Count to Six

By Sammy D.

Feet shuffling beyond his metal door blends with nightly screams from Room 5. Perfect at everything in life, being trapped inside the Asylum at Saint’s Hospital isn’t where Jacob imagined he’d spend his senior year. How dare people do this to him. His days are monotonous: go to a meal, see the doctor, and squeeze in some yard time, all of which is scattered between hours in a tiny cell waiting for someone else to decide his fate.
Sessions with Dr. Forster are fine until a strange box is brought out and chords are attached all over Jacob’s body. Electric shocks are thought to be the cure but Jacob doesn’t feel cured. Instead, he struggles to hold onto the remaining pieces of himself and of Charlie as each zap takes a little more away.
His saving grace is the three freaks he befriends in ASH. They protect him from the others and occupy the spaces left by the electricity. Dr. Grudzien waits in the shadows of ASH, a faceless person that everyone fears. Any resident Grudzien takes disappears permanently, but nobody wonders about it, because in ASH, you don’t wonder. Jacob’s life devolves into waiting for the rest of his memories to be stolen from him. His last memory of Charlie is fading.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sammy D.
• Release date: Jan 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798985180510

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

649

Dad’s swerving and fishtailing in the snow is exhausting. He laughs and says he’s in control, but I see how tightly he grips the wheel. We’d all be safe if I were driving; instead, our lives are in a moron’s hands. A real man should be driving. Mom drops her two cents in whispers but flinches whenever Dad glances in her direction. I love her, but she’s weak, and I’m embarrassed at her failed pathetic attempts to change his mind. Driving with my parents is not how I wanted to spend the Friday before Christmas break. I’d rather be with Charlie.

Our Honda Civic hatchback is coated in snow, matching the roads and woods lining the endless country hills and fields. Blips of brown peek through the snowstorm, and the trees drip with icicles. With December half over, temperatures back home in Middle-of-Nowhere, Nebraska, hover around the high twenties. The farther north we drive on our surprise vacation to Wisconsin’s indoor waterparks, the lower the temperature drops.

Indoor waterparks are a great vacation, but tack on my idiotic father and weak mother and it turns from a vacation into the week from hell. He’ll order us about and present himself as Mr. Macho Man when we all know that’s me, while Mom will bend beneath him like the pathetic wife she’s always been. I’d be excited if it were Charlie on this trip rather than these two morons. Charlie makes everything better; that’s just the kind of person he is.

Oddly, Mom and Dad kept me from school to start our vacation a day early. I don’t disagree with their decision—I am salutatorian, after all—but I would rather spend the day at school with Charlie and my friends than be my parents’ captive. I tried convincing them that leaving today would damage my chances of maintaining my salutatorian standing and my first-string soccer MVP status, but neither Mom nor Dad bought it. If they knew their place, they would listen to me.

I hold my breath as the worn car tires glide on the snowy road, carrying us a few inches in both directions. Dad’s knuckles grow whiter as his grip tightens, and Mom’s seat creaks as she tenses in it. Simultaneously the three of us sway right, then left, then right before straightening; we all hold our breath as we clutch the door handles. I release the door handle from my death grip when we finally stop swaying.

Please slow down, Mom says weakly.

In a surprise move, Dad slows down. He rarely listens to what his wife says, which irritates me, but it’s their marriage. They’re both disappointments. I have my relationship with Mom, I have my relationship with Dad: any relationship between them is their own business.

I rarely spend alone time with either of my parents, but neither offers often: Dad works eight-to-five, comes home with the scent of cigars leaking off his jacket, and sits down for dinner, which Mom always has prepared exactly as he walks through the door. I detest their fake perfectness, their attempts to seem better than they are. How did I come from those two?

I try to discern the shape of the blurry trees, but between Dad’s speed and the snowstorm around us, everything a foot beyond our car is a blur. My head rattles against the window as the car’s bald tires bounce on the snow. This trip will last for most of Christmas vacation, which means I can’t hang out with Charlie at all. Dad could ruin plans with Grandma or Mom or anyone else, but ruining plans with Charlie was unforgiveable.

Yesterday after school I fell into the routine I followed since freshmen year: weight training until five with Charlie, who then gave me a ride home. As we left, the girls who stayed late would wave after him and he’d wave back, naïve to their lust. His charm is irresistible, and every girl falls under its spell. I’m smarter than Charlie and the superior athlete (I’ll admit Charlie rivals my looks), but his warm personality charms all the girls in school and all their mothers. I hate that everyone lusts over Charlie while I sit right next to him. Do I not matter?

Weightlifting yesterday brought its usual reprieve—I got to lift with Charlie and didn’t have to see my parents. Charlie and I are the regulars, while a few guys from the team rotate in every other day. If the rest of the guys on the soccer team were real men, they would be lifting daily with us. I hate having such disappointments on my team, but I can’t win sectional titles alone—we need eleven for that.

