain you would be in. Your body will wilt under the scorching sun and nobody will miss you. We will all forget you are even there and you will become an ornament on the outside of the building, serving as a reminder to everyone who sees you that they should be nice to people, especially people they do not understand. You are a demon, and I will exorcise you from this world.”
         I should have taken a picture of her face as I ranted, but I have not owned a camera since… well since the last time I worked here. They do not remember that I worked here before.
         Cady is confused. She does not know if she should laugh or cry. I hope she cries. I will not see it. I walk away to clean the chemical spill. Delilah shrieks with joy as she follows me through the halls.
         “That was amazing!” she squeals. “You really told her!”
         “I will do everything I said. She will be the first to die.”
         “I can’t wait. Can I get the first hit at the nail?”
         “You can have the second. I will get the first and last.”
         “Fair enough. I just want to watch her suffer.”
         “As do I.”
         I hide my pelvis behind my cleaning cart. I am noticeably excited. I never thought that I would have it in me to tell Cady off, but I figure that I am in trouble with Richard Court anyway. I feel the ecstasy run through my body and engorge me thoroughly. It makes me want Delilah, but that may be because she is the only woman around.
         I come to the closet where the chemical was spilled.
         “I will probably get fired today,” I say to Delilah.
         “Oh well,” she says. “You’re better than this Cinderella job anyway.”
         “I am Cinderella,” I say.
         “Yeah, you are,” Delilah agrees.
         “And Richard Court is my evil stepmother.”
         “And the rest of them are the evil sisters!”
         “Except Ameka. She is my queen. I will probably never see her again.”
         “Aw, whaddaya see in her, anyway?”
         “She is gorgeous and soft. She is kind and poetic and I want to marry her. She will be my wife.”
         Delilah bites her lip and thinks. I am concentrating on my work, but I know the faces she makes when she gets silent.
         “Why dontcha ask her out?” she finally suggests.
         “It could never be. We are Romeo and Juliet. Her skin is not the right color. I promised my mother before she died –”
         “Yeah, well your mother’s dead. What’s she gonna know?”
         “I will know. It is not right.”
         “Get with the times, man. It’s not unheard of for a white man and a black woman to be together.”
         I think hard on this. I am conflicted. It sounds good to me, but it goes against everything I have learned and always been told. I begin pushing the powder I have dropped on the floor toward the center of the puddle. I watch with fascination as the powder absorbs the toxic liquid. Really I am thinking about Ameka.
         “I love her. I will ask her out before I leave today.”
         Delilah squeals with joy. “I’m turning you into a rebel.” Her red hair seems brighter and more fiery. It is glowing.
         “You are turning me into nothing,” I say. “I am a man and I make my own decisions. It goes against everything I know, but I cannot live without her. She will be mine.”
         Delilah scoffs, but I am full of hope and joy. I scoop the moist, chemical-soaked powder into my pan, while she watches. I wonder if she ever works, or if she hangs around the hospital just to watch me work.
         I smile as I dump the powder into a bag and label it. My heart races. I am finished cleaning the chemical spill. It is time to talk to Richard Court, but not before I talk to Ameka.
         She is at her desk, as always. She is talking to a patient. She is beautiful. Soft, poetic, perfect. I think that, over time, I will see past the color of her skin. I have seen past it enough to decide to ask her to be mine. She will say yes. She needs a Prince Charming. I am Cinderella to most, but I am Prince Charming to her. We do not have to be Romeo and Juliet.
         I wait patiently while she finishes with the patient and enters her notes into the computer. I smile watching her. She is graceful. My stomach twists and turns into a painful knot of nervousness. She will say yes, but it still makes me nervous. People will see me ask her. They will know it is wrong of me to ask a black woman to be mine. Our skin colors do not match. It is wrong of me to ask her, but I cannot help myself any longer.
         I approach her desk. She glances up and smiles, but I think she is nervous, too. She knows what I am going to ask. She is happy, but nervous, just like me.
         I take a deep breath. “Hello, Ameka,” I say, almost too cordially.
         Her eyes shift. “Hello.” Her voice quavers.
         “I am Cinderella.”
         She laughs. “Charming.”
         “I am Prince Charming, too.”
