Confinement Part 3 -- CWF Glory Board

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I sit in my slippery, sweaty leather seat with the weirdest feeling ever. The room is small and there is a bolted gray-painted steel door behind me. The walls are plain white, but the paint is beginning to flake off. The floor has a crimson red carpet, with stains where past interviewers have spilled their drink, or let cigarette ash fall to the floor. Above my head is a closed-circuit television camera pointing into the interview room through a window that takes up the majority of the wall in front of me. It is as wide as the wall and the height goes from my waist height, where the panel with the electrocution switch is, to the ceiling, so I can see the whole room on the other side.

I can see the white walls with cracks running down it. I can see the cobwebs in the top corners of the room and the crimson red carpet covering the interview room floor as well, cigarette ash and drink isn�t the only thing staining the floor. There is also a big stain where a pool of blood used to be. One of the patients in an interview this week asked if he was ready to be let out. He wasn�t yet cured, so I had to tell him he wasn�t. He kicked up a fuss and banged on the window and tried to attack me. The guards came in with nightsticks and beat him until they could restrain him. I thought it was a bit much, a stun gun would have been more appropriate, but when I suggested it to the guard he replied, �You do your job, and I�ll do mine.�

The door inside the interview room has three bolts across it from the outside so the patient can�t get out. I turn my head to the chair and when my eyes center in the middle of the room, there he is. The most intense look I have ever seen. Suddenly, on the large leather chair in the middle of the interview room, was Drew Carrig. Under the persona that has taken over most of his life, Jeckel.

How did he get in here? I was looking right at the door. I wipe my eyes and refocus on the chair to make sure it isn�t a hallucination, but he is still there. Drew is a tall man. I look down at the clipboard that lies on my lap and check over his personal details. The man is 6�3� tall and weighs approximately 220 pounds. The guy is well built, although for a wrestler I suppose it�s a requirement. I proceed with my first question.

�Tell me Mr. Jeckel. Do you feel trapped in your body sometimes?� I say. I have to call him Mr. Jeckel, as that is the only name that comes close, he responds to it, so it�s appropriate really.

�Why did you do that?� is yelled back at me. �If you piss me off much more, I�ll break out of this chair and make you pay!�

This is really weird. As I look down on my clipboard, this is the exact thing that he said the last time I interviewed him. It�s almost like it�s reoccurring, d�j� vu.

All of a sudden the lights turn out. The room is completely dark and I can�t see anything in front of me. The voice of �The Silent Assassin� is heard in front of me.

�What is on my mind? I�ll tell ya what�s on my mind! I�m preparing the execution of your petty little life. You think you�re clever sitting there with your clipboard, monitoring everything I say, or the way I respond, or act. But I promise you, by the end of this interview, you won�t be leaving with a breath left in your body!�

This is so frightening. Not only is it exactly what he was saying in the last interview. This time I wouldn�t know if he broke free of his straps and could get to me. I try to find the switch to electrocute. My hand starts to run across the panel to find the switch. As I find the switch I frantically flick it back and forth, trying to stop this. Nothing happens.

�Ah!� I scream out as light returns and I find myself sitting up from my bed. I look around and see my bedroom. It was all a dream. A nightmare. For some reason I can�t get that interview out of my head. It was the most frightening experience I�ve ever had in my life.

The room is quite large for a bedroom, and is in an old English style with a lot of wooden walls and wooden beams. There is a large bookcase in front of me full of old books of psychology and counseling techniques. In the corner of the room to my right is a cupboard and on the wall to my right is a large window overlooking Lake Erie. The sun is beginning to rise now and the sunlight is coming through the curtains, setting a warming glow to the room. I get up from my bed and wipe the sweat from my wrinkled forehead.

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I begin to wake and turn over to my side to get more comfortable. Hang on! I open my eyes and sure enough I have just turned over. Wow! Do you know what that means? I no longer have any straps on me! The guards must have removed them while I was sleeping! This is weird. I�m not waking up with pins and needles because the straps have cut off the circulation to my arms and legs all night.

I get up from my bed, for the first time in weeks, by myself. Without people having to untie the buckles on my straps and lift me out of bed. My arms are still in my strait jacket, but at least I can stand up now. I start to shiver, it�s quite cold in here today, we must be getting closer to winter, but you can�t keep track of time in this place, let alone the date. The floor is freezing. The cold, metal floor against my bare feet sends a chill over my body. I decide to sit back down on the bed and curl up to get warmer.

