Free Detour from Normal by Ken Dickson Page B

plastic-rimmed glasses. His overly sincere grin spread widely across a squat, chubby-cheeked face.
    "Hello, Mr. Dickson, I'm Dr. Alverez. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
    "I was dead asleep. I haven't slept for nearly a week, and you woke me. Why did you do that?" I asked in frustration. He ignored my question and replaced it with one of his own.
    "Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?"
    "No."
    "Have you ever wanted to kill anyone else?"
    "No."
    "Have you ever had racing thoughts?"
    "Well, I never really thought about it. I guess not."
    "Have you ever been depressed?"
    "No. I never get depressed."
    The questions continued relentlessly. I answered them to my best ability, but I don't actually remember much of how I responded. I just wanted to finish and go back to sleep before the drug wore off. Before Dr. Alvarez left, he offered me a new pill, Seroquel. I accepted it without question, chased it down with water, then rolled over in bed, closed my eyes, and thankfully succumbed once more.
    Two hours later, the door to my room opened and another man called my name. He produced yet another pill for me, Restoril. I swallowed it without making a scene and went back to sleep. I managed a few more hours of sleep after that and then was wide awake once more. Though my mind was revving up, my body was numb and sluggish from the drugs. I lay in bed for a time, waiting for my body to catch up to my mind, then began investigating my new home. For starters, I had already noted that I had a roommate—his snoring had helped terminate my drugged sleep. I couldn't see him in the dark, but I could make out his form in the sliver of light that crept under our room door. He was tall and thin, and had the rich snore of someone who'd smoked for a lifetime.
    I rose from my bed and walked to where I thought the bathroom might be. I'd guessed correctly. Yawning, I took care of business, washed my hands, and splashed water on my face. I searched for a towel and found only a soiled one hanging on a hook behind the door. After drying my hands and face with my T-shirt, I made a mental note to find some clean linen later. Instead of returning to bed, I cracked open the room door to see what was on the other side. It was quiet. I couldn't see or hear anyone, so I stepped out.
    I thought that exploring my surroundings might take some time, but quarters were pretty tight in this unit of Pinecrest. The unit was an H shape with rooms on the outside of both the "legs" and "arms" of the H. I estimated from the number of rooms that there must have been about twenty people living there, two to a room. Above the crossbar of the H was the staff office—a large room with a single door. In front of the door was about ten feet of open area filled with several roll-around chairs. There was a low counter surface surrounding the open area filled with computer monitors, keyboards, phones, printers, and copiers with a high counter surface outside that to separate patients from staff. Below the cross bar of the H was a partially glassed-in room with some chairs and a flat screen TV high up in a corner. A corded touch-tone phone hung on the outside wall of that room. The late-night staff seemed small; I only noticed two people working at the low counter. They didn't seem to notice me so I cautiously walked toward them, leaned on the high counter, and said, "Hi."
    "Please step away from the counter," one of them said without looking at me. I backed a foot or so away, and they continued their work.
They're certainly not the friendliest people,
I thought,
but at least they don't mind me walking around.
    At the tips of the arms of the H, were two sets of unmarked steel doors; at the tips of the legs of the H were similar doors marked Emergency Exit. All the room doors were heavy, solid wood with a thick oak veneer. The walls were painted light sand and the baseboards were a darker sand color. The flooring was an oak-like wood laminate.
    That was it. That was my new home.