Post by Quentin Saint on May 22, 2014 1:57:55 GMT -6
“Hold him!...Hold him!”, the doctor yelled at his tech while the body twitched violently in it's bed.
It had been three o'clock in the morning, everything running almost as normal as it could get here until a scream from down the corridor bellowed out. A few practice nurses raced down while a doctor quickly rushed behind them. When the door to room 347 opened, a man laid on his bed tossing and turning while grunting obscenities and flailing around. The two nurses quickly situated at opposite sides of the bed, juggling arm restraints in they're hands. The doctor stood a few feet back while filling up the syringe with a heavy dose of medication. It would work. This wasn't the first time something of this nature has happened.
After a few moments, the body came to a freeze and was lying down normally. The nurses made a slight puff as the doctor thanked them for the assistance followed by instructing them to leave. He took a step back as to examine the patient then pulled a seat over to the bed and sat down. He pulled out files from a folder that was hanging off the side of the hospital bed and skimmed them over just as he's done a thousand times before.
The doctor smiled, placing his hand over that of the patients. Bowing his head, he closed his eyes and whispered faintly, “I'm sorry it made you worse. I only thought it'd be for the best.
Picking his head up, he patted the patient’s hand, got up and walked out-keeping the door slightly opened.
Sitting down at his desk, the doctor took a moment to himself thinking about how all of this went wrong. It surely wasn't the three-day candy flip he came in there with. The problems started before that, the trip was part of the situation. The violence, the anger, and the repent that he carried with him just followed whenever he did go to that secret place. It wasn't like he didn't blame the guy.
The doctor spun left, right, left, right ever so suddenly as he thought what it must've been like to watch your mother be brutally murdered by an asshole with an axe. He wondered what it would've been like to be that kid, age nine, nesting up in the fetal position as blood curling screams echoed throughout they're beautiful, suburban, Chicago home.
Doctor spun in the chair thinking how that incident might've altered his youth and also, after that terrible act, how the child got sent to the Jablonski House For Children Today, left him with nobody. Not a single friend, not a single guardian to bring him up the "right" way.
It really was a quiet night other then that. Old Lady Josephine walked by the desk talking to her imaginary pet frog, Charles. OLJ always thought that one day her frog would turn into a charming prince and take her off on some fantasy, Disney princess story. It's a shame that she had to grow up traumatized, being cast out because of the fire that took sixty-five percent of her body when her house burned down, probably during the depression the doctor always joked, but it has been awhile since she had been twenty-four years old.
Doc spun in his chair just looking across and about the floor. The patients in those doors made him think and it always was a trouble when he viewed 347. Sometimes he thinks he should be in one of those beds. Screaming, yelling, needing that sort of care but he's lost and can handle that, not broken. It's a disgusting thought to think about what happened to his sister, to try and imagine how his nephew came back to him for help…but not in the way he expected.
The shock treatment just made it worse on room 347s' man, sending him into freighting nightmares and places while he sleeps. Sitting upright in his chair, he logged onto his computer and began to search endlessly as the clock ticked.
The sun peaked in from between the shades. Security was changing shifts, as were the nurses.
While shifting through the morning paper work, the desk phone rang.
"Hello and good morning, I'm looking for a Doctor Lawerence Cuputo."
Adjusting himself upright, the doctor acknowledged that it was he and listened as the voice of a receptionist continued on.
"Were going to need you to stay for the morning shift if that's at all possible. Doctor Shitz has come down with a stomach virus and won't be able to make it in today."
Lawrence laughed to himself at the irony of it as he begrudgingly agreed to stay.
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The jingle of latches and muffled voices finally woke him up. Groggy eyed and a tad sluggish, looking up he saw a white lab coat and a dark haired girl adjusting his arm restraints.
"Again?", the man uttered as Lawrence and the nurse stood back while he sat up.
She handed him a cup of water and his pills for the morning. Stretching out, he swung his legs over the side and hopped out of bed.
"Had quite an adventure last night Law. I didn't know I could go to the center of the universe and make it back in one piece. Guess that's why I have you around, to ensure my return.”
The doctor cleared his throat and the girl giggled a moment before turning and leaving the room. Running his hands through his dark hair, he took a look at the practices' backside before shuffling through his drawer for a clean shirt and pants.
"Quentin, last night you suffered a violent episode. You know that today is an evaluation day, right?"
Quentin continues to shuffle through his draw, “And your point being? Sometimes I think these damn pills make me crazier than some perceive me as. An evaluation would just up my dose. I want out of here Lawrence. It's been almost two months and I feel like I'm getting worse.”
Walking over to the door, the doc closes it and Quentin turns to look at him. His face has a shadow of scruff and a shower wouldn't do any harm.
"Your…just fine. You need to sit down for a moment and listen to me though otherwise there is no point to what I haveta say."
Saint nods his head, sitting down.
"Things have been real tough for you and I've been doing everything in my power to take extra care of you I'd like you to know. Now maybe, some of the things we've done for you haven't been quite the success that I had hoped but I came across another solution."
Quentin tilts his head, not saying a word as to have Dr. Cuputo continue on.
“More so than less you go into an episode like the one you've experienced last night and frankly, I can't find anything that will cure it.”
Scanning the room, Saint gets up and pulls on a pair of dark tea-stained jeans not saying a word. He looks at Lawrence then walks over towards the window that overlooks the highway outside.
Dr. Law Cuputo continues,
“I’m reaching a point where I can't figure out a way to help you and if I can't find that way, I'm going to continually keep you in here. This isn't the life you should have."
Quentin turns his head and shakes in agreement, "So then Uncle Law, what type of life should I be leading? Where do I go from here? I'm broke, I have nowhere to go, and everyone around me is dead… even you. Sometimes I just think you’re an apparition, maybe an angel. One day I'm sure I'll figure it out."
Walking closer to Quentin, Lawrence approaches with a stone face,"I can have you out of here in a couple of days. I didn't record ALL of the episodes and sure, for sometime you may need to go and get a prescription or two but at least you'll be on the outside and I promise…
Saint smirks and utters the word, "Promise"
(cont.)"
that I have maybe found a solution for you. In fact, consider it…a project have you. You got to believe me Quentin. When my sister, your mother, was murdered, I made a promise to myself to see after you and make sure you have a better life. Now…I…I never expected to treat you as a patient, definitely not here but its god's hand that bought you, so must be for a reason, right?”
Keeping a smirk, Quentin laughs light-heartedly, “There is no 'God', Law. At least, I haven't met the man. What I do know is that there’s something bad swimming inside my head and the son of a bitch won't come until it's lights out. What's this about a project now?”
Lawrence goes on to explain about a wrestling company called the UWA. A life in the world of professional wrestling might be just what Quentin needs to get back into the world. An environment where he can be let off the chain but with it's boundaries, or maybe not. The world of professional wrestling can be an enticing place filled with all kinds of myths, legends, stories, nostalgia and most importantly, achievements. There might be an answer in that world and pushing him to do so might be the best thing he could ever draw up for his young, troubled nephew. Wrestling has always been a world that reflects the Island of Misfit Toys. There's also the fame, money and women.
Quentin thinks it over for a moment, wagging his finger, "Wrestling, huh? Where do I sign?"