Hopefully your trip goes by quickly, Charlie said as he finished a set of ten dumbbell reps. His arm muscles captivated me momentarily.

It’s not what I want to do with my Christmas vacation, so it’ll probably drag on, I said.

I finished putting weights on each side of the bar and lay down. Charlie stood at my head to spot me. I lost my concentration every time.

But you’re going to indoor waterparks. That’ll be neat.

Between focusing on my reps, Charlie’s relaxed tone, and the distraction of his shorts brushing my head, I couldn’t answer.

Charlie leaned over to look down at me. I guess I have to hang out with my other awesome friends since you’re leaving me for the week.

If I could stay, I would. I blushed.

Charlie winked with that casualness he’s carried since I first met him in middle school.

You’re right, it’ll fly by, I said. Despite Dad being an idiot, he usually picks fun vacations. I just hate driving with them.

Charlie laughed in deep heaves that brought out my smile. That’s better than my dad getting into car accidents all the time. Our car always looks like crap.

Why do dads suck at driving?

That whole ‘dad thing’ about needing to be in control. Charlie shrugged. I just talk to my sister and wait for the death trip to be over.

Well, I’d rather drive with you than my parents.

Flattery won’t get you out of these reps, Charlie said, standing up straight. Now shut up and lift.

I did what he said.

Our drive home was quiet. Charlie casually held the bottom of the steering wheel while cold burst through cracked windows, our coats forgotten in the back seat. We rarely changed out of our tanks and shorts after weightlifting so the cold winter air could cool us. Our sweat stunk up his car, but neither of us cared. I let the seat absorb me while he swerved through Middle-of-Nowhere’s streets. The latest Michael Jackson whispered from the radio, but Charlie shut it off to drive in silence. My left arm sat on the center console, my hand dangling off the edge. He moved his arm next to mine, touching it the entire length to our hands. His fingers swiped across mine when we hit bumps or he made a sharp turn. His pinky momentarily wrapped around mine.

My heart plummeted when I saw my house, but he slowed down earlier than necessary. I wanted to stay, but what reason did I have? I fist-bumped him goodbye and grabbed my coat from the back, hesitating before shutting my door.

Enjoy your vacation, Charlie said.

Enjoy your other ‘awesome friends.’ I emphasized it with air quotes.

Try to not forget me on your vacation.

I blushed. I never could.

I hesitated with my hand on the door. He just stared at me silently, waiting for me to say something, his warm eyes staring from above that smile that stole me every time it appeared.

Bye, Jake, Charlie eventually said.

See ya, dude.

I hated to watch his car drive away without me. The silence he left behind hurt. There were moments when it felt like I had everything to say but nothing came out.

Watching the blurred snow fly past our Civic’s window, I think of hundreds of things to say to Charlie. When we get home, maybe I’ll say one to him. A week apart is going to feel like a year.

Two red taillights stare at us like a devil’s eyes through the snow, daring us to follow. Never one to turn down a challenge, Dad obliges by riding the car’s bumper. Mom complains quietly that he needs to slow down, and he complains loudly about her complaining, which shuts her up. I groan, wishing they would both shut up.

My monstrous bag is packed for a week, towering over my parents’ backpack-sized bags. I didn’t bother asking why they packed so little because I didn’t care enough. If I was forced on this trip, then I wouldn’t let their lack of preparation ruin my fun. Besides, if they need to buy new clothes while there, I’ll probably also get new clothes, which I rightly should.

Mom squeaks up again when I think the devil eyes are going to swallow us, but Dad angrily says, Charlotte, you’re not helping any, so stop talking.

Obedient as ever, Mom shuts up. She’s an embarrassment.

In her defense, Dad is driving too fast and too close to the other car in a snowstorm, but he would yell if I said anything, so I leave my fate to his poor driving. Periodically the red taillights of the car disappear, then grow back to life until too much distance settles between us again. Mom’s nails dig into her thigh as Dad revs the engine.

Perhaps we should just pull over? Mom suggests when the blizzard hides even the devil eyes.

Dad grunts but turns on his blinker and settles on the shoulder. The taillights must have had the same thought, because they pull over in front of us. Mom’s hand loosens its grip, her shaking fingers marking her fear.

I’m not going to sit here with the car running and waste gas. Dad removes the key.

Without the roar of the motor, the howling wind around us amplifies as snow beats against the roof and windows. Gusts of wind knock against the car like a giant attempting to topple us. We wobble side to side, and I’m afraid our tiny vehicle will roll over. Had Dad bought a real man’s vehicle, like a pickup, we wouldn’t need to worry about the wind toppling us. With no heat, snow piles quickly on the windows, blocking us in on our left side. Cold air creeps through the door seams, crawling up my jeans. I fold my arms to warm my body as my breath becomes fog. Dad is cheap as hell.