My eyes scan across the black squared pattern that had been painted across the wall in front of me. How can this pattern stop someone from having a fit? The pattern is more likely to send you to insanity than calm you down. I feel weird just by looking at it. I look over to the steel door as I hear someone walking down the corridor. A few clanging sounds of the flaps from the steel doors are heard.

It must be the guards. They are bringing the breakfast over. I wonder what it is this week, cereal or toast? There is a sound of jingling keys as the guards approach my door. They will be very careful. I could quite easily hit out at them when they take the harnesses off of my arms. The door unlocks and one of the guards walks in with a bowl of cereal. The bowl is plastic and so is the spoon that lies in it. It�s to stop me from using it as a weapon, or inflicting it upon myself. The first guard is called Jimmy. He�s really short for a security guard. Only around the 5�8� or 5�9� region, which is small for a security guard. Jimmy comes into the room and does everything while the other guard waits by the door in case I make a run for it.

�Now, you�re not going to try anything funny are you, Carrig?� He asks. I don�t reply. �Answer me, Carrig! I�ve got your breakfast here, and if you want anything to eat, you�ll do as I say.�

�No. I won�t try anything funny,� I reply. This guy is such an asshole. He has that Napoleon complex. He�s small and was picked on at school and his way of getting revenge is taking any power he has over people and using it to exploit them. He�s on one of those power trips at the moment.

I�m looking at my feet, trying not to make eye contact. The guy tries to get respect by pushing me and making me sit up properly whilst saying, �Get your ass up!� He was lucky. He didn�t break the pain threshold by pushing me. If he did, he would be seriously hurt.

Jimmy unlocks the restraints and my arms are free. I try not to move my arms too quickly or they might see it as an attack. The guard backs away and out of the cell. He shuts the door and locks it. The flap on the door opens and Jimmy�s face is seen through it.

�Finish that breakfast quickly because you have exercise in two minutes�, he says.

�Fine,� I say. I don�t want Jimmy on my back again for not responding to him. The flap shuts and is locked shut again.

I pick up the bowl and sit back down on the bed placing the bowl on my lap. I start to spoon some of the cereal into my mouth. I take a couple of spoonfuls and the door unlocks again and Jimmy walks in.

�I said�� Jimmy says as he walks over and slaps the bowl out of my hands, milk and cereal slops all over my lap and the bed. �I said your two minutes are up! Get the hell up!�

I get to my feet. Corn flakes fall from my legs to the floor and I feel milk trickling down my legs to my feet. Jimmy grabs my arms and pulls them together, then handcuffs me.

�Now get your ass out of the door!� He yells at me. �It�s about damned time you gave me some respect, Carrig!�

I walk quickly out of the door and see the other guard. It�s Jerry, the guard from a few days ago. The one that asked me, sarcastically, how good my lunch was. This guy is Jimmy�s sidekick. The only difference being about half a foot in height and being built like a tank. This guy is like Jimmy�s bodyguard. Jimmy does whatever he wants because he can�t get his comeuppance with Jerry there to back him up. Jerry is nearly as annoying as Jimmy is. Jimmy may demand respect, but he doesn�t do it to annoy you, he does it because you annoy him. Jerry actually sets out to annoy you from the moment he sees you.

�Well if it isn�t Mr. Carrig. How was your breakfast?� Jerry says in an arrogant tone of voice.

We walk down the corridor towards the yard where I�ll be exercising. As we get closer to the yard I see him. Through the doorway to the yard outside, it�s that asshole, Doctor Charles Wilson.

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It�s a great shame I have to do this to the poor man. You can see that Drew doesn�t want this. He can�t handle it, nobody could. But I have to go ahead with this, for science, to forward my research and get the government off my backs to keep me in a job.

Drew looks taller than I remember. Mainly because most of the time I�ve seen him he�s been sitting down in the interview. He has a plain light-gray colored strait jacket. He has messy long black hair and a long black beard from his chin. There is a stain on his legs like he�s wet himself. No it�s not urine, it�s some of his breakfast. You can see a couple of corn flakes are stuck to his legs. Is this a form of protest? He demands better breakfast, so he spills his breakfast down himself?