         She smiles politely.
         “I am Cinderella, but I can be your Prince Charming.”
         “Excuse me?”
         “I need a Valentine.”
         She hesitates. “It’s October.”
         “I mean I need a love. Love is all year. I am Prince Charming.”
         She does not answer.
         “Maybe you will be my love.”
         “Are you asking me out on a date?” She sounds shocked – almost offended.
         “We do not have to be Romeo and Juliet anymore. I know we are not the same skin color and it is wrong of me to ask –”
         “Excuse me?”
         “Did I say something?”
         “Are you being racist?”
         “No. I am being Charming.”
         “You are not.”
         “I am not Cinderella anymore. I am getting fired today and so this is my last chance to be your Prince Charming. We do not have to be Romeo and Juliet”
         “I’m not interested, thank you.” She sounds agitated. I do not know what I did wrong and it is worrying me that she is not accepting the first time I ask.
         “But, I am Prince Charming.”
         “Yeah, you’ve mentioned. Only you’re sort of being weird. I have work to do, if you don’t mind.”
         “No. You can work while we talk.”
         “I mean, can you please leave and let me get back to my work.”
         “Are you saying no?”
         “I’ve said no.”
         “I am not Cinderella anymore.”
         “No. You’re not. And if you don’t leave me alone, I’m going to call security.”
         “Ok. I will leave you if that is what you want. But I would be a good Prince Charming.”
         I turn to leave her.
         From behind me I hear, “Later, Creepy Clive.”
         I turn to look at Ameka, surprised. I cannot believe that such a fowl statement came out of her angelic face, her sweet, sweet voice spoiled.
         “Did you say that?” I ask slowly.
         “Well,” she is being sarcastic. “That’s what they call you, isn’t it? Creepy Clive.”
         My anger wells up inside of me. I am hurt. My beautiful Ameka has betrayed me. She has denied me and she has betrayed me. I want to hurt her. I feel bad for thinking this. I wonder if she feels bad for hurting me. I look in her eyes and realize she does not feel bad. I think I hate her. Maybe I am just angry.
         “Where did you hear that?” I ask after a few seconds of thinking – frozen.
         She snorts. It is an ugly noise, and it seems wrong coming from her beautiful face.
         “Everyone calls you that.”
         She laughs at the hurt face I make. She thinks my pain is funny. Once again, I feel bad for thinking bad things about my love. At this moment, I think that she will die with the rest of them.
         I walk away and think I might cry, but I am a man, and we do not cry. The last time I worked here, they made me cry. My mother always yelled at me when I cried. She yelled at me extra loud when I cried at work, in public. Men do not cry. My mother always taught me this.
         I enter the service elevator with Delilah hot on my heels. As soon as the door closes, I punch it – hard. It dents the door.
         “Hey man!” Delilah sounds worried. I have never heard that tone in her voice. “Take it easy. Forget her.”
         “I do not want to forget her. I want her to be mine. I am her Prince Charming.”
         “You’re too good for her.”
         “Then why did she deny me?”
         “She’s stupid. She’s just stupid, Eric!”
         This startles me. Everyone in the hospital knows me as Clive, my roommate’s name. I do not recall Delilah ever calling me bymy real name. I do not recall her ever calling me by any name. I do not recall ever telling Delilah my real name. In fact, I do not recall ever telling Delilah my fake name, either. Come to think of it, I do not even remember how I met Delilah.
         The mood is uncomfortable as Richard Court gets over the headset and angrily tells me that he wants to see me in his office, “now!” My stomach hurts. I am in trouble. I will lose my job this time, just as I did the last time I worked here. That was long ago when I came to work with my mother. They do not remember this. All they know is that I am here now, and that I am a creep.
         I deposit my cleaning cart in the closet and find my way to Richard Court’s office. The whole time Bo is in my earpiece telling me to blow Richard Court off. He wants me to go on a tirade over the walkie system. He wants to see me lose control. I will not lose control. I will show temperament. I ignore Bo. He is the reason I am in trouble right now anyway.
