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Updated Sunday 15 May, 2011 12:18 PM |
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This Day in Alternate History Blog
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SNAKE OIL
By Doctor What
Is there a number or mark planned for the hand or forehead in a new cashless society? YES, and I have seen the machines that are now ready to put it into operation. - Ralph Nader ~~
February 10, 2017
“Doctor!”
Doctor Glen Finney looked up from his file as he saw his assistant, Dr. Peters, come in.
“What is it, James?”
James walked into Finney’s office, a file folder under one arm. With a slight exasperated grunting sound, he sat down in the chair in front of his boss’ desk. He reached up to scratch his forehead, the Boston Red Sox baseball cap on his head bopping up and down as he did so.
“Just wanted to go over the latest John Doe case with you. Quite an interesting one,” he said, passing the folder across the desk.
Glen flipped open the folder and started reading.
“Hmmmm...unknown patient...no ID...designated John Doe One-One-One-One... “
“Yeah—that part confused me,” interrupted James. “I mean, the guy had an apartment, had bills to pay and everything. Somebody somewhere must know his name.”
Glen raised an eyebrow quizzically and scanned his eyes downwards on the file. After a few seconds, he made an acknowledging grunt and looked up at James.
“Well—this might explain it. He was found in a run down apartment building in Bushwick.”
“So?”
Glen gave James a ‘Must I use small words?’ look of annoyance.
“The area of Bushwick he was found in can charitably be described as the ‘unfashionable section of North Brooklyn’,” continued Glen, “I would imagine that he would have no trouble finding himself a place run by a landlord that doesn’t ask too many questions. As for money—well, considering his overall appearance and the state of his apartment, I think we can be confident in saying that he didn’t have that much.”
James nodded his head. “All very fascinating,” he said, clearly not fascinated in the slightest.
Glen cocked his head to one side.
“I’m a bit surprised you didn’t clue in when you read his address.”
“I’m unfamiliar with your city’s strange neighbourhoods.”
“You’ve been living here for five years.”
“A fact that I am ashamed of every day. You know how much of a pain in the ass it is to ritually cleanse yourself every day at sunset during baseball season?”
“You really should learn to enjoy this city.”
James hissed and actually bared his teeth.
“There can be no peace between our cities while the Yankees live!”
“Uh huh....” replied Glen, in the manner of one who had heard this before and many times at that. He glanced down at the file in front of him again.
“Uh-huh...feelings of persecution...paranoia...delusions of grandeur...disorganized speech...no evidence of alcohol or drug abuse...hmmm...”
Glen glanced up from the folder.
“Aside from the refreshing change of not having to detox the guy, we get a dozen guys like this every week. What’s so different about this one?”
“This one is a bit unique—he keeps going about the Visitors.”
“Lytasians, James. Not Visitors. They do have a name, after all,” admonished Glen.
“Yeah, yeah—the Lytasians.”
“So our John Doe goes on about the aliens. What of it? We’ve had – what? – half a dozen guys going on about how evil the aliens are and how they’re here to rape our women and steal men’s semen and do bizarre experiments with various farm creatures and so on.”
“That’s just it! This one claims that they don’t exist at all!”
Glen raised an eyebrow in amazement at that.
“What—not at all?”
James nodded his head vigorously.
“Yup—he keeps going on about how they’re all fake. Like they’re some kind of movie special effects or something!”
“Really?” replied Glen, genuinely curious now. “So who’s responsible?”
James smiled.
“You’re going to love this one. He claims that the real leaders are…dramatic pause… the Rosicrucians!”
There was a long moment of silence as Glen stared at James.
“James?”
“Yes, sir?”
“You actually said ‘dramatic pause’ Rosicrucians.”
James immediately began to blush.
“Sorry, sir—been hanging out with him too much. He’s quite the fascinating case. And yes—he actually used that term.”
“I….see.”
“Just wanted to bring him to your attention, sir. Thought you might want to look in on him.”
“Let’s do that now.”
“So….”, said Glen a few minutes later. “I was wondering if you would like to share with us your name?”
The man looked up from his crossword puzzle book, a chewed up stub of a pencil clenched in his right hand.
“What name do you have me listed in your file?” he asked.
“John Doe One– One – One – One,” replied James.
The man stared at James for a long moment, his face seemingly scrunched up in deep thought.
“John Doe Eleven Eleven. Heh. I like that!” He turned his gaze back to the two men. “You may refer to me as ElevenEleven.”
“Uh-huh…” replied James, rolling his eyes.
