Date: Mon, 16 Apr 2012 22:59:57 -0600
From: Matt Davidson <m-davidson@hotmail.ca>
Subject: Straitjackets and Starlight: Part One

I'd rather you didn't repost this story anywhere without my permission,
usual warnings about laws and such apply, don't read if you shouldn't.

Also, if you're looking for a story with a lot of sex, look elsewhere.
There's no sex in this chapter, and probably not in the next one either.
But if you're looking for a decent story, then read on.



Prologue



I was 11 years old when it happened. Such a tragedy they would say in the
papers. Such a loss. Such a shame. I had an awesome life, before. My
parents were rich, and they loved me more than anything in the world. We
had a massive house, most of which was full of things for me. I lived in a
fairy tale, with servants and a water slide in the backyard. I had great
friends, some of them even liked me for more than my cool stuff, but I
didn't mind the shallowness of others.

I did great in school, and even got bumped forwards few years, so at age 11
I was already in grade 8. I studied hard, my parents had given me so much
that I just wanted to make them happy. And they were. I got great grades
and my parents were already cozying up to the dean at Harvard for my
future.  Everything was perfect.



Until that night.



My dad used to always say that while we had lots of money, enemies were
cheap and he collected them like baseball cards. Apparently he picked the
wrong card.



I awoke that night to a scream. I would later learn that it was the last
sound my mother ever made. But I was 11, and didn't understand what was
happening.  Then I smelt the smoke, followed seconds later by the fire
alarm. I crawled out of my bed and went to the door, intending to open it
and run outside like dad always said I should do if I heard the alarm. But
as I reached for the handle it turned and the door was flung open.

In front of me stood a man. You wouldn't look at him twice if you passed
him on the street, he was average height, average build. Everything about
him was average and normal. Except his eyes. I remember his eyes smoldering
with hate and malice, boring into me and making me take a quick step
backwards.



"I'm sorry"



His voice was deep and comforting, the voice of a father speaking to his
child.  But I remember thinking that I didn't understand what he was sorry
for. He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the hallway. I could see fire at
the end of the hall near my parents room. He was dragging me towards the
stairs and probably safety. But I couldn't leave my parents. What if they
needed help? I twisted out of his grasp and ran towards the flames. I heard
him curse and try to follow, but a siren cut through the air, and he ran
down the stairs.

The fire was almost at my parents bedroom door, but I ignored the heat and
pushed into the room.

The blood was everywhere.

I saw my dad holding my mom, who had a garish wound on her throat. I ran to
him and touched his arm. He slumped over and didn't move. His movement
revealed the red that covered his chest. His eyes were open but he didn't
respond to anything I said. I felt myself becoming light headed. My already
tenuous grasp on reality began to waver. I just needed to lay down for a
second, then I would...

I would figure it out in a bit.



Smoke inhalation will fuck with your mind like that. By the time the
firefighters found me, I had third degree burns covering a good portion of
my body, and I was gasping out my last breath. On the books, I was dead for
four minutes before they resuscitated me. And do you know what I found out
in those four minutes?

There is no tunnel with a light. There's nothing, just pain and blackness.

I spent 2 years in a coma, and when I woke up, there was no one there. To
the rest of the world, time had passed, but to me...

I was waking up from my nap. But my parents weren't there to comfort me,
they would never do that again.



I tried to kill myself after seeing my reflection for the first time. My
scars, coupled with the loss was too much. But the doctors and nurses
stopped me. It wasn't the last time I would try though. And I didn't say a
word while I was awake. Not ever. Eventually they checked me into a kind of
asylum for troubled youth. I've been here for two years now. Same shit,
different day. Every day is almost always the same, sometimes they send in
psychologists to evaluate me.  The prognosis is always the same. I'm not
ready yet.



They don't know it , but I'll never be ready. I'll never walk amongst the
rest of the world. Eventually I'll figure out a way to end it here, even
though they watch really carefully. Nothing will make life worth living
again.  Nothing.


Straitjackets and Starlight

Part 1

-=Devon=-

I sat there fiddling nervously with my pajama pant strings as mom looked
over the paper I had just handed her. I really wanted her to say yes. She
HAD to say yes.

"I don't know Dev... it sounds kind of dangerous."

My heart sank a little at that, but my resolve remained firm.

"Can you at least think it over while I'm at school today? It would really
mean a lot to me." I tried to give her my best doe eyed look and sad puppy
dog face, but I could tell it didn't get to her like it used too.

"I will. Now go get ready or you'll be late for your first day of high
school!"