        Richard Court is sitting with an HR representative. Delilah follows me. I have not said anything to her since she said my real name, and I want to be as far away from her as possible. Neither Richard Court nor the HR representative say anything to or about Delilah being with me. Everyone has seen me with her. I do not think they understand why she likes me, but they do understand that she is the only friend I have in the building. This is why they allow her to stay.
         Richard Court sighs. “Why’d ya do it, Clive?”
         I play stupid. “Do what?”
         “Remember I told you that if you interrupted the walkie space I was going to have to let you go?”
         “I was responding to Bo. He interrupts the walkie space much more –”
         Richard Court slams his fist on the desk. “God dammit, Clive! For the last time there is no Bo!”
         “Well, I guess he lied to me about his real name. I do not know who he really is –”
         “There is no Bo!” Richard Court repeats, agitated. He sighs. “Listen. I could have gotten over you interrupting the air space on the walkie. You’re a good worker and I was only planning on taking disciplinary action. But then, HR contacts me to tell me that a nurse named Cady Lind has complained that you threatened to kill her.”
         “Cady torments me.”
         “Have you mentioned this to anyone before?”
         “Delilah witnesses this all of the time. Either way, I am a man and I take care of my own problems.”
         “Who’s Delilah?”
         I look uncomfortably over at Delilah, who is sitting quietly beside me.
         Richard Court sighs again. “Never mind. Whether or not you have a witness, Clive, I cannot overlook you threatening the life of another employee here.”
         “She is filthy, ill-mannered, and vulgar. She is hideous and homely. I hate her and I hate the things she says to me. I hate her attitude, I hate her voice, and I hate her face. She calls me a creep. They all call me a creep.”
         Richard Court and the HR representative stare at me. I think that they do not know what to say.
         “What did Cady say to you today?” Richard asks after a short time.
         “She said that I am weird and that Ameka does not like me.”
         Richard Court shakes his head. “So you threatened to nail her on a cross and leave her to die on the side of the building?”
         I hesitate for a moment. “It may have been a little much.”
         Richard Court lets out an uncomfortable laugh. “To say the least.”
         There is silence in the room. After a few seconds, Richard Court says, “Look, Clive, I wish you hadn’t done it, but you did. I would have let you off with just a disciplinary write-up. But you threatened to kill another employee. I can’t let that go. I’m gonna have to terminate your employment with this hospital.”
         “Again.”
         “Excuse me?”
         “You can’t let me go. It is not fair.”
         “Clive, you threatened to kill another employee. You’re lucky she didn’t press charges. That’s criminal threatening.”
         “Aw man,” Bo is on my headset. “Don’t let him talk to you like that. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
         I ignore Bo. I cannot respond to him while I am staring Richard Court in the face.
         “She deserved it. She said that Ameka thinks I follow her home. I am not a stalker.”
         Richard Court sighs and looks at his desk.
         “That’s not grounds to threaten to kill someone. I don’t know who Ameka is, but I haven’t heard any complaints about any employees thinking that you’re following them.”
         “Ameka works on the third floor.”
         Richard Court writes that down.
         “They all call me ‘Creepy Clive.’”
         He nods once. He knows this. The look on his face is serious.
         “If you don’t bring things like this to my attention, I can’t do anything about it.”
         “I do not need you to fight my battles for me. I am a man and I can take care of my own problems.”
         “By threatening to kill your co-worker?”
         “Do you think she’ll ever be rude to me again?”
         Richard Court stares at me. He does not know how to respond.
         “I have to let you go, Clive.” He reaches across the desk and places a piece of paper in front of me. “I need you to sign this. It’s just an acknowledgment that we’ve had this conversation and that you understand.”
         My heart races. Delilah places a hand on my arm. I move my arm. I am wary of her at the moment.
         “I cannot sign that. I do not understand.”
         Richard Court looks puzzled. “Are you serious?”
         My blood is rushing.
         “Why me and not her.”
         “Simply put, Clive, she might have teased you but she didn’t threaten to kill you.”
         I do not know what to say. I cannot make him see that this is not right.
         “Don’t let him do this to you, man.” Bo, over the headset. I cannot concentrate while he is speaking to me, but he does not let up.
         “You didn’t do nothin’ wrong. He can’t fire you.”
         “You can’t fire me,” I tell Richard Court, not sure if it was actually me who said it. I cannot concentrate with Bo in my ear.
