White Room

"So, Mr. Havendale... I have heard quite a bit about you." Dr. Tibberman hazardously eyed David for a moment before his gaze flickered down to papers on his desk. He crossed his hands and brought his attention back to the mental patient before him who was nervously shaking his leg in his seat. There was a strict air of professionalism around the doctor. He wasn't gentle or calming like Dr. Grant, his usual doctor, was. "Do you know why you're here, David?"

David turned his head to Libby for approval. She was sitting gingerly in the chair just to the left of him. "Answer, David." David shook his head.

"Is that a no, Mr. Havendale?" the doctor persisted, looking David straight in the eyes.

David bypassed Dr. Tibberman's question. "Why are we here, Libby? I don't want to be here." Direct eye contact made David extremely uncomfortable, and you could tell if his hands were free, he would be fidgeting.

"Excuse me, I believe we were talking." David's line of vision made its way back to the doctor who had his brows raised expectantly. "You are not here to speak to Ms. Montane. Please answer the question."

Libby brought her slender hand to her mouth to silence herself as she watched her patient of seven years in such a tense situation. She knew there was nothing she could do now.

"B-bu," David began restlessly, and then sighed deeply in defeat. "N-no. I don't know why I'm here." David's response came out as a bit of an indignant whine. The doctor huffed quietly to himself.

"Well, it seems that there has been an incident concerning yourself and Brittany Wilkes. Do you have any comment on what occurred, Mr. Havendale?"

David blinked rapidly, his heart rate rising considerably. He wasn't very fond of this doctor's formal approach to conversation. David's thoughts began to wander, triggered by his nerves and his confusion. The ticking clock sitting precisely between Dr. Tibberman's phone and a picture frame became a distraction. David could feel the pressure in the room building with each passing second.

"I have to go," he declared, standing up in haste.

Libby gasped, but stayed seated herself despite being startled. Dr. Tibberman sat back in his chair before speaking. "You do not have to go anywhere. Have a seat. We are not finished here."

David stood frozen, his thoughts not connecting and his body not obeying the orders given. He was unsure what to do, but one look at Dr. Tibberman's stern expression was enough to bring him back down to his chair.

The doctor cleared his throat. "Are you aware of what happened earlier, David?" David stared at the doctor like a child being reprimanded for a wrong. After earning no answer, the doctor continued. "Can you tell me what you were doing with Miss Wilkes?"

---------------

Brittany Wilkes was in training to be a nurse at the Asylum. Having just turned twenty-two and being finished with college, she had welcomed a spot at Chamberson Mental Asylum. This had been her second week of mandatory training for all nurses that wish to work with mentally ill patients.

She had been assisting her supervising nurse in group therapy, getting to know the patients and learning the pointers of interacting and keeping control of situations. David had been in Group B, specifically for patients diagnosed with schizophrenia, earlier that afternoon.

Group Therapy had lasted about forty-five minutes, as the patients tended not to have a longer attention span than that. After the session had ended, David had left the room without waiting for Libby or Samantha, his other assigned nurse, to retrieve him and take him back to his room. He had wandered into a bathroom around the corner, designated for only staff members. It had contained a shelved cart with maintenance tools situated in the far end of the room.

He had shut the door and locked it after entering, sitting down on the floor next to the cart full of tools. Being rather curious and not being restricted as he usually was, he had rummaged through the instruments, studying each one before laying it on the black and white tiled floor.

Paper having been his outlet for so long, the idea of using skin, like he was supposed to, danced in his head. His hand had hovered over the tools he had placed in front of him, before he carefully selected a putty knife. David had rolled up the sleeve of his blue and green flannel, exposing his pasty skin and pressed the edge of the putty knife to it. He cocked his head to the left as his tongue poked out of his narrow lips ever so slightly while he was exploring his options on what to draw.

David had started dragging the putty knife along his skin, becoming increasingly impatient after no blood was drawn to the surface. He had swiftly thrown the tool across the bathroom. It hit the opposite wall before dropping to the tiled floor with a high pitched metallic 'ding'.

Unsatisfied with his first choice, he had surveyed the remaining tools that were displayed. He contemplated what each could do, deciding that none of them were sufficient for the task he needed to complete. If he was going to do this, he would do it right. Humming a quiet tune to himself, he had gotten on his knees and reached for the cloth tool belt that was lying on the top of the cart. He hadn't bothered himself with the hammer, the wrenches wouldn't work, and he couldn't use a tape measurer. Then he had dipped his fingers into a pocket of the belt and pulled out a folded up box cutter. An accomplished smile had broken out on his face, and he had sat back down, crossing his legs before slowly opening his newly found artistic instrument.

"Yes, yes, I know," he had mumbled. "I know, I know. I'll do it." His voice had been anxious, excited even. The smiled he had worn faded into a look of determined concentration as he balled his fist and took the blade to his skin.

He had counted the lines he cut, starting over after he reached seven. He carved a face, complete with choppy features. It was hard work trying to include detail when you had limited direction from a box cutter. He continued on and drew what looked like a cloak, then arms outstretched to a cross. It was almost complete, but as he was engraving the numbers 12:1 under the reddened, raw flesh of the image he had carved, there had been a knock at the door, followed by the rattling of the knob.

"Hello?" Brittany Wilkes' voice had traveled through the wooden door and met with David's displeased ears. He had stayed completely silent, and he had waited for her to leave so that he could finish his work in peace. He was thinking to himself how much he hated being disturbed just as another knock was heard. "Hello? Is anyone in there?" He gave no response.