I jumped up and ran to my bedroom down the hall, closing the door behind
me. Barley glancing at my reflection as I walked by the mirror. I ripped
off my pants and threw them in the laundry basket and quickly walked up to
the small dresser and pulled out my best pair of jeans and a clean green
T-shirt.  Pulling them on I grabbed my backpack and ran out the front door,
pausing only long enough to give mom a quick goodbye kiss on the cheek
before I vaulted down the stairs of the apartment building and out the
front doors.

I sprinted the first couple blocks and then slowed to a walk as I got
closer to the school. High school. It was a big deal for me, especially
since I had skipped a grade again and was starting in grade 11. Most of the
kids there would be two years or more older than me, and all my friends
were going to be in a different grade. But I didn't mind, it was the price
of being a brainiac. I could have done even better than I did, but I was
acutely aware of the ridicule that came from just jumping forward one
year. And I had no desire to set foot on a university campus at the age of
16.

I spotted my best friend Elliott wandering slowly towards the massive
school. Elliott was openly gay, and had been 'out' for over a year. I had
been completely accepting, along with most of our old school and Elliotts
parents. I had even set him up with his longtime boyfriend, and we were as
close as brothers. But this was high school, the cesspool of teen angst and
aggression, and I worried about how my friend would be accepted in the
environment. Elliott saw me and smiled.

"Hey Devon.  How's it going?"

"Not bad, how's Chris?"

Chris was Elliotts boyfriend and would be going to a different school this
year. I hadn't talked to either of them in a few weeks and I was wondering
how they were going to work the whole different parts of the city thing
into their relationship. I saw his vision cloud a little and he looked at
the pavement.

"We decided it would be too hard to maintain what we had, and that we would
be just friends from now on."

I was shocked by the news, as Elliott and Chris were a rock solid couple,
and had been together for almost a year, which when your 16 is a long ass
time. I didn't say anything, just gave him a big hug and let my arm drape
across his shoulders as we walked. We parted ways once inside and I sped
off to my classes. The day was uneventful and nothing interesting
happened. I discovered that high school was just that. Another school. No
different than the last, or the one before that. Last period finally came,
and when the bell rang, I ran down the block to try and catch the last bus
going downtown. I had an appointment with a friend at the university, and
he hated me to be late. But then again, Dr. Lector hated just about
anything. If you thought about it though, if you were an award winning
psychologist with that last name, you'd probably hate most things too. I
was pretty sure he didn't kill people and feed them to orchestras or
anything, but I made it a point not to eat when I was around him.

My dad had left us when I was 10 years old, just woke up one morning and
decided to say fuck this, and was gone. My mom took it pretty well, but we
still had to move and she started working two jobs. She thought some
therapy would be good for me, and her best friend gave her the number to a
great doctor who she thought I should sit down with. To this day I'm not
sure why she thought I needed a shrink, but I'm glad she did. Before that
day I wanted to be a chemist. I even had a little chemistry set I used to
play with day in and day out, but as I walked into that office for the
first time, I was intrigued. A secretary had told me to just sit and wait
for a few minutes, there were coloring books on the table. Coloring books!
I was indignant even at that age over the slight. I waltzed right up to the
big ornate book shelves and found the thickest volume I could, and plopped
myself onto the comfy leather couch to read. That was the first psychology
book I had ever read, and to this day I could almost recite it back to
front. When Dr. Lector, or John since that's much less creepy, had come out
of his office an hour later, he found a 10 year old child full of
questions. I wanted to know more about Freud, and the mysteries of the
human mind. My mom had paid for a 1 hour session that day, But I stayed for
6.



Since then I visited John as often as I could. I had decided I wanted to
get into criminal psychology, profiling and the evaluation of the violent
and insane. John had said he would help me as best he could. I was barley
sixteen and I had read almost all of the first year psychology students
books, and I couldn't wait for more. I remember almost everything I read
word for word, but apparently I was still missing something. John would
just smile and shake his head when I asked what it was I didn't have.

It took months of convincing to get him to let me in on the secret.

"Devon, what is it people like me study? He had asked, his hard eyes
staring out from the thick cloud of pipe smoke around his head.

"The human brain." I hadn't even hesitated, which elicited a chuckle from
the man.

"No, that is a very, very small part of what we do. Personally, I couldn't
give a rats ass about how the human brain works. Leave that to med students
and brain surgeons. No, we study people. What they do, how they do it, and
WHY they do it. The tinniest twitch can convey a thousand words. A lovers
caress can bring to mind a billion thoughts, and the way we structure a
sentence can completely change how people perceive what we say. What your
missing my boy, is that special ability to connect with PEOPLE. I would
wager that you know more about psychology then I do, simply because of the
fact that you remember all these books."

I had squirmed in my chair, not sure where he was going.

