4 John Does

'98 Redux

The classic rock radio station cuts a Steppenwolf song off mid-chorus. "Tragedy today in Columbine, Colorado, where a pair of teenage gunmen..."

Nurse Betts runs over to the broadcaster and flicks it off before the news alert can finish. She traipses in that strange way that only overweight, middle-aged women can. Palms out, hands close to chest, more of a quick shuffle. Tutting the whole way, as if she's about to start clutching pearls at any second.

Mikey is checking himself out in the common room mirror, face inches away from the reflecting surface. He peels up his eyelids and sticks his tongue out like he's ready for a physical check-up.

JD sidles up to Michael, a curious look on his face. "What exactly are you doing?"

"Looking for my better self."

Jo, who is sitting in front of a card table with a partially completed puzzle, pipes up. "Hmh-mh, not yet." He doesn't even look up from the piecemeal Thomas Kinkade cottage scene. A pastoral promotion of serenity in jigsaw form. Somehow, we all know he's talking to Michael.

"Narcissist." JD boxes Mikey out from in front of the mirror and makes a series of ridiculous poses. Sucking in his cheeks and puckering his lips. He starts unbuttoning his shirt, tracing his fingers across his chest. He drops his voice to a lower octave and says, "Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me."

Eddie, the resident teenage histrionic, is doodling his usual charcoal stick art. It's always the same thing. Dark and edgy, the more skulls and devils, the better. The kind of thing you'd see on the album cover for a heavy metal group. The ones who sing about Satan, but all they really care about is groupies and sales. Basically all of them. His wrists bear the glamour gauze of a self-harmer. Eddie dabs some charcoal under his eyes, giving himself a makeshift liner. It contrasts starkly against his pale face. "I heard that announcement earlier. When the morning shift rent-a-bacon was listening. Couple of high school kids went in and shot their campus all up. Some real psychos." He says it with almost a tone of admiration, sneering. "Rumor is they were targeting bullies and Jesus freaks. Same thing if you ask me."

"The persecution." Jo interjects.

"Exactly."

"No. Like the Coliseum."

Eddie glares at Jo, confused. "Weirdo. Anyways, if I was gonna do it, I'd use bombs. Take out every fake motherfucker in the place."

Again, Jo interrupts. "They did. Two propane pipe bombs. One Molotov cocktail, two sawed-off 12 gauges, one 9 millimeter carbine, one semi-automatic TEC-9. Five gold rings." He sings the last bit in an eerie whisper.

"How do you know all that? The news report never said any of that."

Jo looks far away, deliberating an answer. Finally, he says, "Numberwang." As if this explains everything perfectly.

"Whatever, Nostradamus. You're full of shit. Did you know they killed themselves?"

"Inevitable."

"All I'm saying is, I woulda started cappin' pigs. Empty some clips before they take me out." Eddie chuckles, reeking of self-assurance.

JD hops up and perches on the edge of the table that Eddie is drawing on. The way he cocks his head makes him appear as a crow. He stares into the goth boy's eyes, unblinking. "Little Eddie-play-evil. Let me see those scars." With preternatural speed, JD snatches Eddie's arm and peels back the bandage. "Tsk-tsk-tsk. Across the street for attention, down the road for results." Eddie yanks his arm back, averting his gaze from JD's judgement.

JD smashes his fists into the table with a loud bang. Eddie almost flinches out of his chair, close to tears.

"Patient!" Riley yells. "Come at him like that again and I'll dose you into a five day coma! See if I don't."

JD lifts his hands and waggles them in a parody of surrender. "Shakin' the tree, boss!"

The frightened teen is still trembling like a cornered animal. In an uncharacteristic turn, JD's posture changes from antagonistic to sympathetic. He lifts Eddie's chin with gentle fingers, looking at the boy now with only compassion. "Never mistake hostility for power." Eddie nods slowly in understanding.

I've been on the sidelines this whole time, rubbing my temples. "You guys' bipolar energy is giving me a migraine."

JD points to acknowledge me. "You know what? You're right Johnny boy." He walks over to the radio and waves at Nurse Betts. "Maestro, may we?" She nods her approval. JD hits the power button and the dynamic riffs of Thin Lizzy fill the room. He sings along enthusiastically, "The boys are back in to-ow-o-own! The boys are back in town!"

Mikey joins him, responding, "The boys are back. The boys are back."

The two nuthouse rock stars are jumping around, mouthing the guitar solo and strumming at the air. Even Deacon gives it a go. Riley pulls his Oakleys on and thumps an imaginary bass. JD sprints by him, snagging the shades before twirling away.

"Son of a-"

"Jamais vu." Jo shouts over the music.

The noise only serves to expand the pain inside my skull. I close my eyes tight, trying to shut it all out, but I can't make it go away. "Enough, Uriel. Please!"

The tune ends abruptly, leaving a strange stillness. When I open my eyes, JD's face is uncomfortably close to mine. I expect him to be mad, but his expression is one of amusement. "Why would you call me that?"

"I-I must have gotten confused. All this damned noise. Sorry."

JD's eyes gleam as he puts a finger to his lips. "Shhhhh." His breath is hot on my face and I cringe, instinctively.

Jo looks up from his completed jigsaw, holding aloft the empty puzzle box.

"Do we have one of these with the World Trade Center?"