         “I have to, Clive. I’m gonna need you to sign this paper.”
         “He can’t fire you.” I repeat what Bo is saying to me in the headset. He will not shut up.
         “Excuse me?” Richard Court says.
         “This is your chance to kill them!” Delilah whispers, adding to the chaos of thoughts going through my head.
         Bo agrees. “Kill him,” he urges. “Kill all of them.”
         “You’re better than this Cinderella job,” Delilah assures me.
         “You don’t deserve this,” Bo repeats.
         “Listen Clive,” Richard Court says, as Delilah and Bo continue to repeat their chants. “I need you to sign this.”
         “This isn’t fair,” Delilah says to me. Richard Court and the HR representative are staring at us the way everyone stars at us.
         “They can’t do this to you,” Bo says.
         “It was her fault,” Delilah assures.
      “She made you say it.” I repeat what Delilah is saying to me. I am so confused by all of the voices.
         “Stop being such a boss’s pet,” Bo teases. “Stand up for yourself and be a man.
         I put my hands over my ears and scream, “SHUT UP! EVERYONE SHUT UP! I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR THIS! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!
         Only then do I realize that I took my earpiece out before I entered Richard Court’s office.

         “Clive Clement?”
         I look up to see a woman in her mid-thirties. She is in a dress suit and carrying a brief case. I think I am in a police station – an interrogation room. I do not know how I got here. I try to stand, but my wrists are handcuffed to the table.
         “My name is Elena Woodrow. I’m your court appointed attorney.”
         “Attorney? Did Cady press charges? I did not mean what I said to her. Not really.”
         She looks serious. She sets her brief case down and opens it.
         “Do you remember what happened at the hospital?” she asks.
         I think for a moment. “I was fired. I told Cady I would crucify her.”
         “And after that?”
         “Bo wanted me to kill Richard Court. So did Delilah.”
         “Who are Bo and Delilah?”
         “They work at the hospital.”
         She takes a deep breath. “I thought you’d say that. But there’s no record of anyone working at that hospital named Bo or Delilah.”
         “Well, Delilah might not work at the hospital. She does not wear scrubs. I do not know who she is. She just hangs out, I guess.”
         “So, someone else at the hospital would be able to identify her?”
         “Probably.”
         She nods. “And what happened after they told you to kill your boss?”
         I think. I think hard. “I do not remember. Can I have these handcuffs taken off?”
         “I’m sorry, that’s not an option.”
         I am frustrated, but I try not to show it.
      “Why am I here?”
         She hesitates and takes a deep breath. “You really don’t remember? Look, you can tell me what happened. I have to know what you know. I can’t defend you if I don’t know your side of the story.”
         “I really don’t know,” I say. “I am not a liar.” I am annoyed.
         “You aren’t?”
         “No.”
         “Well, that in itself is a lie, isn’t it Eric?”
         I stare at her, motionless. She called me Clive when she came in the room. Now she is calling me by my real name.
         “How do you know my name?”
         “I know a lot more about you than your name. A lot is coming to light about you, Mr. Stanton.”
         “What do you know?”
         She sets her lips. I think she does not know how to say what she is about to say.
         “I know that I need you to talk to psychiatrist. I have one here, if you’d agree to speak with him.”
         “Why?”
         “I think you should talk to the psychiatrist.”
         I stare at her. I am confused. “Okay, I’ll talk to him.”
         I have nothing to hide.
         She leaves. A few minutes later an old man, even older than me, comes in the room. He has white hair and wrinkled skin. His face is round, and his eyes are brown and dull. He is carrying a thick manila folder.
         “I’m Edmond Harris. I’m a psychiatrist, and I was asked here to do an evaluation of your mental state.”
         “Why?”
         “Mr. Stanton, do you recall the events of October 15, 2014?”
         “Ameka would not go on a date with me.”
         “Uh-huh. And are you referring to Ameka Jackson, a receptionist in the family practice unit of the hospital?”
         “Yes.”
         “And what else do you remember?”
         “Cady said that Ameka thought that I followed her home.”
         “And you’re talking about Cady Lind, a medical assistant in the family practice?”
