When he opened his eyes, he was alone in the dark, lying on a thin plastic 'mattress' on a cement floor. He was shivering violently, both from the chill in the air and his withdrawal. Sitting up took everything he had, and a wave of nausea washed over him out of the blue. He had to vomit imminently and scanned the room for a place to do so. He let his stomach contents loose into a grey pail in the corner of the room and then sank back down to the ground.

It was a mystery to him how he'd ended up in the cell, but he was confident he deserved it. Eventually, someone would come along and describe to him what he’d done, and he just prayed that he hadn't killed anyone this time.

He proceeded to tremble on the floor, wishing for cold water and a bridge to jump from. These wishes both traveled aboard the same train of thought. His life was a mess, and he was sick and tired of living; it was time to admit that he'd never be OK and to check out. Mark Wallace was finished with life; he needed one more push to end it all.

Aileen sank behind her desk, slipped her feet into her heels, and checked her makeup in a compact before answering her intercom.

“Send him in, Winston.”

“You got it.”

Winston was her sidekick around the facility, her backup with patients who needed a heavier hand, and she counted on him daily. After losing her other addictions counselor, her staff was bare-bones, and she struggled to manage it all. She only had her orderly, Winston, her cook, Gary, and a new counselor, Julianne, who was still learning the ropes.

The DA was bringing her new cases of court-ordered rehab, and she hoped, as she always did, the recidivism would be low this time. Sal waltzed in and placed the stack of case files on her desk as he moved in for a kiss.

“Close the door first,” she whispered.

They had been sleeping together for a few weeks, and he couldn't seem to wrap his mind around her wanting to keep her work life separate.

“Sorry,” he smiled, closing the door behind him and taking her in his arms.

“Can't wait until tonight?” she grinned.

It was flattering, but she didn’t like sexual encounters at work. It had taken her years to get where she was, and it wouldn't take much for her to be taken less seriously.

“I suppose I can.”

She kissed him back sweetly and sat behind her desk to skim her new cases. The facility was almost empty, and the two residents she had were nearing the end of their treatment. She could only house five patients at once; Mendelson was a small city with few resources.

“You got a hard case this time, Ailee,” he chuckled.

There were three files on her desk, and she wondered which one he meant.

“This one is a medical rehab, Sal; we can't take this one here,” she said, handing back the case file of a prisoner who needed hospital treatment.

“They're sending a nurse to supervise,” Sal explained.

“I don't have the security in place for this,” she insisted. “This could involve seizures and meds that I don't have on hand. Alcoholism and addiction to painkillers with a history of assault, this could be rough.”

“They're going to take care of all that, don't worry.”

Aileen sighed heavily. She was often given cases beyond her scope with only one hospital in town. However, they knew she was the best person to handle the tricky situations; the hospital didn't deal primarily with addiction and often didn't know how to handle it.

“When is this one coming?”

“Any minute now, he's coming from the county jail.”

“What did he do?”

“DUI with a serious injury involved. They denied his bail because they needed him detoxed to stand trial. See what he's like, and maybe I can cut him a deal if he pleads guilty.”

“You got it.”

Aileen sighed and looked at the case. Mark Wallace was 38 and had a long history of screwing up—charges of assault, possession of drugs, DUIs, and myriad other minor charges.

“I don't know what I'm supposed to do for him here.”

“You'll figure it out,” Sal smiled. “You're the best there is.”

Just then, the alarm at the security door at the back of her facility went off, and she groaned as she got up.

“I'll see you tonight then?” he winked.

“Ugh,” she huffed but stopped to kiss him goodbye quickly.

Aileen walked the narrow corridor to the back door, where she met an officer with a filthy man cuffed.

“Where the fuck am I?” the man barked.

“Regional Detox Facility,” she smiled. “Mark Wallace, I presume.”

“I don't need to be here; just send me back to the fuckin' jail.”

“I'm afraid such decisions aren't up to you, Mr. Wallace.”

He turned to the police officer holding him up and smirked in a cocky way that annoyed her right out of the gate.

“Does she always talk like an uppity bitch, or is it just my lucky day?”

“Hey, watch your mouth. This woman is your warden for the next 28 days.”

“What the fuck? I don't need to be here!” he hollered.

“Take him to the holding cell,” Aileen sighed.

She wasn't dealing with the new guy until he had his manners in check. Mark was taken to the secure cell and uncuffed but instructed to sit on the cot like a good boy until he was spoken to.