It’s chilly in here, Mom says. Can’t we turn on the car so we don’t freeze? Her voice falters with each word until the last is barely a whisper.

I lean against the window, my face cold against the snow-covered glass. I would rather not be privy to whatever exchange is going to occur, but Dad says nothing. Despite the weathermen predicting this storm for two days, Dad insisted on leaving today. Mom and Dad should have canceled the trip so I wouldn’t have to endure being stuck in the car with them, but they never think of me. I couldn’t have had two shittier parents.

Dad raps his foot against the floor mat while I bounce my legs to keep me warm. Mom zips her coat up until it pinches her neck, then pulls the hood on and buries her face in it, hiding her curly black hair. She slips her hands inside her coat pockets and settles into silence. I’m thankful I don’t take after her.

Time passes slowly in the blizzard with no radio and no conversation. Neither of them offers anything to talk about; they are useless. Dad won’t start conversation because he knows Mom is right, and Mom won’t speak because Dad gave her the look. They are too imperfect to be my parents. I’m content without talking to either of them.

The jingle of keys pulls me from a cold-induced sleep. My nose drips snot, and my legs ache from the cold. With each breath of dry air, my lungs feel pressurized. I cough, and the cold air scratches my throat. I doubt I slept very long, but with nothing but white outside, it’s hard to tell. Dad inserts the keys into the ignition, rumbling the car to life. Chilled air blasts from the vents onto our faces, deepening our freeze. After a minute, warm air revitalizes us and washes away the chill that settled on our skin. The storm appears to have lessened, but the windows are too snowy to tell for sure.

This is ridiculous, Dad says, stopping for weather. We’re practically at the town. We should just finish the damn drive.

He doesn’t put the car in drive. Mom ignores his outburst as she removes her hands from her pockets to adjust her hood. Neither of them has spoken to me for the past hour, and neither has glanced back to see if I am still here. We’ve been driving just over seven hours, which is too short to drive to the waterparks. I double check my watch and add in an extra twenty minutes for lunch, but we’ve still been driving for too short a time. How are we almost at the town border?

Dad’s foot tapping amplifies until it nullifies the snow patter. He slams his hands on the steering wheel. That’s it, we’re going. I’m not waiting for a damn storm to decide when I go.

He pulls away from the shoulder slowly and drifts past the devil’s red eyes. As the storm swallows us again, Mom pretends not to worry about Dad’s driving, but her eyes peer out of her hood to add a second pair to watch the road. Now warmed, I pull my legs onto the back seat and sit sideways so I can lean against the window. I shift a few times before I can arrange my strong frame into a comfortable position. Being this physically perfect is hard sometimes, but it’s a necessary consequence of being devilishly handsome.

Another fifteen minutes pass, and the storm lightens to reveal a town sign: Welcome to Gibonsville, North Dakota, Pop. 648. The white letters stand stark against the black background of the plain sign half coated in snow.

The storm lessens as we drive into town until Dad drives thirty comfortably and Mom no longer pierces her legs with her nails. Will-o’-the-wisp streetlights guide us through this hellhole, sparse at first but more consistent as we dive deeper into the ghost town.

We reach downtown, lined with century-old brick buildings standing along Main Street like three-story-tall giants protecting us from the storm. Between them, the storm becomes a gentle snowfall. Nobody walks along the sidewalks, and all the store windows are blackened; the one stoplight blinks yellow and red. When we emerge from the row of buildings, the first sign of life appears: a mom-and-pop diner with a neon sign blinking Open through the snow. Dad orders us to wait in the car as he pulls into the parking lot. Finally warm again after sitting with the heat off, I oblige.

We watch him through the large windows that expose the vacant diner booths; only two men sit at the counter. When Dad enters, the waitress behind the counter perks up and greets him, but he waves her off and shakes his head. He leans on the counter, resembling a gangster with business that can only be whispered. As he exchanges a few words with the waitress, her face darkens and her eyes find our vehicle idling in the parking lot. Although she can’t know which seat I’m in, I feel her eyes pierce me, disgusted with me. That dumb woman better watch how she looks at me, or I’ll teach her how to properly look at a man. Cold seeps in from the door seams and creeps up my jeans despite the heaters blowing on us. A Wilson Phillips song blasts from the radio.

What a nice town, Mom says flatly, also watching Dad’s exchange with the waitress. Her superpower is knowing exactly what I’m feeling and how to counter it; today the shallowness of her words fails her.

Dad’s conversation with the waitress continues for a few minutes. At one point the two men at the counter turn to glare at our vehicle when the waitress storms from the counter. She returns with a cup of coffee and a doughnut, both of which she fiercely devours while Dad prattles on. Pissing people off is Dad’s superpower: the receptionist he berates for moving too slowly, the cop he criticizes when pulled over, the person walking their dog on a too-long leash. He’s an embarrassment.