         “Yes. I think that is what she does. I do not know for sure. I thought she was a nurse.”
         “Did you follow Ameka home?”
         “No. I do not know where Ameka lives.”
         “Okay. And what else do you remember from that day?”
         “Richard Court fired me.”
         “Why’d he do that?”
         “I told Cady I would kill her.”
         “Because she made fun of you, correct?”
         “Yes.”
         “Did you kill Cady?”
         “Is Cady dead?”
         He stares at me, then down at the manila folder he’s brought into the room with him. He pulls out a picture and places it on the table in front of me. I look at it, then back at him.
         “Cady has been hospitalized, then?”
         “Cady Lind is one of three people who you attacked who survived.”
         “Who did I attack?”
         He does not answer the question. Instead, he says, “That’s a pretty gruesome picture you have in front of you.”
         “She’s missing an ear.” I do not look away from him when I say this.
         “As well as an eye.”
         I look back at the picture.
         “And so she is.”
         “She’s disfigured pretty badly.”
         “I see that.”
         “This picture doesn’t bother you?”
         “I think that Cady deserves what she got.”
         “Because she tormented you?”
         “Every day that I saw her.”
         “How did she torment you?”
         “She called me a creep. She started the nickname Creepy Clive.”
         “Now that shouldn’t bother you, since your name isn’t Clive. Why don’t you tell me about Clive? Who is he?”
         “Clive is my roommate. He is never home.”
         “He’s your roommate at 6 Dogwood Lane? The address you gave on your application at the hospital.”
         “Yes.”
         “Who owns the house?”
         “It is my house. That is why Clive is never there, I think. He might have a girlfriend.”
         “Tell me a little bit about Clive, and the house.”
         “I do not know much about Clive, but the house consistently smells rotten. I clean and clean, but the smell does not come out.”
         “It smells like rotten flesh?”
         “I do not know what rotten flesh smells like.”
         He sighs and takes something else out of the folder. A picture of a man who looks like me.
         “Do you know who that is?”
         “Maybe it is Clive,” I answer.
         “It’s Clive,” he affirms. “Convenient that he happens to look very similar to you, isn’t it?”
         “Why is that convenient?”
         “The house at 6 Dogwood Lane is owned by the man in the picture, Clive Clement. You used his name and his photo ID to get your job at the hospital. That is, of course, after you murdered him and hid his body in the hallway closet.”
         “I did no such thing.”
         He pulls out another picture and places it in front of me. I look at it.
         “So Clive is dead?”
         “Yes, but you knew this, didn’t you?”
         “I did not know.”
         He sighs.
         “Tell me why you used Clive’s name on your application at the hospital?”
         “They would not hire me if they knew who I was.”
         “Why not?”
         “I have worked there before.”
         “When was that?”
         “When I was a child.”
         “You’re referring to the summer of 1978?”
         “I was twelve.”
         “What do you remember about that summer?”
         “My mother could not find a baby sitter for me?”
         “Why was that?”
         “She could not afford any of them.”
         “So she brought you to work with her?”
         “I promised to be good.”
         “What did you do?”
         “Mostly I sat at her desk and read books or played cards.”
         “I thought you said you worked there?”
         “Her boss let me stamp some envelops so I could pass time. He paid me two dollars a day.”
         “That was nice of him.”
         “I liked her boss.”
         “So, why wouldn’t they hire you if they knew about that?”
         “They would not hire me if they knew what I did.”
         “Tell me about what you did.”
         “I do not want to talk about it. They always try to make me talk about it.”
         “Who is ‘they?’”
         “People like you. They use to have to make me about it.”
         “About what?”
         “About what happened.”
         “And you’re not going to tell me what happened?”
         “I do not like to talk about it.”
         “Why not?”
         “I was too young to understand. I will not talk about it.”
         He shakes his head, a sarcastic smile on his face.
         “Why don’t I talk about it then?”
         I say nothing. I know that he will talk about it even if I ask him not to. These people have no respect.
         He places a few pictures in front of me. They are old.
         “You wanna tell me about this?”
         “No.”
         “Do you remember this?”
         A second of hesitation. “Yes.”
         “And you’re not gonna tell me what happened?”
         “No.”
