The Lost Brother

The Absurd

“You aren’t listening to me.” he whispered urgently, straining against the straightjacket that has bound him tightly to the chair. His eyes darted to the sides of the room, a slight crazed look in his eye.

“I am listening to you.” Dr. Bently said softly while scratching notes onto his pad of paper, not making eye contact with patient number 56. 56 patients he had seen today. Each one telling (or sometimes yelling) its story. Some trying to convince him they weren’t crazy while fidgeting and twitching right in front of his eyes. Others didn’t even try and plead their case, they stared blankly at the white walls, mouths sagging open. Patient number 56 was the last one he would see today, and then he would be able to go home. He would get in his comfy convertable, roll down the windows and let the salty night breeze sweep across his face as he cruised home to his wife and twin daughters.

“Thank you for your time, sir.” he said to his patient as he finished his notes, still not looking patient 56 in the eye. This one had bright blue eyes that pierced into his and made him feel a little unnerved. He didn’t like it. He figured it was because of the long day and he was just tired. “I will present your story to the board in two days time, and a decision will be made about--”

“Talia will not be waiting for you at home tonight alive if you don’t listen to me.”

The mention of his wife’s name made Dr. Bently freeze mid motion. He quickly looked up and locked eyes with patient 56. “How do you know my wife’s name?” he asked sharply, panic starting to rise in his chest. He always made sure no one he worked with knew anything about his life. He didn’t even wear a wedding ring to try and keep patients from guessing parts about his private life.

“Talia, Erica and Lucia are all in terrible danger if you don’t listen to me and do exactly as I say.” Patient 56 whispered urgently, eyes still darting around the room. The panic surged upward as he heard his two daughters names mentioned. Without thinking, Bently reached over and grabbed the man by the throat, causing him to choke.

“I don’t know what kind of game this is to you, but I don’t have time for this.” he hissed through clenched teeth. “Tell me how you found out about my family, or else you will greatly suffer the consequences of gathering such highly confidential information.” He could feel his fingers tightening around patient 56, relishing in seeing his face start to mottle and turn purple, spluttering to gather air.

Bently slackened his grip, letting the man breathe. He watched him choke and gasp for breath, all the while contemplating whether or not to call in security. He knew no one was watching them. After being a trusted psychiatrist in this facility for years, he was granted the back corridor for his questioning. No cameras, no observances. He was given the patients that the facility needed their stories the most. They needed the truth from these ones, and studies had shown that no cameras, no hint of an outsider watching the interviews, would help these patients be more willing to tell the truth about their stories. At least, the truth as they saw it in their own minds.

“Choose your words carefully on how you gathered that information, because it might be the last sentence you ever speak to another living soul.” he said through clenched teeth, still silently seething at this breach of privacy. And then patient 56 uttered words he had never expected to hear:

“Shane, I’m Glenn.  I’m your brother.”