Red Flags and Long Nights

"Wake up, Ringo."

There was a loud banging on the metal door, presumably by a warden. For a moment I had forgotten where I was and almost shouted out for Noah to shut the fuck up, but no, wait, my brother wasn't there. Where was I? Oh yeah, mental institution. The warden opened the door can came into my room to help me out of bed and on to my feet and led me out the door. To be honest, I made that sound a lot more pleasant than it actually was. If I were to write a persuasive essay on how unpleasant this man waking me up was, I would say: My eyes were not even open when my body, not nearly awake enough to function in everyday society, was forcefully removed from the lumpy mattress that I was given for the night and I was hauled to my feet before my legs could even remember how to stand.

It wasn't that bad, I was being dramatic. I mean, I was sort of used to it, from all the times my brother had woken me up in early hours in the morning to tell me it was time to make like a banana and split be one of had done something and now there would be people after us. He actually told me that once. He woke me up at ungodly hour and from only inches away from my face he said that we had better make like a banana and split. If I had to summarize my brother in a sentence I would say: A 13 year old pubescent boy, trapped in the body of a full-grown man, who doesn't know know how to talk to woman or how to keep his mouth shut, who inconveniently shares the same face as me.

I haven't seen him in almost two years, though. I guess I've been doing some self searching.

"Come on, Ringo. I haven't got all day," the warden said. I shuffled out into the hallway, which wasn't very clean, might I just add, and shielded my eyes from the florescent lights hanging above. The other wardens were waking up the other cell mates. I also noticed that my room, 665b, was right next to 667b. They skipped 666b. This is a catholic hospital, I should have known. I'm laughing internally.

"Come on everybody, wake up. Time for breakfast, come on."

One by one, inmates came shuffling out and you could pick out who were the morning people by checking out to see who greeted the day with sunshine and daisies and who dragged their feet moaning and eyes half closed like a newly made zombie. You either one or the other, there was no neutral state of waking up in the morning for these people. I was probably one of those who looked half dead. I'm more of a night person anyway. I've been told that I don't greet the day with enough exuberance.

"Where are we going?" I asked the warden who I assumed must have become my permanent escort. I guess this was to be expected. I'm in here for the grotesque murder of 5 women. So grotesque, even, that my sanity was put into question.

"Breakfast."

"Cool. What's for breakfast, Ward?"

"Sandwiches, I think. I'm not really sure. And don't call me Ward," he grabbed my arm and dragged me through the halls faster. Apparently snail like pace of my morning crawl was getting on his nerves. Rude.

"What do I call you then?" I asked again.

"My name is Robert. You can call me Robert."

"Ooh, okay then Robbie," Robbie, my new buddy and pal, rolled his eyes at me. He was in his late thirties with unmanaged stubble and messy hair that was peppered gray here and there. It was a bit weird thinking I was older than him, by a lot actually. I looked like I only just escaped my teenage years, the oldest I could look is about 25 and no further unless I stopped shaving and that's not really a thing I want to happen. I changed my appearance some before I came here, though. I bleach my hair and tried to dye it a night auburn colour, trying my best to make it look like it was naturally, but it was a bit too dark. My brother would get a kick if he saw me like this. I don't know what August would say. He'd probably whine at me for not letting him dye it.

August being that man who I served, of course. If my body and soul had a contract, it would be August who owned it. But I don't have a contract. He's just sort of my master and that's how it's been for 86 years. It was only recently that I learned that serving him wasn't bad. Not at all.

Robbie stayed with me until I was seated in the cafeteria and then he left. So apparently, I didn't have a personal escort all day. I sat alone the whole time. Breakfast was brought to me instead of me going to get it myself like everyone else. Breakfast was not sandwiches, but bagels, Robbie is dumb. It didn't even have cream cheese on it. It was from that moment I realized that Saint Junes was even more corrupt than I thought. Or maybe they were just low on budget and they couldn't afford to give us all cream cheese for our bagels. Only time will tell.

I ate it. I ate the plain bagel. It made my soul cry. But I ate it.