“So…” said Glen, ignoring James, “I understand that you don’t believe in the aliens?”
ElevenEleven shrugged his shoulders.
“What I think is of no consequence apparently. You poor deluded fools refuse to see the truth. For that, I am locked up in this so-called ‘hospital’ of yours where I am alternatively either poked and prodded by your staff or ignored completely and left to survive with nothing but my own wits and intelligence here in this –“ ElevenEleven swept an arm to indicate the area around him – “- torture room of yours.”
“We call it the Rec Room,” replied Glen.
“Rec. Room,” said ElevenEleven slowly, almost savouring the sound of the two words. “Ah—obviously some strange dialect of Fourteenth Century English…”
James rolled his eyes again. Glen, however, smirked and sat down in the chair in front of him.
“So—why do you think you’re here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“No—that’s why I’m asking you,” replied Glen patiently.
“I do not conform to your worldview. I see the truth. But your small minds can not handle such Earth shattering revelations. So you mock me, insult me, ignore me and then –when that is not enough – you hold me against my will here.” ElevenEleven leaned forward, a strange grin on his face. “But while you may imprison my body, you can not imprison my soul!”
“We’re not here to ‘imprison’ you,” said Glen, still the consummate patient doctor.
“Ha! All you want from me is to get ‘better’” – and ElevenEleven made some air quotes with his fingers. “But of course, in order to get ‘better’ –“ –more quotes- “—I have to take your ‘liquids’ and ‘pills’ and ‘me-di-cines’ and see the ‘error’ – “ – a plethora of quotes – “—of my ways!”
Eleven leaned back, a self satisfied smirk on his face.
“Ha! I refuse to give you the satisfaction! I will not make any deals with you! I will remain free! I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed or numbered! My life is my own!”
ElevenEleven suddenly stood up and jumped onto the table, causing Doctor Glen to stumble backwards and fall to the floor with a thud.
“I AM A FREE MAN!”
ElevenEleven may have said more but it was at that precise moment that three orderlies tackled him and knocked him to the ground.
“So—ten milligrams of Loxapine twice a day, Doctor Finney?”
“No – forty.”
“Whoa…”
“Doctor!”
Glen looked up from his paperwork to see a nurse rushing into his office.
“What is it?”
“That patient who almost attacked you this morning—he...he...escaped!”
“WHAT?!”
The room was empty.
Well—as empty as it could be with four nurses, three orderlies, two doctors and some guy who was walking by and poked his nose in to see what all the excitement was about.
“How the hell did he escape?” yelled Glen.
“We don’t know!” yelled a nurse.
Glen rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and middle finger, trying to stave off the migraine that was already threatening to blow up his head at any moment.
“Did someone start a search for the guy and alert the police and –“
“Already did that, sir!” yelled one of the doctors.
“Then start poking around here and find out how the hell he escaped!”
“Right away, sir!”
Glen stormed off back to his office.
“Doc?”
Glen looked up to see James standing at the doorway.
“Well? Did we find that guy?”
James shook his head.
“Unfortunately no. He seems to have made a clean getaway.”
Glen leaned back in his chair, his jaw dropping in shock.
“How? How does a guy manage to escape from a locked room on the tenth floor of a secure hospital crawling with medical staff?”
James sat down, a look of shock on his face.
“We’re not one hundred percent sure but looking through the room, we’ve discovered what he used to do so and we were able to put together a possible plan.”
There was a long pause as James silently sat there
“Well?” roared Glen.
“He used a pencil stub, three containers of non-dairy creamer, a crossword puzzle book, an elastic band, two pillows, a Canadian quarter, an extra pair of socks, a plastic spoon and a length of string.”
There was a very long pause as Glen sat there, trying to contemplate on this.
“How does one use...?” he bagan.
James rapidly shook his head.
“It gets...it gets a bit...weird after that point...”
February in New York City can best be described as - to paraphrase Thomas Hobbes - nasty, brutish and cold.
No sane person would spend a minute more than necessary being outdoors. Contrary to popular media, the vast majority of the population of New York City are, in fact, sane.
Well....sane-ish.
As such, very few people who were rushing along the myriad streets and sidewalks surrounding Bellevue Hospital noticed a dishevelled figure appear from an alleyway, wearing nothing but a hospital gown on his body and the largest grin imagineable that can conceivable be put on a person’s face.
“Heh—always have a back-up plan...” muttered the man, as he quickly disappeared into the night.
~~
On to Chapter 10
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