Angel of Darkness by Katy Munger Read Free Book Online Page B

truck and trudged inside, resigned to his fate.
    This was the kid comforting my son?
    I could only hope that Michael offered him comfort back.

TEN
    H elltown depressed me. By morning, I was sorely in need of therapy. Not my own, of course. I had missed that boat while I was alive and there was nothing I could do about it now. But I could sit in on therapy sessions at Holloway, puzzling out the mysteries of the human soul and reassuring myself that I was not the only one who had lost his way in life.
    I’d hoped to learn more about my son, even if it ended in another session consisting of reviewing my failures as a father, but Michael was in group therapy that morning and I could not tolerate being in the same room as a dozen awkward, depressed teens. Just seeing them slumped in their chairs, staring at the clock, staring at their feet, staring anywhere but at each other, made me feel so self-conscious that I had to leave them to the guidance of a tall man with glasses who had been handed the thankless task of trying to get them to open up.
    With most of the other patients either in early-morning therapy or painting flowerpots or wandering quietly through the grounds, I decided to head over to the unit where Otis Parker lived to see if I could find out anything new. I came upon him having an argument with the red-haired orderly who had taunted Parker the day before during his interview with Calvano. This time, Parker was unrestrained. He was standing in the center of the common room where he and his fellow inmates spent time in a futile attempt to socialize them and keep them from ripping each other’s limbs off. Clearly, Parker had little to fear from the others – many of whom were so doped up that their greatest achievement of the day was probably not drooling on their own trousers. Most of them, however – even the most medicated among them – were alert enough to be watching the fight between Parker and the orderly like it was an Ali-Frazier rematch. As the two men squared off and shouted insults at each other, it became clear that Parker was too smart to resort to physical violence, given the other staff members heading their way. But he was comfortable threatening the orderly with everything this side of dismemberment.
    The gist of the argument seemed to be that Parker was refusing to take his medication and the red-haired orderly was threatening him with an injection if he did not comply.
    I wondered why Parker had let the fight get this far. He could have hidden the pills in his cheek and spit them out later. Patients did it so often that the mice at Holloway wandered around in a happy daze from scavenging the booty. The orderly, who was easily half of Parker’s size, should have known that – but then he should have known better than to take on Parker in the first place. Both of them had clearly been waiting for an excuse to go at each other. While Parker stood rooted to his spot on the worn linoleum floor, the aide circled him like a prizefighter looking for a spot to jab.
    â€˜I’ll pull your privileges, too,’ he threatened Parker. ‘Don’t think I won’t do it. I don’t give a crap how much your lawyer earns an hour or how many times he threatens to sue. I’m sick of your bullshit, I’m sick of your bullying, and I’m sick of this act you pull every day. You’re no crazier than I am. I’ve watched you when no one else is looking and I know you’re a fake. Your ass belongs on death row with the rest of the losers waiting to die.’
    It was one thing to taunt Parker with his authority. It was another to let Parker know outright that he didn’t believe he belonged at Holloway. If I knew Otis Parker, the orderly had just made his workplace a very unsafe place to be.
    â€˜I’m on to you,’ the red-haired orderly repeated, poking a finger in Parker’s chest.
    Parker let loose one of those crazy, high-pitched laughs of