I’m glad the storm is gone, Mom says, which distracts me briefly.

When I look back at the diner, Dad is striding toward the hatchback while the waitress and two men glare after him, though I still feel their eyes on me rather than him. I slouch behind Mom’s seat, but I swear their gazes pierce her seat and find me. Dad’s door banging shut unnerves me, and for a moment a blip of the wind whispers run. I shake my head and laugh at the wind. I know the three diner patrons keep their eyes on me as Dad zooms from the parking lot.

We fishtail across the snowy road into the opposite lane. He pushes the accelerator, and the hatchback’s engine revs but the wheels struggle to gain traction. Mom’s hand wraps around the door handle, and I sit upright, my feet planted apart to prevent my body from swaying.

Nice diner folk, Dad says. We’ll be there in a few minutes. His rushed words fluctuate between a whisper and a shout.

This town doesn’t look like a waterpark town. Storefronts turn to mansions as we leave town; I don’t understand why so many wealthy people live in the middle of nowhere. I look for a gold mine or factories pumping out cars, but there is nothing. Woods overtake the roadside, leaving the mansions behind.

We arrive at two lakes, each half as large as the town and only one fed by a creek flowing from the surrounding forest. One lake is frozen; the other is filled with snow except for a single tree in the center. We follow the access road leading west around the lakes until two large buildings appear, one behind the other and separated by a fenced-in yard. Each is a three-story cubic structure built from cinderblocks able to withstand the corrosive wind. Large windows line the first floor, though snow is piled halfway up them. The second and third floor windows are thin and horizontal, resembling eyes watching over the lakes. Seven cars are parked in a loop in front of the first building. Thick woods continue along the left of the buildings. No access road is plowed for the second building.

We drive around the circle and stop at the large castle-like doors. Though the snowfall has stopped, the wind whips flurries around us to birth a new blizzard. When we stop in front of the doors, a nurse’s outline solidifies through the snow. She is tall for a woman, and her arms are crossed in front of her body

CHAPTER TWO

FORSTER

I’ve been trapped behind this damn metal door since yesterday. I screamed and kicked and threw my body against the door, but it wouldn’t budge. A foot-tall horizontal window separates one of the cinderblock walls from the ceiling. My fingertips just reach the lower edge, even when standing on the bed. All I can see out of it is the cloudy gray sky that blends with the walls. In the corner is a toilet and a sink, both stained and chipped. A bed and a desk are against the wall, though I use bed loosely since it is only a thin mattress with a torn blanket and a flat pillow. These idiots don’t know how to treat me properly. I’m exhausted, so I try the mattress, but it’s as firm as the tiled floor.

When they threw me in here, they demanded I change into an oversized gray sweater and sweatpants. I refused, but the large man in white easily shoved me against the wall despite my resisting. I had never been overpowered so easily. I yelled at him to leave before I changed, so he stood in the doorway with his back to me. When I was changed, he ripped my clothes from my hands and slammed the metal door shut. I would kill him for disrespecting me.

Dawn creeps through the horizontal window. I’m sitting in the same position I have been all night: staring at the drifting clouds while hunched in the corner next to the door with my knees pulled to my chest. I will never admit it, but last night I suffocated in the tiny gray room. The walls pushed in around me until I thought I would snap.

A meeting with Forster yesterday kicked off my stay at Saint’s Hospital. Forster is quite something.

This must be Jacob, the stern nurse said, her smile deceivingly warm against the cold.

I wanted to smack it off her face and throw her into the snow for referring to me like a child. Her white uniform blended with the snow-covered ground, but her cap stayed on her head despite the wind. Cold bursts flew into the car as the nurse spoke through Mom’s open window. The dumb woman could have some decency.

Yup, Jacob Mullen, Dad said. We have an appointment with Dr. Grudzien.

The nurse’s smile remained strong as gusts of wind smacked her face with snow. I hated her the longer she wore that fake smile. Dr. Grudzien is currently occupied with a situation. Dr. Forster will meet with you today.

But we had an appointment with Dr. Grudzien, Dad said irritably.

I understand, but he is not available, the nurse said, still smiling. I think you will like Dr. Forster.

Dad glared at the nurse but drove into a parking spot, casually unbuckled, pocketed the keys, and climbed out; Mom followed cautiously. Letting a woman so easily change his mind was unheard of and disappointed me. I waited for something to happen, but the nurse just stood in front of the building’s entrance, her smile unaffected by the wind. I was not a dog and would not follow them just because they said to. Dad—also unaffected by the wind—calmly strode around the car, casually opening the back door facing the building. Cold burst into the car.