Upheaving Crooked Orchards

Part Two

Michael aged on the ward but the treatment seemed to grow worse every day. The walls began to crack, allowing drafts to seep in and infect the room with a muddy chill. The staff would often shove the patients where they needed--a teen Michael watched as a patient was thrown to the ground and stunned with a taser to the neck for crying when he was ordered to go with his doctor. The guards also partook in knocking them around--any reason to shove someone was good enough for them. The halls were filled with yells and shouts from the staff, berating the patients and calling them names. Some patients had to be bound to wheelchairs--whether they came in like that or were injured on the ward was up to anyone's guess. However, Michael knew two or three were injured; one underwent a surgery staffed with nurses who weren't sure what they were looking for and accidentally cut the patient's lower spine. Michael wasn't too sure about the other one. They groaned a few times and would look around, as if unaware of their surroundings. Their mouth was usually covered with saliva and they needed constant support from the nurses. Michael looked and saw dark purple bruises surrounding the patient's eyes. A nurse stormed by and shoved the patient's wheelchair aside, causing it to roll against a wall and facing a corner where he spent the rest of the day. 

  Michael was let out of his room and walked around the ward--it was full of dread, dark, and some areas had dark liquid drain from the cracks in the walls. While the ward itself was clean, it didn't feel like it. Michael hid a limp as he walked--Kavell hurt the boy's knee and cut part of his calf in the hopes of damaging a nerve. He still didn't let a whimper leave his body. He turned his head as another teenager leaned from around a wall and called for a nurse. He pointed to a patient standing by a pole. He was hugging himself but was knocking his head against the concrete pillar. 

  "Gurney pissed, nurse." The teenager spoke with a concerned voice.

  The nurse grabbed Gurney and pushed him near Michael. 

  The nurse began cursing under her breath, scrambling for a towel or a mop. 

  "Are you a dog, Gurney?" The nurse yelled as she looked at him. 

  Gurney shook his head--he didn't seem connected to the conversation but still knew the answer was no. Michael noticed Gurney had the same dark rings as the patient in the wheelchair.

  "Well dogs piss on the floor, isn't that what you did? You do this again, and I'll chain you outside like one." The nurse was flustered and searched her brain for any insult she could find as she stumbled around the mess.

  "Don't be mean nurse, he can't help it! Gurney ain't been the same since he came out of that room last week." The original teenager hugged Gurney to keep him safe from her. Michael tilted his head as he observed the boy shielding the dazed patient.

  "I should have you clean it if you care so much, Williams." The nurse snapped.

  The two boys fled from the area and moved to another section of the ward. Amidst them walking away, Michael was dragged along to the corner of the lounge, in front of two large windows and a couch. Williams  sat on the couch and noticed the strange patient looking at Gurney. 

  "Don't mind him." Williams said, "I think they did somethin' to him. He just hugs himself--doesn't say nothin' no more." 

  Williams looked sad, Michael could tell they were close--perhaps the only comfort they had in this ward was each other. He studied Williams--he had dark brown skin, short but frizzed black hair on his head and rather large hands. Michael looked into Williams' eyes and saw a deep sadness--not for his friend, but an almost hopelessness. The sad boy returned his gaze to Michael and saw the faint bruises on his arms.

  "They said I lost my mind somewhere in the woods--playin' with my brother." Williams said, interrupting the quiet, "But truth is... I don't think I did. I just started runnin' one day and didn't stop. I wanted to run from the damage I'd done at home is all."

  The nurse cleaning the mess finally left but a doctor walked by her and shouted from across the room.

  "Myers!" He called, "Let's go, Kavell's ready for you."
   Michael turned and walked towards the doctor. He heard Williams mutter about getting Gurney new clothes before he left. 

  "Hello Michael." Kavell said in his sleek but crooked tone, "I have something for you."

  Michael entered the room and went to sit on the chair, but Kavell grabbed his arm.

  "No, not there. Here." The doctor pointed to a table--it had wires laid on it that were connected to a few machines on a counter next to it, "Sit up here."

  Michael did as he was told and sat on the table. Kavell shoved Michael to lay down and reached to grab the wires. There were patches on the end of them and Kavell placed them under Michael's gown and onto his body--a few on his arms and a few on his chest. The cold metal that was under the sticky patch surprised Michael as it came into contact with his skin. He watched as the doctor walked to a machine and adjust some of the knobs.

  "You might feel a shock, Michael, just scream when you want it to stop." He turned the knob.

  Michael's body stiffened as electricity ran through his body. His heart felt like it stopped and his lungs seized. Still, Michael didn't seem bothered--despite the searing pain that pierced his skin, he remained unresponsive. Kavell stopped the machine.

  "For each time you don't respond I'm turning the voltage up, Michael," Kavell's voice sounded sympathetic, but Michael could hear the twisted hatred that remained hidden from most of the public, " if you want me to stop, just say so." 

 ..

  The testing seemed to go on for hours. The voltage did go up, but the machine wasn't built to kill. Kavell stopped the machine and went to a different table across the room. Michael's body began to twitch as it adjusted to the absence of the shock. His heart thundered in his chest and Michael shut his eyes to try and calm it. 

  Michael was taken out of the room, barely able to walk but wasn't gifted any form of help, aside from the guards growling in the back, ordering him to keep moving. He made it to his room, part of him was thankful to be alone. He let himself get lower to the floor, gentle to not disrupt his sore body. He lied on his uninjured leg, allowing the other one to rest. He gave a few heavy breaths, still recovering from the shock. While he was letting his body weight fall to his left arm as it held up his body, he looked at his other hand. It was trembling, the muscles hurt. He didn't bother to get on his bed but instead fell all the way to the floor before passing out, hoping no one would wake him.