“Fuck you,” Mark growled. “What is this place, juvie?”

Aileen figured she'd try to plead her case but knew that it wouldn't do much good.

“He's huge,” she told the cop as she signed the paperwork to take over his care. “I have a new girl on tonight because we were almost empty ...I can't leave her with this guy; he'll drive her crazy by morning.”

“Sorry, I can't do anything about it.”

“If the state wants me taking hard cases like this, I’d appreciate more funding for security. I will have my work cut out for me getting him settled.”

“We're all strapped,” he nodded. “Sorry.”

“Alright, see you later.”

Aileen returned to the secure cell and asked Winston to back her up. She was 5 foot 7 and under 140 pounds; this man had priors for assault, and she wasn't looking to be next.

“Mr. Wallace?” she began.

“Yes, teacher!” he growled.

“Look, we need to get a few things straight, and then I think you and I could agree.”

“Uh-huh.”

She could only see the top of his head through the tiny window in the door as he sat on the bunk, and she dreaded dealing with a mouthy man; nothing annoyed her more than sarcasm from a man.

“Number one: I didn't put you here; you did that. Number two: I believe that even criminal addicts are human beings, so I will treat you as well as you treat me. Number three: I am here to help you and will do everything I can to make your stay here productive and comfortable. Number four: I will not take your shit and abuse with a smile. If you are verbally or physically abusive with me or my staff, I will not hesitate to make your life unpleasant and write a report to the judge in your case that can only be described as unfavorable.”

“You got that speech memorized, Sugartits?”

Aileen bit her tongue and unlocked the cell to make eye contact.

“I do have it memorized,” she smiled. “Now, I will need you to undress for me, Mr. Wallace. I have inmates brought over from the county with drugs every other week, and I do not allow contraband in my facility.

She placed a basic grey uniform on the dresser in his room, and he stood up casually.

“I got to show my cock to your pal over here?”

“He's seen it all before; he has one himself, in fact,” she smiled.

Mark grinned, pulled his shirt over his head, and tossed it to her playfully.

“This stinks of whiskey,” she huffed.

“You got a shower ‘round this shithole? I look even better wet,” he winked.

“Right this way,” she sighed.

Aileen knew she wasn't leaving there until later in the evening. She would at least have to wait till the lights out when he'd be locked up to leave Julianne alone with him.

Aileen walked Mark to the shower area, and she and the orderly watched as he untied his boots and dropped his jeans and boxers to the ground. He handed her his clothing and stepped into the shower with the lukewarm spray.

“You're staring,” he chuckled when he caught her eyeing his tackle.

“I assure you it's not for fun. Turn around and bend over, Mr. Wallace.”

“Pretty thorough, aren't you?” he winked and obeyed her orders.

“It’s necessary in a place like this, and everyone gets the same treatment,” she explained.

“Dark side of the moon, Sugartits!” he joked.

Aileen couldn't help but laugh as he stood up and washed his hair. His back was covered with lash marks, and she knew that something awful had happened to him in life. So many of the people who ended up in her facility were victims of horrendous childhood sexual and physical abuse. The fact that she could see this and all of the things they were charged with and still saw every one of them as human-made her so good at her job. Aileen didn't take nonsense and ran the place like a well-oiled machine, but she had boundless compassion as well; it was a delicate balance.

“Can’t a guy get five minutes alone to jerk off around here?” he asked as his eyes moved from one to the other.

“You'll have plenty of time for that in your room tonight, Mr. Wallace.”

“Don't want to watch?”

This man was playing the fool, so she called his bluff.

“You know what?” she purred. “Yeah ...do it.”

“Pffft! Not with him there, I ain't queer!”

“Winston, can you step into the hallway, please?”

Winston knew her style; it was a power play, so he casually did as she asked and stepped into the hall.

She could see the expression on Mark's face change to one that showed he'd been outsmarted.

“Come on,” she said, stepping closer to him to show she wasn't afraid. “Let's see it.”

“Huh?”

Aileen loved to mess with the ones who thought they were clever, so her hands went to the buttons on her suit jacket, unfastening just one.

“You going to tease me all night? You said you'd jerk off for me,” she pouted.

“You're fucked, lady!” he shot back. “You're all kinds of crazy!”

“Just like I thought,” she sighed. “All bark and no bite. Do we understand each other now?”

“Yeah ...I guess so.”

