Caged Eagles (6 page)

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Trevor sat at a lone table in the corner. Not a single scratch was carved in the perfect 360-degree white marble pub table. Light from the high windows shot boldly across the floor. Other couples speckled the room and the murmur of voices filled the air. He thought every aspect of the room, from the checkered black and white floor to the high arched ceiling was too clean. Not a particle of dust or dirt lay upon the white surface of any object.

A woman distracted the mumble of voices by screeching and throwing her arms around a bulky man. Part of her gray hair fell out of its clip down to touch her shoulders. Trevor guessed she was probably the man's mother.

He leaned back on his seat and closed his eyes. Sarah wouldn't scream like that, she would walk up and lightly touch the edge of his jaw with one soft finger. She would then sit down across from him. He would touch those beautiful hands built to play the piano.

Trevor's daydreaming was broken by the click of heels on the floor and long fingernails brushing down the length of his arm. “Get your hands off me, Brandi.”

She sat down across from him in what should be Sarah's chair. She was wearing a white T-shirt that had a large v-neck down the front and back. It was cut too low for Trevor's taste. Brandi set her purse behind her and sat down.

“How did you know it was me, or did you really believe it was your sweet-tart, and things aren't as great as appearances show?”

“I knew it was you.”

“Right,” she rolled her eyes in disbelief.

“Sarah wouldn't do anything you would. I see how you're dressed. Are you hoping to cause something physical or verbal to happen? Wearing garbage like that in this place will only get you into trouble.”

“You noticed, so I guess whatever I had in mind worked.” She smiled mischievously.

“Shut up. I'm not playing games with you.”

“Oh, but I love games.” Brandi touched his hand. Trevor jerked it away.

“What do you want?”

“I would be nice. I always know more than anyone realizes. Always keep that in mind, my dear Trevor.” She winked. Trevor looked into her round face. He wondered what exactly he had found so attractive at one time.

“I came to see if you were okay. It was all over the news about the stabbing. It said you were the one that was hurt.”

“Likely the media has to stick their fat noses into everything. So what did they say?”

“They said there was a stabbing and that you had been killed. I came as quickly as possible to find out if that was true.” She was trying to win points with him.

“Have you thought of working for the media? You're good at sticking your nose where it doesn't belong.” Trevor had lost his patience with her. Talking to Brandi was as productive as a mouse running on a wheel.

“Go to hell, Trevor.” Brandi grabbed her purse off the back of the chair and stood to leave. The strong smell of cigarette smoke glided through the air. “I also know why things aren't great with Princess Tobian. Yet the stupid idiot talked me into coming down here to make sure you're alright.”

Trevor grabbed Brandi's arm, but almost before he could blink managers were at his side with their tasers. Brandi was stuffed with pride and it oozed out of her repulsive smile. She waved goodbye and walked across the room to the exit. Back in his room he fumed with anger. He wished he had known he would end up in rehab because then he really would have strangled Brandi when he had the chance. He knew Sarah would have had to give Brandi a payoff for coming today. The thought of what she had to do made his stomach clench. He punched his pillow.

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Once again Trevor sat in the seventh circle of hell, Ilene Stout's therapy sessions. A month had passed since the stabbing. Trevor had begun to believe Forrest had died. Leslie's attempts at learning the truth had failed. The hospital refused to release patient information to her. The only news he had receivedcame from what Brandi had told him. This left Trevor in a particularly bad mood, which got worse every day. Gary was no longer seen in Trevor's group sessions or in the gym. Trevor figured the man had been put under top security in another wing.

Ilene Stout arrogantly strolled into the room. As usual she asked who wished to start. Today, unlike any other day, a large hand rose into the air.

“Blaine Martin, what would you like to discuss?” Stout was as pleased as a stuffed, dumb pig. Trevor didn't know why. Stout never liked Blaine or his subjects.

“I would like to know why gun control is so important.”

Trevor thought Blaine had pulled that topic out of a very dark spot.

“That is a very unique subject, but I will accept it. Does anyone know why the original Second Amendment was removed from our Bill of Rights?”

“What is that?” a young kid asked. Trevor was disgusted. It was just like the young fool to have no idea how his own government operated and probably not even its history, yet he would never be proactive enough to learn either.

“The Bill of Rights is the first ten original amendments to our constitution. The amendment was removed because the citizens decided guns were dangerous. Innocent people were injured and or killed by them.”

“Weren't guns also confiscated from the public because criminals had easy access to them that way?” another man asked.

“Yes, that is correct.”

Blaine spoke up, “Dr. Stout, didn't gun education classes instruct people about the correct way to safely operate a gun?”

“No Mr. Martin, guns have caused deaths more frequently than not.”

“How did the guns do that?” Blaine asked. Trevor covered the smile on his face with his hand. Up until this point Ilene Stout had remained calm, but now she saw Trevor.

“Mr. Wells, will you please tell me what is so amusing?”

“How a gun can kill,” he said.

She was becoming irritated. “It does and it's not funny.”

“You're right, I can just imagine a gun actually getting up and pulling its own trigger.” Something inside of him popped at that moment, probably all the frustration from the past month.

“I mean a gun has its own brain to kill someone. People are in no way the masterminds behind the piece of equipment.” Trevor sat up on the edge of the chair. “The criminals out there are not to blame–it's the gun. The purpose of the Second Amendment was to protect citizens. Now they are even more vulnerable because criminals and the government are the only ones that have guns.”

“No,” she firmly replied. “Citizens are safe now that guns are off the streets.”

“Yeah, right, like how my best friend was just stabbed? Criminals will always find a way to hurt. I think Gary was example A!” Trevor stood up trembling with animosity. Blaine placed a hand on his arm.