I made it through breakfast only catching a handful of the nervous glances that were thrown my way and then were allowed to go into the common room where we were able to just hang out until we had to go back to our rooms. There were crosses almost every where and a few tables set out for simple games like chess, and whatever card game you knew how to play. I wasn't really a religious man, myself. I didn't believe in the human idea of god, the closest I had ever gotten to anything like that was becoming a demon and meeting the woman who ruled the lower realms of Red and Black. The Deaf Queen, Lucifer. Also Augusts mother. To human beings, that place would be hell. To me, it would also be hell because I have never had a pleasant experience down there. Whatever, same idea, same place, different name. As far as I knew, there was no higher power, only what I've seen down there. There were two other realms. The middle realm of Gray and White, and the higher realm of Silver and Gold. I guess the higher realm was supposed to be something like Heaven, and the Wordless queen ran it was supposed to be equivalent to God, but I don't know. There weren't too many people who I had seen at breakfast in the room and there was the same song playing over and over again on the record player. I recognized it as Il Fait Savoir. I don't usually listen to French music, but I remember the song for some reason. I also remember that I hate it. I tried to find more records that could be played, but there were none. Just this one track. I was about to just take the needle off the vinyl when a short dark skinned woman with gray eyes and frizzy hair stepped in between me and the machine.

"Don't touch that. When the music stops, Berta get's cranky, and they come in and they blame you," The woman nodded her head to a woman sitting in an old torn chair smiling and nodding her head blissfully to the music. Her hands flowing in the air like conductor of an orchestra.

"I see," I said, "Thank you."

"Anytime," the woman said with a smile.

"Oh my, oh my, who would this new boy be," I felt something softly run, like a hand, run down my spine and I spun around to find another woman. She was taller than the other woman. Almost my height, I would say. Without much of a word, she grabbed the collar of my shirt and closed the space between my face and hers and our lips were tightly locked. He mouth opened ever so slightly, beckoning mine to open with hers. I raised my arms in the air defensively and she took them and placed each hand on her waist. I've never been more uncomfortable in my life. Finally she disconnected, and wrapped her arms around my neck so that she could still be close. Hypersexuality? Seemed like it.

"How about we go find a place where we can be alone, huh, Darling," The woman with black hair rolled her eyes as she walked away and I silently pleaded for her to come back and help me out of this situation of extreme uncomfort.

"I've got a better idea," I said as I pried her arms from around my neck, "how about no?"

"Come on baby. Don't be shy. I know how to give you men I good time," She grabbed me again and pulled me closer, brushing her cheek on mine and I could feel her soft breath on my ear when she whispered "I'm Eva... It means life."

"I'm uncomfortable, it means please back the fuck up," She pouted as I pushed her away one more time. She placed her hand on my chest and kissed my cheek one last time.

"You'll realize you want me soon enough, darling. Don't be late," and with a wink, she pushed off of my chest

"Um. Okay," I whispered exasperatedly. Jesus Christ if I had a list of unpleasant experiences...

"Yo, Stitch kid!" Oh not another one, please no. A man with a very angry red face came marching toward me, his attitude alone shook the floorboards beneath my feet, and while I was in no way afraid of this man, I knew that I was in for some trouble. There was about to be a school yard fight on the first day and I was the scrawny new kid in this situation.

"Hey."

Hey. I feel like that was probably not the best thing to say to an angry man who looked like he had a plan to submerge you in a bucket full of old piss.

"You're the asshole aren't you. The one who killed all those woman!"

"No," I said bluntly. I was playing the innocent card. John Ringo is an innocent man, he's not some lady killing asshole. Nikolaus Callaghan on the other hand. Well, he hasn't been responsible for anything of the such since 1910.

"You're fucking mental, man. Cutting woman up and sewing them back up like a fucking doll, you're fucking sick," He came straight up to me with his fist clenched. I reminded myself not to fight back. No matter what, don't fight back. It'll be pinned on you, don't fight back.

"Calm down, please," I raised my hands in front of myself defensively, "Let's not get carried away here, man."

"I'm getting carried away! Fuck you!" and with that, he punched me in the face. The pain hadn't even registered before he punched me again on the other side of my face and I fell down ungraciously. The pain gripped on my cheekbones and I felt the blood rushing toward my face. The pain spread and inflamed my face and I felt the sting of a fist on my nose followed by a crack that resonated in my skull.