         “Well, let me tell you a little bit about it. On August 25, 1978 you were at work with your mother. Is that correct.”
         “Probably. I do not remember the date.”
         “Well, for time’s sake, I’m going to tell you that I’m right. I’ve read a lot about you.”
         “And does that make us friends?”
         It is a sarcastic remark, and he ignores it.
         “You were at her desk, playing with your toys. You had a crush on one of her patients, isn’t that right? Do you remember her name?”
         I think. I do not remember her name. It is on the tip of my tongue, but I cannot remember. I cannot even remember her face.
         Sensing that I cannot remember, he places another photo in front of me, and I look at it with amazement. How could I have forgotten the stunning woman with the flaming red hair?
         “Do you remember her now? Ms. Ricker?”
         Delilah Ricker.
         “Mr. Stanton? Do you remember her?”
         “Yes. She is beautiful.”
         I am getting excited thinking about Delilah. Maybe the reason that I do not want Delilah now is because she rejected me so long ago. Maybe the reason that she wants me so bad now is because I do not want her anymore. She remembered me when I came back to the hospital. She saw that I was grown up. She wanted me. Remembering her, I realize that she has not aged a bit. I like it.
         “Do you remember the tantrum you threw in the waiting room?”
         I say nothing.
         “Let me tell you about it. When you saw Ms. Ricker that day, you got excited, didn’t you?”
         “I enjoyed talking to her.”
         “How often did you see her?”
         “Once a week.”
         “She was there for prenatal care, correct?”
         “She was having complications with the pregnancy.”
         “Anyway, you followed her into that waiting room. Isn’t that what happened next?”
         “You already know.”
         I am staring him dead in the eyes. My glance has not waivered since he came in the room, except when I looked at the pictures he has shown me. I think this is making him uncomfortable. He hides it well, but I know that it bothers him. He tries to intimidate me as well, by meeting my gaze and making eye contact back at me. It does not work.
         “Yes, I do. What I don’t know, is exactly what it is that you said to Ms. Ricker. Do you want to tell me about it?”
         “No. I already told you that I do not wish to talk about it. I do not wish to listen to you talk about it.”
         “Then why are you?”
         “I do not have a choice. Besides, it would be rude not to.”
         “And you have exquisite manners, isn’t that so, Mr. Stanton.”
         “My mother taught me well.”
         “She didn’t teach you the concept of ‘no,’ did she?”
         I think my answer through. “I never wanted for anything.”
         “Except for Ms. Ricker. Is that right?”
         I say nothing.
         “You asked Ms. Ricker on a date in that waiting room. Isn’t that so?”
         “She said no to me.”
         “And why was that?”
         “She was engaged.”
         “And why else?”
         “She did not know me.”
         “Why else?”
         “I was too young.”
         “And you tried to convince her to go on a date with you. And what was it that she said to you that finally set you off.”
         “She was flattered.”
         “At first, of course. But after you kept pushing her, she said something that set you off. What was it?”
         The glare that I have been sending across the table to him turns dark.
         “She called me a creep.”
         “And you attacked her, didn’t you? Knowing that she had a baby in her belly, you killed her.”
         “Delilah is not dead. I talk to her every day.”
         “Is that so?”
         “Yes. She still lingers around the hospital. Everyone stares at us. I think they just do not know why a beautiful woman like her would be talking to me. I am a creep and she is the only one who does not think so.”
         “And how is Ms. Ricker’s baby?” I think that he is mocking me.
         “I know nothing of any baby. I do not know anything about Delilah’s personal life. All I know is that I see her at the hospital.”
         “When does Ms. Ricker show up at the hospital?”
         “When I am angry. Or when I am happy.”
         “Angry or happy?”
         “Excessively so.”
         “When your heart starts to race.”
         “I guess you could say that.”
         “Ms. Ricker made your heart race all those years ago, didn’t she?”
         “She did, but she just annoys me now.”
         “Why is that?”
         I hesitate. I do not know if I should tell him.
         “Mr. Stanton. What about Ms. Ricker annoys you?”
         “She wants to go on killing sprees with me.”
         “Killing sprees? Like the one that killed Delilah Ricker?”
         “Delilah is not dead.” I repeat.
