Catch Me (Synacky)

Chapter Eleven: Brian

Zacky was making phone calls. His dad was dead, and he was still trying to reach him. He dialed time after time again, clutching the phone tight as he shouted, “Answer, dammit!”

My heart twisted and broke for him. “Zacky…” I reached out gently, my fingers ghosting across his shoulder, and he jerked away, as if my skin was acid. “No! Don’t touch me!”

I pulled my hand back wishing there was something I could do to help him. Dr. Brooks came in and Zacky turned to him, sputtering about a girl his dad knew and how he could possibly still be alive somehow…

Dr. Brooks took a deep breath. “Zacky, Zacky, they found a body. He left a note, Zacky. He hung himself.”

Zacky stumbled back. “No, no, no!” he screamed. He nearly tripped over his own feet turning around, and then he tore off running.

“Shit!” an aid hissed, and we all took off after him. He dropped his pet in the hall, and I paused to pick it up.

I stopped. Let them go after him. I wouldn’t. He needed time to cool off, to process what he’d been told. I’d look after his pet until then.

The aids searched, and I waited nervously. Class let out. Zacky was still missing. I had my session with Steph. I told her about what had happened.

“Oh, he’ll show up. Aids are looking for him, and he’s gotta be somewhere in the building.” Steph didn’t seem too concerned. “How are Jimmy and Johnny doing?”

I said they were doing fine. Jimmy was tired of the medication. Johnny was struggling with his right’s and left’s. Typical stuff. I couldn’t focus on the questions she was asking me, on the conversation we were having. My mind was preoccupied on Zacky; where could he be? I was itching to go back to the room, to see if he had returned.

It must be really tough for him, losing his dad. He’d never mentioned even having a mom, no one but his dad came and visited him on Christmas. What kind of father would do that? Commit suicide, leaving an autistic boy alone in the world?

I asked Steph if Zacky was going to move, since his dad wouldn’t be able to pay for his stay here. She said the government would fund it, and when he was eighteen, he’d move to a psychiatric ward for adults, unless he managed to get well enough to live on his own, or a family member surfaced who would take care of him.

That made me sad.

I stroked his pet gently, cloth gone soft and worn with age. I tried to put myself in Zacky’s situation. How would I handle my dad dying, if he were the only person I had left in the world? I couldn’t imagine it.

I ate dinner by myself. Jimmy took over, but I was co-con, and nothing exciting happened. He went to the room after dinner and read Zacky’s book about space, setting Zacky’s pet on the beside table. Zacky still hadn’t shown up. At lights out, he was still missing. Jimmy wanted to go to sleep, but my worrisome mind kept him awake, and he tossed and turned. ‘God, Bri, leave it alone! He’ll show up eventually, now let me sleep!”

And, after another anxious thought or two, I did.

~*~

When I came around, my hands were covered in paint, and there was a mess on a sheet of paper in front of me. Art therapy. Johnny must have been here last.

I looked around for a clock, seeing it was 1:00 in the afternoon. I ran to the sink in the corner of the art room, washing my hands, and asking the art teacher, “Where’s Zacky? Has he shown up?”

“Yes, Zachary is in isolation.”

Holy fuck.

“What? Why?” I dried my hands on my pants hastily, scooping up Johnny’s painting and clipping it to the string tied across the back of the room to dry. “He-He didn’t do anything to deserve that, did he?”

“He attacked the aid that found him. He’s in isolation for three days.” Then the teacher wouldn’t talk about it anymore.

Isolation was the standard punishment that was administered in the institution. It was absolutely awful. The longest I had spent in isolation was a whole day when Jimmy had decked the aid that tried to give him my meds. The institution had a few “isolation rooms” which were pretty much small rooms with white walls, a bed, and a toilet. Food was delivered through a slot at the bottom of the door. It drove me insane. I remember getting so fucking bored, and all the white messed with my brain. Three days in there? I would’ve gone completely mad.

Well, madder.

The two hours left in class seemed to take forever. When the final bell rang, the aids that corralled us back to the main building took their precious time. I shifted from foot to foot anxiously.

“Where’s Mr. Todd?” I asked one of them, “I have to talk to him, it’s important.”

The aid sighed and led me to Mr. Todd’s office. I waited impatiently with him outside until Mr. Todd finished his phone call. He hadn’t even finished the words, “Come in.” before I barged inside.

“Zacky’s in isolation for three days. Why? He attacked an aid? How bad was it? Three days is a long time to be in there, especially for Zacky, he doesn’t have his pet, he just found out his father died, for Christ’s sake!”

Mr. Todd waited patiently for me to finish, then smiled. “Zacky is in isolation for breaking Mr. Thomas’s nose. Three days seems like a fair price to pay for an injury like that, don’t you agree?”

“No, I don’t-“

“It was rhetorical. Remember, Brian, I run this place. Not you. You are a patient here. I make decisions based on what I hear, see, and know. I understand Zacky’s going through a difficult time, but perhaps this will help to calm him. That’s the purpose of isolation, you know. To calm, soothe the patients.”

“It does the opposite.” I hissed through gritted teeth. “It drives you crazy, staying in there.”

“Different patients react to it differently. He’s autistic, Brian, as you can recall. He craves the quiet. Thomas found him in a supply closet, of all places.”

“This is abuse.” I retorted.

“Now, you can’t go thinking like that.” Mr. Todd warned, “He is fed three times a day and, if he needs it, administered medication.”

“What you are doing is wrong, Mr. Todd.” I clenched my fists tight. “If Jimmy were here right now, he’d have already socked you.”

“Good thing he’s not.” Mr. Todd’s eyes flashed. “Now, why don’t you head to the rec room, Brian?”

Like I had a choice. I was escorted there. I frowned, scuffing my shoes on the ground. It wasn’t fair, not even a little bit.

I sat in a chair in the corner of the room, folding my arms and watching some kids play ping pong, until they called us to group therapy.