Aileen told him he could have ten minutes in the shower alone and that she would bring him some take-out food since the kitchen was closed. She stepped toward the door to the hallway, and he called after her that he liked fried chicken and added the word, please.

“You got it, Mr. Wallace. See? We can be friends, right?”

Mark sat alone in the dark that night after a nurse showed up to check him over and give him some medicine. He behaved himself for her, but only because the blonde woman was watching the whole time; it seemed best not to mess with her. The door was locked, and his body was filled with meds to 'assist' him with his detox. He had given this new boss lady the work, and she took it from him without getting rattled; he had to respect that.

He still didn't plan to make it to his trial. He still planned to check out before life got any uglier.

When the cops at the county jail informed him of what he'd done, it cemented his decision to rid the world of Mark Wallace. Thanks to his stupid choices, a woman he never met was in the hospital. They told him she was in rough shape and had a broken leg to deal with; he had fucked up this woman's life all in one split second when he decided to drive home.

He hated being alone. He was haunted when he was alone, and it had been that way since childhood. Mark was being eaten alive by guilt, but it would be a cold day in hell before he showed his pain to anyone. He maintained a mask of cockiness as a shield, which had kept him protected all his life. When people knew you were vulnerable, they would hurt you; that’s how his old man operated. He vowed never to show anyone he had emotional or physical feelings. Keeping everyone at arm's length was exhausting but necessary.

Aileen stayed that night until the nurse was finished caring for her new resident, and after he was somewhat sedated for the evening, she left the new girl in charge.

Julianne Wright had come over from the hospital psych ward, so she knew what she was doing, and Aileen was grateful to have more support. The only other staff she had were Winston and Gary. They had been managing without adequate night staff for over a week since losing their other full-time care worker. The one blessing was that she had fewer patients lately and could work with fewer staff in a bind. Mark settled down nicely that first night after his nurse left. He appeared to be almost subdued to her. Aileen planned to talk to him first thing in the morning if he was willing.

She met Sal for drinks but was late due to work. He grumbled about her babying her residents again, and she didn’t appreciate the input. After only a few weeks of dating, she didn't need his criticism of her work habits.

“You do your thing, and I'll do mine,” she said, and Sal rolled his eyes.

“What about this new guy? Was he a pain in the ass for you?”

“It wasn't too bad; I think he'll do fine.”

“He’ll be serving some time, that’s for sure,” Sal added casually.

“I think he has a real shot at rehabilitation if he just opens up a little.”

“You think they all do,” Sal scoffed. “You're running a daycare over there.”

“Excuse me!”

“I don't mean anything bad ...you're just too forgiving with these people.”

“You don't have any faith in people, do you, Sal?”

“In good people, I do. Bad people have already shown us who they are.”

“Nobody is all good or all bad, though.”

“I know that. I tell little lies and shit, but I don't leave a woman I never met injured in the hospital.”

Aileen couldn't argue, so she didn't bother; she just changed the subject. There had to be a way back from huge mistakes, or else what was the point in everything she believed?

When Aileen arrived at work the following day, she had two more residents to get settled, and they were only there on 24-hour stays, so she cleaned them up quickly and checked on Mark.

“How are we this morning?” she smiled as she opened his cell for the day.

“Meh,” he answered, staring at the wall on his bunk.

“You won't be locked up for the rest of your stay unless you give me a reason. That fair?”

“Sure.”

Aileen felt like she was speaking to a different man from the night before and wondered why.

“You OK?” she asked.

“I ain't been OK for my whole damn life.”

Aileen walked in and sat on a chair next to the bed. She would rather have a mouthy Mark than the passive version of Mark before her.

“Would you like to speak to someone?”

“Nope.”

“Do you mind speaking to me?”

“Nope.”

“Your lawyer will probably be coming to speak with you today. Did you want some breakfast in the dining area?”

“Nah.”

She sighed then and realized he wasn't even looking at her when he spoke. It was likely the meds he was given, but he also appeared depressed. There was no diagnosis of mental illness in his file, but that didn't mean much. Mark didn't strike her as the type to seek help.

“Tell you what, you can stay here as long as you feel comfortable, and I won't bother you, but I'd like to bring you some food and coffee. You don't have to eat it, but I'd like you to try it.”

“It's your world, boss.”

“Shawshank Redemption,” she grinned.

“Yeah!” he smiled back out of nowhere when she caught the movie reference.

“I hope you don't see me as that evil warden.”