         He places another photo in front of me. It is Delilah again, but she is covered in blood. Her eyes are open, but they are staring blankly into the distance. Her mouth is gaping open, a look of terror twisted across her beautiful face.
         “Was Delilah caught up in the alleged rampage that put Cady in the hospital?”
         “Son, this picture is from 1978.”
         “No. It cannot be true. Delilah is alive.”
         “Delilah died thirty-six years ago.”
         “Then the woman who has been following me around the hospital, she is an imposter?”
         “She doesn’t exist, Mr. Stanton. But you know this.”
         “I do not know.”
         He sets his lips.
         “A lot of people died in the hospital in 1978.”
         “People get sick.”
         “I mean that you killed them.”
         “I did not know what I was doing. I was blinded by rage.”
         “Were you blinded by rage yesterday, as well?”
         “Yesterday?”
         “When you killed your boss and ten of your co-workers.”
         “You say I killed eleven people?”
         “I don’t say so. The police do. However, given your track record, I can believe it.”
         “I do not think that I did that. I would remember it. I remember 1978 like it was yesterday, but I do not remember yesterday.”
         “You said that Delilah wanted to go on killing sprees with you, is that correct?”
         “Yes, but you said that Delilah is not real.”
         “She isn’t real.”
         “Then how do I see her?”
         “Do you remember what happened to you after the hospital incident? Where did you end up?”
         It takes me a second to admit it, but eventually, I do.
         “Ambrose Sanitarium.”
         “Do you remember what they told you there?”
         “They told me a lot of things. None of them were true.”
         “So you’re telling me that you’re not a schizophrenic?”
         “No. I haven’t taken my medication in over a year. I’ve been fine.”
         “Except that you have been seeing someone who isn’t there.”
         “She was there.”
         “Mr. Stanton, I showed you the picture of Delilah Ricker after you killed her. Judging by what you’ve told me about these hallucinations that you have of her, an amped up heart rate, whether caused by good or bad, is what makes her appear to you. Is your heart racing now, Mr. Stanton?”
         I take a second to listen to my heart, thumping in my chest. It is racing. I can feel the blood coursing through my veins. I am getting angry.
         “Yes.”
         “Where is Ms. Ricker?” He looks around the room nonchalantly. “Is she here?”
         “Of course she is not here. She would not be allowed here.”
         “No. The reason that Ms. Ricker is not here right now is because she doesn’t exist. She is only in your head. You’ve been given your medication to suppress these schizophrenic hallucinations that you’re prone to. If you hadn’t been, then Ms. Ricker would be here now.”
         My chest is rising and falling quickly. I am angry, and I cannot hide it. I know that Delilah is real.
         “I don’t expect you to believe me, of course. A lot of schizophrenic patients believe their delusions were real, even when in a practical state of mind.”
         I say nothing. I am done indulging him.
         “Tell me how you escaped from Ambrose last year,” he says finally. I will not answer him.
         “Nevermind. I know it was you who started that fire in the kitchen. You were able to escape through all of the panic. Most of the patients were accounted for.  Except for you. You went and killed Clive Clement, and got a job at the hospital where your mother used to work. You did that using Clive’s identity.”
         Still, I say nothing. He cannot intimidate me into telling my secrets.
         “I think you escaped because, according to the doctors there, you didn’t want to be helped. You escaped because you’re a man, and you like to deal with your own problems. You don’t like being held in captivity. You felt like a prisoner. You hated it there. You felt belittled. It made you feel inhuman. But going back to that same hospital where the crime took place…”
         His voice trails off. He wants me to say something. I do not indulge him.
         “Tell me why you went back to that hospital, Eric.”
         I do not answer. I will not answer. He thinks he can make me. They all think that they can make me, but they can’t. I am stronger than they think I am. People like him think that they are better than people like me. I want to kill all of the people like him, so that people like me can live in peace and quiet.
         “I have a theory as to why you went back there.”
         I am interested to see if his theory is correct, but I am good at hiding this interest.
         “You had a strong relationship with your mother. She was the only one who understood you. That hospital was the last place that you saw your mother alive.”
         He is correct, but I show no signs of affirming this for him. These people like to know that they are right, and they always assume that they are anyway, even if you do not tell them that they are.
