Patient 1543 (1543 Series Story 1)

Arrival

1.

     The mental patient transport pulled up to Scranton Mental Asylum on May seventh at 8:01 am. Patient 1543 was in the back, sitting in his wheelchair patiently as ever, looking out the window at the passing country side. His icy blue eyes seemed to shine, as if he was genuinely excited by the transfer from one mental institution to another. As they – the transport – pulled up to Scranton Mental Asylum (simply called “The Asylum” by the locals and the workers) his eyes traveled over the barred windows, which were barred in the first place so patients couldn’t throw themselves out the windows, and the sturdy doors, and he smiled. It was a perfect place for him to do his work.

     The transport pulled around to the back, where all new patients were taken into The Asylum, and parked with the back of the vehicle facing The Asylum. After a few moments, footsteps – coming from the transport as well as The Asylum – were heard and some greetings were given to the unknown people. Patient 1543 was anxious to meet them, anxious to see what secrets their eyes would tell him, and anxious to begin his work.

     Then the back of the transport was opened and pulled down, creating a ramp for his wheelchair to roll down. But of course, because he was “mentally unstable” he wasn’t allowed to operate his wheelchair outside. Only a trained nurse or doctor could do that, because they weren’t technically insane. Yet put under pressure their actions would be similar – exact even – to one who was insane; in short no one is truly sane. They all have things about them that can cause them to act insane or irrational at the never least. Those things Patient 1543 had noticed time and time again. And though his reality was considered to be “delusional” or even a “hallucination” by others, they never saw what he saw, and in truth they didn’t see what he saw because they didn’t want to. He did though; in fact he was amazed by his so called “delusions” and “hallucinations”. He never truly understood them, or the work they gave him to do, which he now had come to call “his work”, but he did it just the same and he always enjoyed it and the different reactions he was able to observe.

     A pretty – to some perhaps – woman in her early thirties, at least that what Patient 1543 guessed her to be, smiled and walked up the ramp; two men in white suits stood at the bottom of the ramp, ready for anything that might occur. Patient 1543 smiled again, this time directing his smile at the pretty woman who was now nearly to the top of the ramp.

     “Hello. My name is Terry Lee; I’m your nurse. You can call me Nurse Lee or Nurse Terry, which ever you prefer.” She said. Her voice was as pretty as her face, yet Patient 1543 didn’t feel sorry that she was going to be involved in his work; after all it was important work.

     “I believe the proper English term would be ‘you may call me’, Nurse Terry.” He said smiling brightly just as before when he first laid his eyes upon her.

     “Right you are. Now let’s get you inside and all situated with your new home at Scranton.” She said still smiling as she walked around to the back of the wheelchair, disengaged the brakes, and wheeled him down the ramp and onto the concrete walk way, which lead to a door that would lead into The Asylum.

2.

     Doctor Harry Mel was in his car – a decent ’67 Camaro which he’d been given by his dad when he turned sixteen years ago – driving to work. But he was running late, not a gross amount but enough for it to be noted by the medical staff manger, Jim Bennence, who was a notorious jerk and overachiever and who loved to file complaints against anyone who was late, even if by a minute.

     Mel was also breaking the speed limit by ten miles an hour, nothing stunningly crazy, which he hoped would make any highway patrols he might run into pass him by, for they watched out primarily for those people who decided to break the speed limit by twenty or even thirty miles per hour – of which there was plenty on a weekly basis.