“I think today's session is over.” Ilene Stout stood in order to appear more authoritative over the men, especially Trevor. She ordered the clones to take the men back to their rooms. Trevor followed in line, but as he passed she hissed, “We are not finished yet.”

Trevor sat in Dr. Taylor's office facing both Dr. Ilene Stout and Leslie.

Dr. Stout began pacing back and forth behind him. “Mr. Wells, I know you are very determined and independent in your thinking. I have no problem with that, but to be disrespectful will not be accepted.”

Trevor twisted to see her better. “So as long as I act like your puppet, I will fit in perfectly?” “That is being disrespectful.” She stopped near the doorway. We want to help you.”

“Answer me this, resorting to stabbing isn't a problem in your eyes?”

“Yes, it's a problem, but not all people are considered victims and Mr. Evans had a history of abuse himself.”

“Are you saying Forrest deserved what he got?” Trevor bellowed. Ilene Stout shrugged. “You stupid bitch.”

“Mr. Wells.” Dr. Taylor hastily interrupted him. Leslie stepped from her desk to the chairs.

“Dr. Taylor, what prescriptions do you have Mr. Wells on?” Dr. Stout demanded to know.

“Oh, now you're going to get me under control by drugging me up?” Trevor's body shook with anger. His raw wrists rubbed against the restraints.

“Maybe Dr. Taylor should turn you over to me for sessions from now on.” She bent down into his face like he was a child.

“No ….” Dr. Taylor suddenly blurted out. Both Ilene Stout and Trevor were startled at her reaction.

“I've begun to make very successful progress with Mr. Wells. As a professional I want to complete the case.”

Stout stood to her full height, yanking on the bottom of her suit jacket. “It will take a lot longer than the board decided a couple of months ago.”

“Yes, Mr. Wells needs to open up some more, I agree.”

Dr. Stout narrowed her eyes. She enjoyed forcing strong-willed patients to submit to her power. Leslie's determination to professionally complete Trevor's case stood in her way.

“If you begin to have any problems with him I want to know immediately.”

“Understandable.” Dr. Taylor ushered her out of the room.

“Mr. Wells,” Leslie walked toward him. “She will advise I put you on some medication to keep your anger under control.”

“I won't take it,” he said in a firm voice. Dr. Taylor stood behind her chair. Her hands rested on top of it, fingers strummed silently against the upholstery.

“Why didn't you pass my case over to her? We both know I've made about as much progress as a bloated dead whale.”

Dr. Taylor slowly walked over to her desk to retrieve her clipboard. She was doing what she always did best, finding the exact words she wished to say.

“I find that every patient I counsel has a point where he or she will finally open up.”

“And you think that point is soon?”

Dr. Taylor took a deep breath and said, “Yes, because if not, I will have to do as Dr. Stout advises.”

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Very little had changed in Trevor's life. No word came of Forrest or Brandi. Life was once again dull, but one day the wheel of life received a giant gust of wind and started to turn.

Blaine sat silently on his bed. Trevor rested on his back, hands behind his head, and he turned to see Blaine's eyes were closed but his face was wrinkled in deep thought.

“What are you thinking about?”

“About what I'm going to do once I get out of here.”

“Are you getting out soon, or what?”

“No, I won't be out for a long time, since this is my second time in here, the rehab and government will try to make damn sure I don't do it again.”

“So what's the use of thinking about what you'll do?” Trevor twisted to rest on his side.

Blaine was surprised at his question. “Don't you think about it?”

Trevor rolled over on his bunk and stared at the ceiling. “No.”

“Alright, I can tell you don't want to explain anything on your mind but someday you better figure things out in that head of yours,” Blaine said in a matter-of-fact tone.

“After my blowup in Stout's session a while back, I pretty much got myself a ticket to stay in here for a while.”

“These people are fickle; you don't know that for sure.”

Trevor rolled over onto his elbow and rested his head on the palm of his hand. “Who knows, but anyway you never did tell me how you got in here.”

“I have to start at the beginning. I was born to a family that was well off. I was raised to be proud I was born with that life, because so many of my people don't get that advantage. My family taught me to give to others so everyone was equal in this world, including other races and religions. My mother would always state 'Don't consider yourself higher than anyone because we are all equal.' I believed what my family taught me and still do. I went to college and began to research the idea. I learned that equality is a necessary ingredient for a truly free, happy life, but I found being different is good too. I started to realize that's something this country was losing, the freedom to be unique–not a robot. Do you remember the rebellion about fifty years ago? We grew up being taught those people were radicals and were trying to destroy everything this country stood for. I found out they were only fighting for what they believed this country once stood for, individual freedom, the right for a person to decide if they were going to smoke a cigarette on a street corner or eat half a carton of ice cream in front of their TV. Today the government is so worried about equality and health that individuals are being turned into clones like those out there.” Blaine pointed to the doorway as a manager made his way past. “I even looked up some of the family members to those people, and they said their loved ones were fighting for independence. I told you I was accused of a few things when I first met you. Those things were true, I tried to rebel, just like those people in the past.”

Trevor went to use the toilet but peeked his head around the barrier to ask Blaine more questions. “Why not move out of the country? Go somewhere you dream about other than here? What is the point of starting a fight or even a war?”

“I still have hope for this country, that it can be great like it used to be. Plus, it's a lot harder to get a passport, or anything for that matter, when you are considered dangerous.”

Trevor lay back down on his bed. “That's an awful lot of hoping, I wish you luck with all of that.” He heard Blaine's own mattress groan. Trevor opened his eyes to see Blaine pacing the room. “Something wrong?”

“No, I was just thinking … sometimes I wonder if you feel the same as I do.”

Trevor cupped the back of his head with both palms. “Yeah, I guess I'd have to agree. This country has gone down the toilet and we're all stuck in the pipe.”