"But the reason I charge 300 dollars an hour and the reason YOU will be
locked in a library for the rest of your life, is that you aren't good at
talking to people."

Apparently my face had looked like I would burst into tears, because he
quickly added."But never fear! I have a plan. If it's alright with your
mom, I would like you to go and interview someone for me. He's a boy about
your age."

"Why wouldn't that be okay with my mom?"

"Well, he's committed. Sever trauma and suicidal tendencies and
whatnot. You would have to go to the institute and talk to him there. It's
perfectly safe, but I'd like you to get some practice with real live
patients before we go any farther in these private lessons."



And so he had written my mom a letter, which I had handed to her this
morning. She HAD to say yes! What if I never got to see if I was really
good at this. No sooner had the thought crossed my mind then my phone
buzzed with a new text message.

*Hey sweetie, thought about it and as long as the Dr is sure its safe, I'm
ok with you doing the interview*

I almost let out a cry of joy before I realized I was on a crowded bus, but
settled for a huge stupid grin instead. I got to the Doctors office only to
learn that he had gotten called away. I was a little crestfallen until his
secretary handed me a file as I walked out of the office.

"John said to give this to you too review, the interview will be this
Saturday. Good luck Dev!" She practically beamed at me as I walked out the
door, and my smile more than matched hers. It was hard not looking at the
file until I got home, but I didn't know if it contained pictures or
anything, and from what little the Doctor had told me, it was a pretty
graphic case. I got home and the house was empty, since my mom would be at
work until nine. So I had a few hours to read in peace and quiet.



I opened the file and was a immediately confronted with a picture of a
burnt husk of a mansion. There was still smoke coming from the ground in
the picture, and fire trucks could be seen on the edges of the
photograph. The next picture was one of two body bags with the subtitle
"Remains of Westbough, Jacquline and Westbough, Anthony". They must be the
boys parents I decided. The last picture was of a small room. There was
absolutely nothing in the room that I could see, but one corner was deep in
shadow. If I focused really hard, I swear I could see the outline of a man
there, or maybe a boy due to its size, but I couldn't be sure. The subtitle
read "Canadian Institute for Mentally Ill Youth; Room 457; Block A;
Westbough, James"

Following the pictures there were several pages of text, mostly doctors
notes and lists of prescriptions. The last page was a brief summary of the
incident that had resulted in the boys incarceration.

----------------------------

On October 26th, 2000, Andre Mallard forcibly entered the Westbough estate
and killed both Jacquline and Anthony Westbough before setting fire to the
house. He then proceeded to James' room (Then age 11), his intentions
remain unclear to this day due to a lack of evidence, after which he
attempted to escape, and was later captured and tried by police. James'
body was later discovered in his parents' bedroom, severely burnt and
succumbing to smoke inhalation. The patient remained in a coma for twenty
five months, and upon awakening refused to speak (Then age 13). He has
displayed sever suicidal tendencies and as such has been placed under our
care at the CIMIY (Canadian Institute for Mentally Ill Youth) where he must
be kept under constant supervision. All attempts to communicate with the
patient have been met with failure. All attempts at reintegration into
society have also failed. Incarceration will continue indefinitely.

----------------------------





The date on the paper said that it had been written just over two years
ago, which I suppose meant James was probably 15 now, just a year younger
than me.

I sat back in my desk chair and wondered what it would be like to be
James. I had no idea what he looked like, but the paper said he was
severely burnt. He had lost everything, so what would he think about now?
He must think a lot, if he never spoke. I wondered what John was getting
at. Obviously the paid professionals had gotten nowhere with this kid, what
was I supposed to do?

My thoughts wandered back to the boy himself, and I wondered what he was
doing, right now.



-=James=-

I glared angrily at the pills in the small dixie cup. There were four
today. There was only two yesterday. Did they think I wouldn't notice if
they doubled my dosage?  I gave a resigned sigh and downed the pills all at
once, half hoping that maybe there was a mix up and they had given me way
too much and I would finally get to end it. But I knew they wouldn't, they
were way to careful.

I walked over to the desk in my small room. This room was better than my
last, although there were enough anti-suicide measures in this room to make
me sick. The desk was just a part of the wall that jutted out, with rounded
edges, and the stool was likewise curbed. all my books were actually just
stacks of papers, the really soft recyclable kind; I could eat all of them
and have no issues all, and it was impossible to get a paper cut on the
stuff. I wasn't aloud writing utensils anymore, not after I tried to open
up my wrist with a pencil last year. The bed was just a foam mattress on
the floor, and the blankets were sewn on with canvas stitching so I
couldn't rip it off and hang myself, which I had tried to do on more then
one occasion.