I swear to god, if this mother fucker just broke my nose.

Don't fight back. Don't fight back.

I was a lot stronger than him. I could easily tackle this guy. I could kill him. Oh man, I could kill him so easily. But I didn't. I was a man of self control as much as I was a man of violence. But, with great power there must also come great responsibility so I was well restrained. Plus, I've met much more threatening men then this. I just want to put it out there that if I were anywhere else this man would be dead within seconds.

"Fuck you, you sick sick bastard!" he kept yelling, throwing punch after punch until the Wardens eventually took notice. He was sporadic and crazed and I didn't like him. I didn't like 2 out of three people I've met in this place, and I still didn't know the sensible looking ones name . And this was only the first day in and I wasn't even planning on leaving anytime soon.

Three wardens came running up to us, yelling "Stop" and "Break it up!" as if it were going to actually help the situation. It took two of them to take the guy off of me. One other warden to make sure I wouldn't get up and try to fight. After a few seconds, there was a loud, ungodly screeching sound of Berta, the chair composer.

"Oh man, not this now," The warden who was holding me sighed, "Back up! We're gonna need some help in here!"

"YOU'VE RUINED IT! YOU RUINED MY PIECE!," Screamed Berta, pointing her thin bony finger in my direction, "YOU'VE RUINED IT ALL, NOW HE'LL NEVER LOVE ME." She held her dress in her fist and stared at me venomously, but she never attacked. She just pointed like an old crazy woman, which she was. I wondered how long she had spent in this hell whole and I pitied her more and more each time she yelled the same words "He'll never love me! Never! You've ruined me!" and I came up with the theory that whoever she was talking about was probably the one that put her in here in the first place. She continued to point at me as I was dragged out of the room. I saw Robbie the Warden pass by us, probably to take care of Berta. Robbie, my old friend, did not even stop to look at me. Oh how peculiar the passing of time was! One moment you two are thick as thieves, then the next, you're just another face in the crowd. The woman who had stopped me from interrupting the music stared at me from across the room and raised an eyebrow knowingly. She was smart, she knew more than I did. I made a mental note to befriend her as soon as possible.

"Come on John. Karl. Let's go," I looked at the man who attacked me, Kyle. He had scabs peppered on his face like grotesquely clustered holes that made my stomach turn a little. His nails were bitten down to the numbs and were practically bleeding from the nubs of them. He was an addict, all his scars and scabs were self inflicted. He was a skin picker. It was a horrible disorder and I had never seen a case like this, but I didn't think a mental institution was a conventional destination for a someone with this sort of disorder. I also noticed some elements of malpractice demonstrated by the wardens of the place. Excessive force, and lack of supervision of inmates. I'm not saying I would like to be watched, I'm just saying that for a nut house, they sure are negligent.

I used my shirt to contain the bleeding as we were walking. The two of us were taken into an office where an old nun sat waiting. We were brought to the edge of the table and Karl bowed his head in guilt, perhaps to ignite mercy in the older woman's heart. I was nothing of the such in her eyes. She was hard and cold disciplined as she felt was needed.

"These two got in a bit of a pinch," Said on of the Wardens who brought us in.

"From the looks of things, it wasn't our kille' who did this," She had a faint southern accent, perhaps from Georgia. She looked at the two wardens that held Karl and the one that held me. Then our faces. I could feel the blood trickling down my nose and knew that the bruises had already begun to take their form. Karl hung is head further, but to no avail. She had no pity for the man. "Can you keep Mr. Ringo outside for a moment while I deal with Mr. Anderson here?"

"Yes, Ma'am," The wardens said automatically like obedient dogs. We all left, save for Karl Johnson, who only continued to hang his head. The door closed behind me and we were surrounded by the darkness of the hallway. There was very little light as many of the florescent lights needed changing and hung dimly. There was nothing in the hallway either, just an empty corridor that led to one isolate wooden door.

