Remainders

By R. E. Hackney

Shane Connors has always been a little different. He has spent the majority of his life within the walls of a psychiatric hospital. While this place is known for having patients of a wide variety of mental illnesses, Shane is different. He is there for something that doctors have never seen before.

Shane lacks the ability to imagine. He cannot create something that he has never perceived, forcing him to live forever in the past and in the present. Though he cannot imagine a future for himself, there is no doubt that something great is in store for him. Unless he can come to conquer his illness, it could mean grave danger for him and his beautifully damaged friends.

Love, betrayal, and lots of wacky shenanigansthis book has it all. Follow Shane on his adventure through daily life, and be prepared to get sucked into the madness of this unorthodox hospital.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Nov 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524546571

Book preview

Prologue

Albert Einstein once said that imagination is more important than knowledge; I never really understood that quote. Then again, imagination was never really imbedded in my genes as it is everyone else’s. Most people can think of things that don’t exist, but somehow I simply can not… imagination was never really an option for me. Needless to say, the all-pressuring imaginative school systems were harsh. I never played hop scotch or red rover with the other kids, nor did I really like the peculiar songs they sang. I often sat alone at recess, usually in the sandbox… sometimes I saw other children drawing things in it with sticks or their fingers. How they would come up with such random things out of nowhere I found impossible to fathom, and as the years went on, I found myself becoming only more and more solitary… sitting alone at lunch rather than just recess. Nobody ever really took much interest, even the bullies seemed to ignore me; which, of course, I was perfectly fine with. Even if some daring human being did have the will to talk with me, I was never entirely sure how to react. Keeping quiet is what I’m best at, mostly because I’ve never really known anything else, and maybe that’s why they put me in here… I suppose in a way it makes sense…

In math, one of the most common yet frustrating things is the remainder. After going through all the work to get your answer absolutely perfect, for however long you’ve been working it, there is always the possibility of having a remainder. A remainder is what is left after everything else has been given out equally. Example: 7÷2=3, but with that remainder of 1, because there is that many extra. See my point? What you do then is you move it up with the rest of the answer, -making a usually irritating number- or, sometimes, you cut it out altogether. All that hard work, and now this silly little vexing number to deal with! Otherwise it would be perfect! …Sometimes I feel as though I’m the only one this bothers… but I know that isn’t true. Most people who dislike remainders don’t feel that way in mathematic terms. To the world, I am a remainder. And if the number won’t fit right… it’s cut out entirely…

So now that brings me here… in this personal hell where all remainders belong. That way, the world is a perfect place…

Chapter 1

The hair on my arm stands up, and I shroud myself deeper into my blanket. Damn nurse left the window open again. And I’m hooked to too many machines to shut it myself. So, that leaves me to spend yet another night in my sterile bed laced with infectious sorrow and swiftly contagious temperature drops. From my bed, to the next. But being closest to the window means I always have the pleasure of feeling the icy licks of wind gusts first.

I peek out from under my blanket to see if Mr. Grapevine is still asleep. Then, in an instant, I see those deep, piercing blue eyes staring at me, and there’s not a doubt in my mind if he’s awake. Sir? I whisper politely.

His skin wrinkles around his eyes as he smiles, You want me to shut that window again, aye boy?

I nod sheepishly from under my blanket, my head itching furiously from the various stickers on it. I watch as the old man gets up from his bed, stretches, and creakily walks over the window that is causing me so much trouble. His joints crackle and pop along the way, and in one swift movement, he slams it down at full force. Mr. Grapevine lets out a small chuckle and returns to his bed, steadily, just as before. Soon I hear a familiar snore in the room. That doesn’t bother me anymore, and now that the room is regaining some warmth, I can at last get some rest…

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Bright lights. That’s the first thing I see, as the covers are being ripped off of me. Cold air comes next, and a familiar woman standing in front of me.

Up, up, up! she says in a cheery tone, smile wide on her clearly awake and rosy-cheeked face.