“Nah, you might be too nice if anything.”

“I'll take it,” she nodded.

Over in the facility’s kitchen, she decided to call in a favor.

“I need an ultimate man's breakfast.”

“Oh yeah?” Gary smirked. “What do I get for it?”

She often had him make a special breakfast if a resident was down, which normally worked like a charm. A little bacon and sausage with eggs always seemed to help them settle in and start accepting some treatment. A little kindness could go a long way.

“You can have the first pick of holidays.”

“You got it. How awesome does this breakfast have to be?”

“The best you ever made.”

“Done,” Gary winked.

Mark was still lying and looking at the wall half an hour later when the blonde walked back into his room and left a tray on his table without a word.

He lay there watching steam rising from the tray as it carried the scent of bacon and fresh coffee to his nose. He had never received hot food in a facility before. Jail, juvie, and the hospital were all places where cold, inedible food was the name of the game.

He looked at the open door and got up to check the plate. There was toast with butter, three soft-poached eggs, five sausages, and a handful of bacon. Next to it was a small glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee, and suddenly he wondered if the woman he injured had good food in the hospital, he knew it wouldn't be this good.

Mark couldn't resist eating the delicious food, but he felt guilty for how good it tasted. He wondered if he'd be able to enjoy anything without guilt again.

After her morning meeting with the other residents, Aileen collected his plate and asked him how he liked it.

“Better than I deserved. I never had a breakfast that good.”

“I’m so glad you liked it,” she smiled.

“Don’t you know what I did?” he asked. “You know I left some poor woman in the hospital while I walked away without a scratch. How the hell is that even possible? It should be me in there.”

“I know what happened, Mark.”

“Then why are you actin' like this?”

“Because I want to. It's not my job to judge you; it's my job to help you with detox and send you off to court. There's no reason I can't be nice to you while I do that.”

“Can you find anything out about the woman I hurt? I don’t remember a damn thing from that night.”

“I don't know. I will try, though, OK?”

“Thanks.”

“I know this is going to sound strange, but ...it won't do you good to dwell too much on what happened, at least not right now. You have the rest of your life to process that, but you must get better right now.”

“I don't think I get any better than this,” he sighed and lay back down. “When is the nurse coming back?”

“Tonight, when she’s finished at the hospital. You OK?”

“I feel jittery, like I want to climb the walls.”

She could see the sweat on his forehead, and his pupils were dilated. Whatever the nurse gave him the night before was wearing off, so he’d need something to hold him over.

“She left you some Clonidine; I’ll go grab it.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t hesitate when you need something; just tell me right away.”

“The next few days will be just what I deserve ...detox is hell.”

“You don’t deserve it, Mark.”

He suffered for most of the next three days before the withdrawal let up, and it pained her to watch it as it always did. Insomnia kept him up most nights, according to Julianne, and he slept until late in the morning. He had headaches, panic attacks, and general flu-like symptoms that she could tell he was trying not to complain about.

Eventually, the worst of it lifted enough that she could communicate more effectively, and Aileen could see the real Mark underneath all the addiction.

Aileen kept trying, but Mark was depressed, and she wasn't sure how to help him. He refused to speak with anyone about his problems, and her attempts to help him were taken with a smile, and a thank you, but that smile never lasted very long. The nurse arrived every day and treated him with medicine and a tertiary glance.

His lawyer spoke with him about his options and about pleading guilty to accept a deal from Sal. Mark didn’t like the idea, and his lawyer spoke to Aileen about it on the way out.

“He’s not in a good state of mind to make decisions in his best interest.”

“I know, Benjamin ...he just won’t open up about anything.”

“If anyone can get him to, it will be you, Aileen. Don’t stop trying.”

“You know me, stubborn as the day is long,” she smiled.

Benjamin Horvath was the best public defender she had ever met; he genuinely cared about his clients, even if he was overworked and underpaid. She still had a few weeks to convince Mark to take a deal and hoped he would start talking soon.

She prompted Mark with a simple sticky note next to his bed. It was hard even to imagine what might work with a man like Mark, but sticking to something simple seemed like the right way to go.

If you ever want to chat, my door is always open. All I have is music, a stash of chocolate on my desk, and conversation, but you are always welcome. I’d love the company. Aileen.

Sometimes all she could do was try and hope that it would work.