�Jimmy?� I call out. Jimmy the bodyguard walks over. Jimmy is very good at his job. He�s been doing it for years and it seems like all the patients have a certain respect for him.

Jimmy walks off to start Drew�s exercise. Why would Drew spill his own breakfast over himself? Is this frustration? It doesn�t make any sense. He must be starving. If he were so mad at the breakfast, wouldn�t he throw it on the floor instead of himself?

This exercise is the next stage of my experiments on Drew. The idea this time is that I find the threshold of Drew�s pain, so I know how much pain will activate �The Silent Assassin�. Then I need to know how to deactivate him. That way I can find out how to eliminate this activation process that makes �The Silent Assassin� take control of Drew�s body.

The yard is very small and it can�t be very good to exercise in when a whole cellblock of patients are out here. Well, I have set up a track that Drew will walk around. On the ground is a metal track and inside that track is a metal ball that is too big to break out of the track, but can still run along it. Attached to the ball is a chain, and on the end of the chain are two cuffs. The cuffs are fastened to the wrists of Drew at the moment and Drew starts to walk around the track.

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Why the hell am I wheeling this ball around a track? This is just torture for me. This is no light exercise. I look over at Doctor Charles Wilson as he stands there with his clipboard taking notes on his next �ingenious idea�, his next torture technique. He thinks he can use the excuse that it�s in the name of science, but he doesn�t fool me.

Doctor Wilson is an old man in about his late forties, or early fifties. You can tell as his face is turning wrinkly and lines go across his forehead when he frowns. He is about 6� tall and very skinny. He has a pair of big glasses with a thick black frame. He is wearing a doctor�s uniform as if he�s about to operate on someone and has three pens in his chest pocket. He has a baldhead with some gray hair on the side of it. He�s looking at me like I�m an animal. He doesn�t think about my feelings at all. He�s an evil bastard.

The yard is tiny, there�s no room when we�re all out here. The cellblock I mean. The ground is gravel and I�m still in bare feet, so my feet are being cut apart as I walk. It doesn�t help that I have to move a heavy weight, so I have to dig my feet in to put more power into it. This is torture! I can�t bare this much more and my arms are getting really tired. I stop for a moment.

I am panting like a dog that has just spotted someone else�s dinner. I am so fatigued I can barely move. The ball is so heavy and my arms feel equally heavy now through muscle fatigue.

I try desperately to keep moving around the track, but my arms are killing me. My back is sweating profusely and it is staining my strait jacket. This is good training for wrestling, but it is killing my arms. I look over my shoulder at Doctor Charles Wilson who has a look of bewilderment on his face.

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Okay this is interesting. The cutting of Mr. Carrig�s feet isn�t enough to activate Jeckel. The muscle pain that he must feel, doesn�t seem to activate it. He pulls the ball along as usual. Why? Is this because Drew is the only one inflicting the pain? Or the inanimate objects that Drew moves are creating the pain. I jot down a note on my clipboard.

Interesting breakthrough. Drew�s second persona is not activated by self-infliction.

Jimmy walks over to Drew and undoes the chains. He grabs Drew tightly by the arm and Drew reacts. All of a sudden Drew punches Jimmy in the face. Jimmy falls to the ground and Drew grabs his throat and shakes Jimmy violently. Jerry walks over to Drew and stuns him. Drew can�t move, but he is desperately trying to gain some movement to go at Jimmy. All of Drew�s muscles are tensing. He is desperately trying to grab at Jerry. You can tell because Drew�s eyes are fixed on him with a look of sheer fury.

This must be Jeckel. The stun has created a muscle spasm, so Drew cannot get up and attack. But with Jerry grabbing Drew�s arm it was enough to break Drew�s pain threshold and unleash Jeckel. Jimmy gets his nightstick and storms over to Drew with a crazed look on his face. He starts hitting Drew.

�I don�t care who it is, doctor. I�ve been doing this for years. This is how you sort them out!�

Jerry and Jimmy each take turns in beating Drew on the sides of the body, the chest and the head. Because it�s inflicting pain, Jeckel is still there and still goes at them. They stun Drew every few moments to keep him from retaliating. They are there for ages beating on him. The two guards seem to be enjoying it. They have a glazed over look in their eyes, like they�re turned on by this. I�ve had enough of this, this is sick. I turn my back and walk away.

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