I groan a deep, annoyed groan, clutching my pillow and burying my face in it, desperately not wanting to let go after the horrible sleep the night before.

You know the routine better than anyone, mister. She says, Seven A.M.! Bright and early!

‘Better than anyone’ was an understatement; I’ve been in this place for years, even longer than some of the doctors.

But can’t we make an exception for today? I ask, You said yourself it was a special occasion.

Hmph! She says, yanking me upward to pull the strands of tape off of my head. I do believe it was just yesterday that you said you wanted nothing special for your birthday; that ‘parties like those are a waste and without meaning’.

I sigh, remembering my own words. Come on Henrietta… I say, then bulge my chest awkwardly, I’m a man! I huff in a deep ‘manly’ tone. Then let out the breath I held to make me look bigger.

Awh, you make it hard to say no to those bright blue eyes of yours. She smiles and touches the side of my face lightly.

My eyebrows shoot up from surprise and hope for more sleep.

But no she giggles.

She laughs and even snorts slightly, which is all I need. Henrietta and I are good friends. I’ve been a patient here for seven years, and she’s been my nurse for five, even though she is only twenty-three years old currently. She is a very thin woman, about as small as you can be without being sick, yet she is also really tall but not quite as tall as me, with long, golden brown hair. She never wears much makeup, which causes her big blue eyes to be even more prominent.

She picks the remaining electrodes off my head and sets them aside, and gives me new clothes to change into, looking away the right amount of moments. We are set, primed and ready to go off and see what this particular day has in store. Just before we set off to my first appointment, I look back at Mr. Grapevine, still fast asleep in his bed. I laugh to myself and think, lucky man.

Chapter 2

Same old office. It hasn’t changed a bit: the desk is huge and takes up most of the room: it’s a corner desk, with one side flush with the left wall, with the computer there, and then it turns and spurs in front of us so that the doctor can face us. He puts his hands neatly in front of him on said desk, swaying in our direction with his wheeled chair. We can look at him directly. The front of the desk faces the door so if a patient were to get violent, there is at least some barrier between them and him and his belongings, also so security could get them out with ease.

The floor is deep brown carpet, (probably so some of the more violent patients won’t hurt themselves) and the walls have the black and maroon striped wall paper they have always had. However, the most interesting and notable thing is the large grandfather clock in the back right corner. Every single second it ticks. The continuous ticking. It drives me crazy sometimes; other times it fascinates me. Then every half hour on the hour I hear the selected song of his choosing for that month. I watch it the majority of the time we’re in here, and listen to the constant, ‘Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Tick, tock.’ I’m entranced in yet another long series of ticks this morning. The pendulum swaying back and forth. Perfect motion.

I hear something… what was it? Oh whatever… the ticks… so constant and perfect. I focus so hard... There it is again? But the pendulum… the swaying… the… the…

Mr. Connors. My head snaps up. My name. It’s my name. Mr. Connors. he repeats. Of course! The doctor!

Dr. James! I say quickly with apologetic eyes.

He smiles and leans forward a bit. Henrietta is in the chair to my left, I glance at her for comfort, but her eyes don’t meet mine before the end of my gaze, so I receive no such ease.

Mr. Connors-

Please, doctor I interrupt shyly, I… I’ve always preferred Shane.

He smiles politely and nods his head, "Alright then, Shane, as you know today is the day you are a legal adult. With that, you are fully allowed to leave these facilities if you do wish to do so."

I can feel my grin stretch ear to ear… ah, to be free of this place. I can go, travel the world. See family again! Not be poked and prodded every single day! Sleep without electrodes! Maybe grow my hair out!

But, he continues.

But? But what? Oh, not that word, please no.

I would like to make you an offer.

I look down. Listening, but not replying. Finally, after a few moments Henrietta hits me lightly on the shoulder and tells me,

Don’t be rude, Shane.

I let out a sigh and say at last, …Yes?