Aileen looked into what happened to the woman from the accident, but she didn't think it would be helpful for Mark to hear it. Her one primary connection at the hospital was Dr. Regina Ross, and she gave her only the information that the family had released on a Go Fund Me page for her treatment since that was public, and it wasn’t great news. She would tell Mark if he asked again she didn't lie when she didn't have to, but he hadn't mentioned it again in three days.

By the end of the first week, Aileen had seen multiple sides of Mark and felt sure that something was going on with his mental health beyond addiction. She could force him to talk to someone, it was within her brief to do so, but she wanted him to do it willingly. He had every hope of reclaiming his life if he could use his time at her facility to get grounded and on his way to wellness. She allowed him free range of the locked facility, including the lounge, kitchen, and shower areas. It also gave him access to the hallway outside her office.

Only one other patient at the facility by then had arrived earlier that evening, and Aileen wasn't really into him; Henley had no intentions of changing despite all of her best efforts. He had been there twice and fought authority tooth and nail. Henley also had sociopathic tendencies that made him a dangerous person. Gary set him up in a locked cell for the first 24 hours until his therapist could see him, and he was coming down from a bad high anyway; she didn't expect him to be lucid for another day or so. The hospital checked him out before he was sent over and said he was fit to rehabilitate but would be drowsy for most of the night.

Aileen was in the middle of a mountain of paperwork when she noticed Mark lingering around her door. Julianne reviewed her schedule for nights again in the common area as she finished her reports for the day. Julianne would be a huge help once she got more comfortable with how the place operated. Aileen played music as she often did while working, and she listened to the song’s words as she rehearsed her words for an invitation to Mark.

“Hey there, trouble,” she called the third time Mark paced past her door.

“Hey.”

He looked up briefly and began walking again.

“Come have a seat; you’re making me dizzy,” she suggested.

Finally, her note had lured him.

He walked into her office cautiously, like a stray cat invited into a home for the first time, looking as if he might be chased back again at any moment. His eyes scanned the books on her shelf and a few paintings on the wall before taking a seat, satisfying his curiosity.

“You sure are different these days,” she noted.

“It's all starting to hit me now. I know I’m going to prison when I leave here.”

“I think your lawyer is trying to get you a deal; I believe the DA would be open to it. Maybe you could meet with a therapist and have them speak to the judge on your behalf. They might consider a shorter sentence.”

“Speak to the judge about what?”

“Extenuating circumstances ...like abuse?”

Maybe she was treading on thin ice, but he only had three more weeks of mandatory treatment, and it would do him good to deal with his demons.

“That was when I was a kid; that ain't got nothin' to do with the man I am now.”

“You don't think so?”

“How could it? It was years ago.”

She couldn't believe he didn’t see any connection; he didn't seem to think his childhood had any effect.

“Mark, what happened to you?”

“It ain't nice to talk about.”

“Maybe that's why you should ...you could share it with someone and get it out of your mind a little.”

“I don't know anyone I hate enough to share it with.”

“You should tell someone you trust, someone who cares about you.”

“Nobody cares about me, and nobody should.”

“I care.”

“After the way I talked to you? You’re certifiable.”

“I can see that you're in pain, and I want that to stop.”

“You want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“I have all the time in the world,” she smiled.

Mark didn’t know if he could trust her, and he swore to himself so many times he wouldn’t have this conversation with anyone. Still, the way she leaned forward, her eyes pleading for him to unburden himself, made him weak. He debated how she could use his past to hurt him; why was she demanding this information? Then she reached forward to touch his hand and said that he didn’t have to say a word if he was uncomfortable, and that was all it took. She was being real with him; it was safe to tell his story.

Mark sat on the couch in Aileen’s office and couldn't seem to focus his eyes anywhere in particular as he began to speak. He had never told anyone before and didn't want to sound like he was making excuses for who he was. It felt strange as he began to unburden himself like he was making a final confession.

“You won’t tell anyone what I tell you?” he asked.

“I’m obligated to keep anything you tell me confidential, but I would never say a word anyway. You can trust me.”

He shifted position, and then, with a slow deep breath, he began.

“I got these marks on my back,” he said. “My dad gave 'em to me when I was a kid ...all kids used to get hit when I was little, but I think my dad liked it. The way he took off his belt was really slow ...you could tell that he liked to make us wait. We both knew what was coming, and that excited him. That belt left my back lookin' like hell ...sometimes the lash marks would get infected, and my mom would use iodine. It hurt like a bitch, but she never tried to stop it.”

