Chapter 10: Cabin Fever

This place is starting to smell like shit, man, seriously.

​I've been searching high and low for a cleaning crew in this dump since we set foot here, and I'm at the point where I'm about to organize a one-man protest for cleaner air. Randy used to wield a mop, for crying out loud. Can't we just throw him some cleaning supplies and let him work his janitorial magic? I'm willing to bet he'd do it for the price of a Happy Meal. The guy is practically ready to trade his sanity for a side of French fries. And let's talk about the personal hygiene of some of these people – or the lack thereof – and "some of these people" is code for Rudy.

Rudy is a fucking scumbag, and his troubles run deep. He's practically cemented in the olive green armchair no one will sit in, casting an unsettling, psycho gaze upon us that even Hannibal Lecter might envy. The stench he emits is potent enough to floor you from a good ten feet away. Dr. Nelson, I implore you, wield your authority and mandate that this man engage in some proper hygiene.

Before I get to the drama that unfolded, let me tell you some positive news.

I thought this morning's psychological tests would be tough, but I'm happy to report I did better this time. The aptitude tests didn't drag on like before, and even the math part wasn't as bad as I expected, even though I haven't touched math since 8th grade. My reading and vocabulary have always been strong, but lately, I've felt sharper mentally. It could be because I've cut back on gambling, drinking, and smoking, which seems to have cleared my head. Or maybe the pills are giving me a cognitive boost.

I'd also like to report that today's dose seemed to have gone really well for me.

I was briefly transported back to the dream realm, but instead of dreams, I relived old memories I didn't even know were still there. I went back to an early Christmas with my mother and father, before she drank, and he was too far gone. It was happy. I must have been two years old or so. I was there, in my 2-year-old body, but with all my present awareness. Dr. Nelson, it's worth considering that this treatment might have potential benefits in restoring memory and addressing Alzheimer's disease. I'm speaking from my personal experience, of course.

On the other hand, Lynette's been consistently short-tempered since our morning dosage. This afternoon, while I was relaxing on the couch next to Jeff, I witnessed her confront Dr. Roberts because she couldn't make a call to her kids.

"When will you allow us to call our kids?" She snapped at him.

In response, Dr. Roberts retorted without even giving her a glance, "External communication is restricted for the duration
of the trial." His response further escalated her anger.

"Excuse me! Don't you think it's common courtesy to make eye contact while someone is speaking to you?" She yelled, clearly exasperated.

Dr. Roberts turned towards her, and his face reddened slightly. "Once the trial concludes, you'll have the opportunity to contact your family for pickup," he said in a rehearsed tone before walking away.

Lynette let out her frustration by punching the couch cushion and uttering “robot ass motha-fucka”. 

The exchange highlights a larger issue – we're forbidden from communicating with the outside world throughout our stay here. This limitation triggers a straightforward question: What's the reasoning behind this communication ban?

Last thing I'll report, Walter and Randy were at each other’s throats after dinner. Walter has been exhibiting some very strange behavior as you recall from our little group session the other day. I had my laptop record the whole incident on video just so I could retype the conversation exactly as it happened. While it seems the pills, or abstinence is enhancing my own mind, Walter and Randy are on a completely different wavelength.

Walter keeps saying that we’re all dead and actually in hell. Randy, who’s been suffering from a headache since yesterday is pretty fed up with it. Today, Walter, sounding like a southern preacher, was getting crazier and crazier about it, quoting revelations and shit. Randy almost punched him, save for Emily and I both holding him back.

It went like this:

Randy (face red) You've got to be fucking kidding me, Walter, I can't believe you're still going on about this whole 'we're all dead and in hell' bullshit."

Walter (hyper as fuck) I'm telling y'all, Randy, it's the goddamn truth! Look around, damn it! This place is too damn weird to be real. We ain't in some fancy drug trial. We're in the afterlife, serving out our damn punishments.

Randy (through gritted teeth): Walter, I swear, if you keep preaching your fairytale bible shit, I'll give you a reason to believe it.

Walter (passionately): Randy, you've got to open your eyes, man! This ain't no ordinary trial. We're in the afterlife, mark my words.

Me (calmly intervening): Come on, guys, let's not escalate this.

Emily (trying to soothe Randy): Randy, just breathe. He's not worth the trouble.

Ben (excitedly narrating): And here we have Randy, ready to throw down, and Walter, the hellfire preacher. This is one intense spiritual showdown, folks!

Jeff (chuckling): Oh man, this is better than Netflix.

Randy (clenching his fists): Walter, my head's pounding like a jackhammer, and your fucking crazy talk ain't helping! Get the FUCK AWAY FROM ME!

Walter (raising his voice): The pain is just a taste of the inferno we're in, Randy! We're the damned, I tell ya!

Me (firmly): Walter, this isn't helping anyone. Let's all take a step back.

Emily (whispering to Randy): Don't give him the satisfaction, Randy. He's just trying to rile you up.

Walter (pointing to an empty chair): Where's Stephanie and Michael, huh? They're burning, Randy! And we're next in line for the inferno!

Ben (enthusiastically narrating): The tension's rising, folks! Randy's restraint is admirable, and Walter's determination is unshakeable.

Jeff (grinning): Pass the popcorn, this is golden.

Randy (clutching his head in agony): Walter, you're pushing your luck, motherfucker.

Walter (raising his fists for the first time in Randy’s face): You better watch your damn mouth boy, or it’s gonna get real ugly in this place!

Me (authoritative): That's enough, Walter. Get the hell back to your side of the room. Randy, take a walk.

Emily (to Randy): Let's go.

Ben (enthusiastically narrating): And the referee, Jack, steps in to cool things down. Emily's support for Randy is unwavering.

Jeff (chuckling): I can't believe they're going at it like this.

Walter (staring at Randy): "You'll see... you'll all damn see..."

After the showdown, they both distanced themselves. Randy was a heartbeat away from murdering him, I’m sure of it. I think the bottom line is, we’re all pretty out of it right now. The place stinks to high heaven, we’ve not seen outside in days, and honestly Doc, there’s nothing to do.

I'm having a random thought about my father again... I wonder if this is how he feels, being locked up. I kinda pity the guy, but then again, not really. He was a pro at offing people for cash. Mom tried to justify it, claiming he only took out the trash, but come on. Can’t people change if given the chance? He definitely didn't have a VIP pass to play God. I mean, seriously. Sometimes I wonder, if he'd just been your average, run-of-the-mill dad, would I be this screwed up? Chances are slim.

I’m gonna hit the hay for the night; maybe I'll snag one of those books and give it a read for a change. It's been over two years since I actually cracked open a book. My brain's in "clear-as-day" mode lately, thanks to the sheer joy of being mind-numbingly bored. 
​
Actually, I think I’ll quickly go play the big brother and check up on Randy. His mood's a little unstable and I’m worried. Plus, I’m getting a little jealous that Emily is giving him so much attention. She’s still a class A bitch, but she was a rockstar at helping me defuse a potential homicide today.

Catch you on the flipside,

​-Jack

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