Dr. James has a deep voice. I’ve heard it almost every day of my life. I’ve seen his face thousands of times. I can describe to you in detail every bump or wrinkle or freckle or whisker over his rich brown skin.

I would like to invite you to consider staying for further testing with us. You would be well paid, and provided with an education along the way. You could leave this place with a college degree in a few years or so, along with a decent amount of saved up cash, and possibly a treatment or cure underneath your belt!

I don’t speak for a while. Thinking. I wish he didn’t make the deal sound so promising… I look down again. Thinking further. Just as Henrietta is about to hit me again I lift my head.

Would it all be the same? I ask hastily.

Oh of course not! he says largely. I jump a little. Seeing this, he relaxes. My dear boy, you would no longer be an admitted patient on paper. Yes, we would still provide living resources, but you will not be tied here. If some weekend, you feel the desire to up and, say, drive to Vegas, and we have nothing for you to do at that time, you are more than free to go! We would not be legally obligated for you anymore. The checkups would not be so frequent, and the schedules not so demanding, and a free education on top of that! My boy, it can’t get too much better than this.

I think a moment. It all sounds very tempting, very intriguing. Then I wonder aloud, Why me?

Mr. Connors-

Shane.

He sighs, Shane, you… You are a rare kind. Your disability could lead to new understanding about the development of the human mind. It could be a medical breakthrough! Dr. James is on the edge of his chair with excitement. He sees my uneasiness once again and sits back. We are so close, Shane… he says almost pleading, touching his palm to his temple, You could be cured as soon as the next year or so… He sighs, resigning in his chair. Please let me know your decision by tomorrow. Then with a wave of his hand he adds, You’re dismissed. And returns to his work.

Chapter 3

I have a condition called Nullus-imaginatiosis. I doubt anybody has ever heard of it before because it was coined by Dr. James. Straight from English-to-Latin Google Translate if you ask me. Basically, something went wrong during the development of my brain when I was in my mother’s womb, and I have literally no creativity in me. I struggle to even understand the concept of creating… How does one make something that just… isn’t? For whatever reason, this leaves me with an eidetic memory, and a wonderful mind for mathematics. It’s fascinating really. However, since there is still so little that we humans understand about the brain, I’m essentially a full time test subject. Until today, I didn’t have a single legal choice in the matter. My mother signed me away seven years ago when I was just a quirky kid in grade school. No voice. Today however… I’m an adult. I can buy cigarettes, die in a war, be charged as an adult and everything. But they still want me to stay? And under the pretense that they can make me a normal human being, no less, as if normalcy is anything I could ever achieve. I can’t even imagine what my life would be like, and now that’s scary… I have no good options to weigh… yet, I still try to think ahead. I use all the therapy I’ve acquired over the years to try and think ahead. Imagine real possibilities… but I haven’t been very successful yet. Not consciously anyways…

You see… when I dream, I usually dream of one thing… Henrietta.

You really should learn to be more polite, you know. She says walking with me down the hallway.

I don’t try to be rude. I say sheepishly. I just don’t know what to say.

Well, She sighs, I suppose I can be a bit too hard on you. But just imagine what Mr. Grapevine would say if he heard you might be leaving him.

That old raisin? I chuckle, He wouldn’t care one way or the other.

Don’t be silly. He adores you like the son he never had. You just don’t see it.

Clearly, I huff as we reach my room, eyeing the old man in there. He is relaxing comfortably and watching reruns of M*A*S*H, eating a can of cashews.

’Bout time you got back! He grins. Where’s my slice of cake?

I give Henrietta a look but she misses it, saying with a pointed finger,

"Old man, you know good and well that you are a diabetic. Even if we had cake, it’s highly unlikely anyone would give you some."

Bah… He says waving his hand in response. I’m eighty-six years old, served in two wars, and survived three wives. Do you really think that a little bit of cake is something I can’t handle? He creakily gets up from the bed, and makes his way to us as he speaks. Besides, if I’m gonna go out, it might as well be with cake. He smiles and puts