He had listened closely at the footsteps moving away from the door and expelled a relieved sigh. He lowered the blade to his arm once more, pressing it down at an angle as the number one was created.

"...I don't know, I tried to open the door, but it's locked. I don't know if anyone is in the bathroom or not. I asked but no one answered. I don't have a key." David froze, hoping Brittany would leave once more. A key was placed in the lock and he could hear the distinct click that the door gave when the slick metal piece left the groove in the doorframe. The door had been unlocked. David's mind had panicked, but his body wouldn't move.

"Thank you," Brittany had whispered to someone out in the hall with her. The door was slowly opened, but David kept his eyes averted to the wall in front of him and did not turn to see who had entered.

"Excuse me. You're not allowed to be in here." Angela DiOrlio, one of the head nurses stood in the doorway and had spoken to David.

"Oh dear..." Brittany had peered over Angela's shoulder and had seen David sitting in the corner. She took notice of the blood on his arm and the droplets that were on the floor and her eyes widened.

Angela had spoken calmly to Brittany without taking her eyes away from David, knowing he had a dangerous object and was clearly not stable. "Go get a doctor."

"I know him. He was in group earlier..." Brittany thought to herself. "David Havendale. He has schizophrenia."

"What is he doing in a staff only bathroom? Didn't someone pick him up after group?"

"I don't recall... I don't think so," Brittany had answered. "Let me try talking to him... you go get a doctor."

Angela looked at Brittany apprehensively, knowing what the trainee requested was against policy.

"I'll be fine," Brittany had assured her. "You go."

"Be careful," was all Angela had said before turning on her heels and walking away quickly.

"David, it's me, Brittany. Do you remember me?" David didn't acknowledge her presence. Brittany walked into the bathroom, but stayed the same distance away from David. "What are you doing here?" She had tried to keep her voice as friendly as possible so that didn't make him feel threatened. He had turned his head slightly and had glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Hi there," she had greeted quietly. "Is everything all right? Why did you hurt yourself?"

"No one lets me finish," was David's response.

"Finish what?"

David had covered his arm with his sleeve and turned his head away. "It's not finished. No one can see. It's not finished."

"Can't you show me, David? Put the knife down and show me. I want to see."

"No. You can't." David had shaken his head repeatedly.

"Will you show Libby? Put the knife down and you can show Libby."

"No. No! It's not finished!"

"Okay... okay..." Brittany's mind had been racing about how to handle this without it turning into a confrontation. "What would you like to do then?"

David had turned his head and his eyes had fallen on the young woman before him. "I want to finish." He had then turned his body toward the wall and rolled his sleeve back up, intending to complete his task.

"No, no, no, don't do that." Brittany had acted on impulse and took several steps forward, reaching toward David to stop his actions. He had grabbed her arm and forcibly yanked her down. Her head had hit the concrete wall quite hard, stealing her consciousness from her. David had watched as she slumped over his leg. He then pushed her off of his body and grabbed her arm. Her skin was already visible from the short sleeve scrub top she had been wearing.

David had grabbed her arm and started writing a biblical passage in her delicate skin, his blood from the blade mixing with hers. He had began inscribing I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the, the beginning of the line from Roman 12:1, which he had referred to on his own arm.

Just then, a doctor had appeared with Angela and Libby, as well as a security guard. "Oh my goodness!" Libby had exclaimed. "David, put that down this instant!"

David had paused in his actions upon hearing Libby's voice, turning his head and looking at her. "Right now! You put that down right now!"

"But I'm not finished," he had pleaded.

"David, close the box cutter and put it down, please," Libby had urged. The others stood waiting, knowing she was the only one he would respond positively to.

David had done as he was told, but not before taking the box cutter and crossing out the words he had written in Brittany's arm. They had been incomplete. He couldn't leave them like that.

The surrounding people had all gasped, and "Oh my God!" had escaped from Angela's mouth.

David had set the bloody tool down on the top of the cart and stood up, blood dripping down his arm and staining his pants. He looked childishly at Libby who had stood in the doorway and motioned him to come over. Once he reached the doorway, she told him to turn around and place his hands behind his back. He had asked why, before the accompanying security guard had hand-cuffed him.

---------------

"Mr. Havendale, please answer the question." Dr. Tibberman's gruff, masculine voice stopped David from humming.

"The question..." David barely emitted any sound as he uttered those two words, signaling to the doctor that David had no train of thought.

"What is it that you were doing with Miss Wilkes?"

"I was drawing. She was supposed to be there. God wanted her there."

"And why is that, Mr. Havendale?" Dr. Tibberman continued prying in David's complicated mind for answers that even if he got, would make no sense to any sane person. But he needed them to document.

"She's a messenger. But I didn't finish. I never finish."

"A messenger of what?" Dr. Tibberman asked, attempting to get a decent answer out of David.

"A messenger of God! We are all here for God! Jesus sacrificed himself for us, and we should sacrifice our skin to tell his story! God said so."

David was now looking at Dr. Tibberman, with a hopeful look in his eyes that someone would understand. "She knew she was a messenger. That's why she stayed..." David had added before looking down into his lap.

"I see..." Dr. Tibberman began. "And are you aware that Miss Wilkes is now in critical condition because of your actions? You sliced right through her main artery and they cannot stop the bleeding."

David mumbled something without lifting his head.

"What was that, Mr. Havendale?"

David gave an exasperated sigh and looked ahead at the man whose disposition he found most unpleasant. "I didn't finish."