         “Do you acknowledge that your mother has passed?”
         I stare at him. I am sending the dark hatred that I feel for him inside my body out through my eyes, and I imagine it burning him. I imagine him screaming in agony as the burning hatred consumes and kills him.
         “Yes. My mother is dead.”
         “How did she die?”
         I say nothing.
         “She died that day in 1978, didn’t she? She died during your massacre.”
         “It was an accident.”
         My pulse beats in my temples. No Delilah. This man is wrong. She is not in my head. She is real. She is not here because she cannot be. She is not allowed.
         “She tried to stop you, didn’t she?”
         “I was too blinded by rage to realize what was happening. I didn’t know it was her!” I break out into a cold sweat. I am beginning to panic.
         “Mr. Stanton, did I just hear you speak in a contraction? That’s new.”
         I sit back in my chair and try to relax. I breathe heavily and painfully.
         “Why did you kill your co-workers at the hospital yesterday?” he asks after I have had a moment to calm down.
         “I did no such thing.”
         He places a few more pictures in front of me. Richard Court’s dead body hangs limply out of the window of the fourth floor office. He has been impaled by the broken glass.
      The HR representative lies under the desk. Well, his body does. His head is not in this picture.
      There is his head. It is craftily hanging from the door knob. Did I do that? How did I get that head to stay up there? I am a genius.
      The nurse who stared at me and Delilah on the elevator has the fire extinguisher down her throat. I wonder how long I sprayed the chemicals into her body before she died.
      I flip through picture after picture of dead coworkers. These are people who I knew, who tortured me. I think that every one of them deserve the fate that they got.
      A throat slashed by a scalpel, which is now sticking out of the wound.
         A body stuck between an elevator shaft and the floor. How did I do that? I am amazed by my own alleged
handiwork.
      Someone hanging from the ceiling, by their own intestines.
      Ameka. Dead. Eyes wide open, staring off into space. Gaping mouth, face twisted in fear. I sift through the pictures and find the one of Delilah from 1978. The same look.
      It cannot be. Ameka must be alive. She cannot be dead. No. No, I did not do this to her. I could not do this to her. She rejected me, but I know that she would have come around. She would have seen me for her Prince Charming. That is what I am. Her Prince Charming. I could not have done this to her. I am tormented by the look on her face. I refuse to believe that I was responsible for dear, sweet Ameka’s death.
      “They told me to,” I say after a minute or so of staring at the horrific picture of my love’s dead body.
      “Who told you to?” he asks cautiously.
      “Delilah and Bo.”
      “So you’re talking to Bo again?”
      I look at him, confused and unamused. “What do you mean?”
      “Don’t you remember? He was your imaginary friend when you were a kid. Modeled him after your next door neighbor who moved away. He was nice to you, and you liked him.”
      I remember Bo now. Only I remember him as a real human being who I had long, thoughtful conversations with.
      “You have to realize, Mr. Stanton. Bo, Delilah, these other voices that you hear. They’re not real. They’re in your head. Part of your condition”
      “Why am I like this?” I do not know if I truly want the answer to that question.
      “There’s no known cause for schizophrenia, Mr. Stanton.”
      My pulse surges.
      “I do not like that you people never have real answers!” I am shouting. I am angry. I feel my conscious fading in and out as I get angrier.
      “Unfortunately that’s the best I have for you.”
      He rises.
      “The good news is that because of your mental state, you won’t go to prison.”
      I sound like somebody else talking when I ask, “What will happen to me?”
      He smiles as politely as he can muster.
      “Luckily, the fire was stopped before any real damage was done. You’re going back to Ambrose.” He turns and leaves the room.
      “NO!”
      I scream. I try to stand, but I cannot. I try to break the cuffs. I pull at them until the skin breaks. Then I keep pulling at them until blood is flowing from my wrists. I want out of here. I need to get out of here. I need to escape. I cannot go back to that place. I cannot go back to being treated like an animal. I need to be free. I need to be free to visit my mother’s final memory, and make her proud. I need to see Delilah, but she does not show. She is not there for me this time. As my anger rises, I look down at my wrists and see the bloody mess I have made. Then, it all goes black.