I sat there reading my schoolbooks for a few hours, devouring the
information. I had no idea what grade I was in technically, but I had kept
up on my studies despite being locked away more out of simple boredom then
any desire to become a functioning member of society. Eventually it was
time for lunch and my nurse walked in and set a tray down on the floor by
the door.

"Hi James! How are you feeling today? That's great, I'm very well thank
you.  Grilled cheese for lunch again today. Yeah I know it's not your
favorite but the chef doesn't seem to listen when I complain on your
behalf."

I sat there glaring at him as he continued his one sided conversation. That
was the main reason why I was still locked up. I didn't speak. I hadn't
spoken in four years, and I didn't plan on ever speaking again. Eventually
Manny, my nurse, left because he got tired of my constant glaring and
silence. I picked up the food and ate it standing up. I had tried to starve
myself once, but decided it wasn't worth being forced to go onto a liquid
diet through an IV again so now I just ate with the same numbness that
occupied my entire life. I had just finished when Manny reappeared, which
caused me to raise an eyebrow because he didn't usually come back until
dinnertime.

"I forgot to tell you! Saturday, so tomorrow, you have a
wannabe-psychologist coming to visit you. He's apparently pretty young, so
go easy on the glares alright kid?"

With that he disappeared out the door again.

Great. Just fucking great. Another eval' where they would come in and sit
with me for 20 minutes before eventually getting so annoyed with my silence
they would leave.  Oh well, at least it got me out of my room for awhile. I
went back to my books and gave tomorrow no more thought.



-=Devon=-



The bell rang loud and clear, and I practically ran out of the classroom. I
couldn't wait to get home and go to sleep so that tomorrow would come
faster. This was turning into an awesome week, the best I had had in a long
time. Mom had taken me to get my driver's license and now she let me borrow
the car, which I couldn't do often because she needed it for work, but it
was still cool to have. Elliott seemed to be cheering up slowly and I had
even seen him talking to a few other people aside from our friends, which
was good because it meant he was branching out a little. Mom had said she
had a surprise for me when I got home today, although I was finding it
difficult to be excited about anything other than my interview tomorrow.

After retrieving my things form my locker I dashed out the side door,
trying to beat the flow of students all eager to get home to the
weekend. There was an old red Jeep 4x4 sitting outside the door and I
barley glanced at it as I walked by. I hadn't gone more than a few steps
before it honked its horn. Only then did I look at the person inside. I
found it odd at first that they weren't sitting in the driver's seat, and
even odder still when I realized it was my mom. She had a huge smile and
was waving at me to get in.

I walked up to the passenger window and she rolled it down.

"Uh...  Hi mom. What are you doing here? And who's truck is that?"

She seemed to be having trouble getting words past her grin, but finally
managed to say "It's your truck. Now get in and drive me home!"

I was dumbfounded, and just stood there for probably a good 30 seconds with
my mom grinning at me. Finally the reality set in and for the first time
that week, tomorrows interview was forgotten. I gave a big whoop and ran
around to the driver side door before whipping my knapsack into the back
and flopping down on the driver seat. With a complete disregard for the
fact that we were surrounded by kids from my school, I gave my mom a big
hug and a kiss before firing up the engine. I was about to pull out when
Elliott walked out the doors. I looked at my mom and she laughed then
unbuttoned her seatbelt and climbed into the back seat, shooing Elliott
into the front.

He gave me a wide eyed look of disbelief before he too shared my smile. We
drove my mom home then decided we wanted to drive around a bit.

"Well, where would you like to go? The sky's the limit!" I asked my
passenger.

"If you're willing to drive out of town a bit, I know a cool place."

I nodded my approval and followed his directions out of the city. We lived
in a city that was all prairies to the east, and the rocky mountains to the
west, and Elliott had me going east. We drove for a good half hour then he
told me to turn into a farmer's field. After some good use of the four
wheel drive, we came to a great gully. From the highway, you couldn't see
anything, but from where we were parked, there was about 30 acres of forest
with a creek running down the middle.

"Whoa, I would have never known this place was here." I asked, a little
awestruck by the sheer beauty of the place.

"Yeah.  I used to come here a lot to think when I lived out of town. My old
house is just 4 kilometers north of this place. It's a coolie, kind of a
prairie oasis.  Drive down and there's a place to park in the trees."

I grinned at Elliott and started driving down the hill. He seemed a little
on edge for some reason, and I was wondering why. Hopefully he would tell
me when we got into the woods.



Thanks for reading, there will be more (obviously)

I appreciate constructive criticism, and everyone loves compliments, send
me an email at m-davidson@hotmail.ca