"You guys go on ahead. I'll stay with 'im," The warden who had taken me in said. The other two guys gave him an unsure look but ultimately complied, deciding their friend was safe enough. As they walked off, I heard the sound of a whip hitting flesh from behind the door.

"What the fuck," I said under my breath.

"Don't worry. He'll be fine. Sounds worse out 'ere than it actually is. Sister Caroline a strict woman, she don't take no bad behavior," Said the warden leaning up against the wall, "I don't think you in no trouble. She saw all dat blood on yer face. Ain't no way she gon blame you for all dis. Name's Chuck by da way."

"My names John. John Ringo. You probably know that already of course," I held out my hand and Chuck took it trustingly and with a smile like he was meeting any other guy. I had already formed my first impression and my first impression was that Chuck was cool. "That's a strong accent you got there Chuck. Cajun?"

"From Louisiana. Grew up with mah family," Chuck smiled wide, his white teeth were an impressive contrast to his dark skin.

"That's pretty sweet man."

"Where you from. You got a bit of an accent yerself," I was waiting for this question. I had been faking an American accent for years to hide my hideous accent for years. Also just to sort of fit in with out people stopping me to ask me about my origin story. It's get's really old when you're not American. I'm not even British. America has recently really started to idolize British people too, ever since the Beatles arrived in 1964. I knew those guys were gonna make it far from the very start. However, I don't think anyone I have come into contact with has realized that my fake name is literally just the names of people in a band I like. I had heard about them when I was visiting my home town in Dublin and I took a visit to England on the way there. I also left Augustin there for a while so he could learn English, because it had gotten tiring trying to figure out what he was saying. He was born knowing two languages. Latin and Spanish. Anyway, there was no way I was telling this Chuck guy I was from Ireland.

"Chicago," Chicago had a good accent. I could imitate it easily.

"Dat's cool. Had a distan' cos from d'ere. Sed it was all clouds, dat place."

"It sure is."

The whipping sound stopped and Sister Caroline opened the door calmly, holding Karl by the collar of his shirt. She held out a tissue for me, which I took and tried to clean up the most of my face and then hold over my nose, which wasn't bleeding as much anymore, but my white shirt was stained with red.

"Chuck, go ahead and take Mr. Johnson to solitary. I think he need's some time to reflect," Chuck grabbed the man and silently left without another word. The nun led me into the room and pulled out a chair for me before sitting on the other side of the desk and intertwining her fingers. There was a cross that hung on the wall directly above her and a few pictures of Jesus Christ scattered here and there. The bible lay on her desk like a paperweight.

"Mr. Ringo, did you do anything to antagonize Mr. Johnson?"

"Other than exist, no Ma'am. He just came shouting at me after this one woman, Eva, um, talked to me."

"Eva. I've told that girl many times that Lust is a sin and she's got to repent, but that girls undesirable ways have no bounds. I'll take care to it later."

"Okay."

"But this is about you! First day in and you're already staining my floorboards! I must say, Mr. Ringo that is not going to look good in paperwork."

"I realize that, ma'am."

"Good, good. As long as you're aware. You've been accused of some horrendous crimes, Mr. Ringo, we've acquired all sorts of mentally ill people in this holy household. I want you to expect the worst of all the other inmates here, because there is no way you'll be disappointed in people. But I also want you to know, that you should be on high alert while during you're first few months here. We can only do so much, but whenever we get a new one..."

"I've been the New Kid at school plenty of times, ma'am, I think I understand. Also, I didn't murder those women, miss. That wasn't me. I'm an innocent man."

"That's not what the police say. Until the police say anything different, you are under my care. Are we understood?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good," Lady Caroline stood up once more, shielding my view from the cross that hung above her head, "I'm glad we were able to have this little talk," I nodded my head in agreement, and when she walked around the table and towards her office door, I followed.

"I'll lead you to the kitchen and we can get you cleaned up, and then for the rest of the day, you can spend it in you're room."

"Thank you, ma'am."

She smiled thinly. As a person, she seemed far too strict to be pleasant, but I admired her authority. She was revered greatly in this place. She was intelligent, and strong. She knew what she wanted and knew how to get it. I admired her character.

I spent that night contemplating how I could get her fired as soon as possible.