The Wicked Within

8. Therapy

You'll try to fight, but there is simply no use. When it has you, it has you. And there is no changing that.

****

He wasn't opposed to the idea.

Ok, he was, but he also knew it was for the best.

That didn't stop him from arguing.

"I'm not going. I don't need it."

It had been two weeks since the incident on the street. Since that weird guy had scratched a hole in his chest. It had been two weeks since he'd seen the girl, or Mr. Alva, or anything that wasn't normal.

The only thing that had remained out of the ordinary was, according to his father, the way Finn had been behaving. Uptight all the time, not laid back like he normally was.

His father had asked what was going on. He even asked why Finn thought he was insane, to which Finn buried his head in his hands. His dad had heard him talking to himself in his bedroom two weeks ago. He didn't know whether to be thankful, worried, or just embarrassed.

And now, it was happening. He knew something like it was coming, and it was happening.

"You need to go."

Finn scowled at his dad. He, like Finn, had a generally laid back attitude. But it was like he was changing, too. The whole situation was changing them. Not that Finn wasn't already changed. Since elementary school, he'd had a laid back attitude sprinkled with loneliness and loss. His dad had too, at one point, and it was like something similar was happening again.

"I don't. Don't you know it's normal for teenagers to go through phases? Or are you too busy going through your own?" Finn snarled as he spoke, and he knew he sounded like a stuck up bitch. But he didn't care.

His dad glared. "Thank about who you're talking to, Finn."

Finn didn't say anything.

"You're going. End of discussion."

Finn opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted.

"I'm telling you that you need to go. So you're going."

And that was that.

*******

The waiting room was dull and boring. It was bland of any life besides Finn, his father, and a bored woman drinking a Dr. Pepper behind a desk. The walls were a perfectly clean white, and so were the floors. The only color in the room was from a couple plants and some pictures on the wall.

Finn didn't say anything. He didn't even think anything. He just leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, mind completely blank. Next to him, his dad had ear buds on, but he didn't look like he was enjoying the music much.

This went on for fifteen minutes. Then a door was thrust open in the back of the room, producing a short Chinese man with a clip board.

"Finn Johnson?"

Finn looked towards his dad, who had fallen asleep in his chair. He sighed as he walked towards the man, through the door, and to the office.

******

"Hello, Finn. I'm Dr. Roberts. It's nice to meet you," the doctor smiled, forced and insincere. His brown hair was messy and unkept, his glasses slipping down his nose.

"Hi," was all Finn said.

"Can you tell me what's been going on?"

"Shit." Finn said with a nonchalant shrug.

"Excuse me?"

"You asked what's been going on. There's your answer. Shit."

Dr. Robert's fake smile wavered. "O-ok. Well. Your father said you seem stressed. Uptight. Why do you think you have these issues?"

Finn shrugged once more. He didn't want to be here, he didn't want to tell some random Doctor something he knew he wouldn't understand. It was pointless.

"You know, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

"Well then I guess you can't help me. Because I'm sure as hell not telling you anything. You can't help me."

Dr. Roberts gave him a sideways look. Finn wondered if he had misspoken worse than he thought he had, and what would happen to him if he had.

"Actually, I think I can."

*****

The operating table was cold, the only cushion provided by hard metal. His arms were shackled to his side, his legs tied to the bed. The room around him looked like one from an old asylum. Cracked, dirty tile. Sinks and cabinets doused with unidentifiable liquids. Scalpels. Scissors.

Dr. Roberts loomed above him. His fake smile was now a full blown diabolical smirk.

"Aren't the young ones pretty, brother?"

"Quite," said a voice from somewhere in the distance.

Roberts smoothed his perfectly white robes.

"I remember when I was young. So clueless. So naive. So in need of help. I think he needs some!"

And when he said that last word, Finn saw the tool in his hand. The little metal hammer. The end of it was a sharp point.

"What are the kids into, these days? Music, right? Maybe a little song will make him feel better.

The doctor began to hum a light tune as he flipped the hammer to the point. He created a small hole near Finn's eye, and the blood began to rush. He tried to scream, but he couldn't

And in about a second that point was in the flesh near Finn's eye, which widened as a hole was made in the corner of it and the thin metal strip traveled into his brain.

It wiggled around for a second, causing immense pain. Then the point was ripped out.

And the doctor kept humming- a happy sound amidst the chaos.

"Look at him smiling!" Dr. Roberts exclaimed, referring to the look of terror on Finn's face. "He really likes the lobotomy song!"

And that's when he noticed the other patients, all lying down like him.

All screaming, shouting things.

"We don't deserve this!"

"It's ok, Finn. It'll be done before you know it! And then you'll be cured!"

"Trust the doctor! Trust the doctor! Trust the evil, sick doctor!"

"The plot is moving forward! Trust the doctor!"

And his skull finally gave out, caving in, allowing his brain to be exposed to the hammer.

*******

Finn snapped awake. He was back in Dr. Robert's office, in the same chair, now with a pounding headache that consumed his entire forehead.

And Dr. Roberts smiled. This time for real.

"You did good, Finn. You did good."