“I'm so sorry,” she said softly. “No child should have to live through that.”

“I lived, but now I’m left lookin’ the way I do. Damaged. I got to hide it from everyone for the rest of my days, especially women.”

“Why specifically women?”

“They’ll think I’m weak. A weak man is no use to a woman.”

“You were a child, Mark. Nobody would see that as weakness.”

“I guess so. He used to tell me that all the time, so it got stuck in my head.”

“What did he tell you?”

“That I was weak and worthless. He said I’d be alone forever, and I suppose he was right about that because I have nobody in my life.”

“I’m so sorry, Mark.”

She looked like she was just about to cry, and it didn’t make sense to him. She didn’t even know him.

“This is all ancient history anyway,” he shrugged.

“A woman who loves you wouldn't care about the scars, Mark.”

“You're somethin' else,” he chuckled.

“Why do you say that?”

“You ain't really seeing me at all, are you? I got nothing to offer a woman besides disappointment. I never did.”

“You are way too hard on yourself. People who’ve been through things like you have often are.”

Mark finally relaxed his posture and leaned back on the couch to get comfortable, and she knew he would open up.

“None of this is an excuse, though, because my kid brother ain't like me; he grew up to be a good man.”

“Maybe it was different for him; people deal with these things in their own way.”

“He dealt with it the right way.”

“Did he get beaten like you?” she asked.

“Sometimes, but I'd usually jump in and take it for him.”

“Why?”

“He was just little. What else could I do?”

“How did you take it for him?”

“He'd be catchin' hell for something, and I'd just make it about me if I were home. I'd start callin' the old man a fuckin' prick or something, and he'd forget all about Zach.”

“That's very selfless.”

“I was his big brother; any brother would do the same.”

“Was? Is he still ...“

“Oh yeah, he's alive, but he's not my brother anymore. He doesn’t want anything to do with me now.”

“Did he say that?”

“He doesn't pick up when I call anymore. I stopped trying a while ago.”

“Maybe you could get some help, serve your time, and fix things with him.”

“I doubt it.”

“Thank you for sharing this with me.”

“Did you hear anything about the woman I hurt?”

Aileen sighed, she didn't think it was helpful for him to know anything about her, but it also didn't feel right to keep it from him.

“Mark ...I don't think it's helpful to you right now.”

“Please.”

“She needs dialysis for her kidneys. Eventually, she'll need a transplant.”

“Jesus Christ!”

Mark got up then and paced the floor like a cornered dog.

“Mark ...you can't change that now. You need to focus on getting better.”

“She could die! Who cares about my shitty childhood when I did something like this?”

“I’m sorry. I told you it wouldn't be good for you to know.”

“I'm garbage! Useless fucking garbage! That's all I ever was. What the fuck did I do? Why the fuck am I even here?”

“Wait!”

Aileen had lost control and needed him to stop; she needed him to breathe before it got even more out of hand, so she grabbed him and pulled him close.

He had a huge chance of exploding and maybe even getting violent. Aileen knew that, but she wasn't thinking straight. She could see how dramatic his mood swings were and would bet her house on him having some bipolar disorder. He froze when she got her arms around him, and she wondered what he'd do. He flinched once and tried to pull free from her grasp but then quickly gave up and surrendered to her touch.

“Just breathing hurts, Aileen ....”

He whispered into her shoulder, and she knew he would cry.

“Just being alive hurts,” he added.

“I want to get you help ...I want it to stop hurting for you, Mark.”

Aileen didn't let go for a good five minutes as a grown man wept into her shoulder and exorcised 38 years of agony. When he finally managed to get ahold of himself, he released her and backed away slowly.

“Am I a joke to you now?” he asked.

“Sometimes it takes more strength to cry.”

“I never met anyone like you.”

“How do you mean?” she smiled.

“Someone perfect ...we're like opposites, you and me.”

“No, we aren't. You're so much better than you can see ...but I can see it.”

Aileen was startled by a shadow in her doorway and realized she was late for meeting Sal again.

“Damn it, Aileen. I've been sitting down there for 20 minutes now.”

Mark recoiled at another man seeing him just after crying, and swiftly got up to leave.

“Excuse me,” he muttered.

“Mark, wait-”

“It's OK. Have a good night.”

He wasn't even out the door when Sal rolled his eyes and began to comment.

“Aileen's daycare never closes, does it?”

“Hey, watch it!” she growled.

“Sorry, Aileen ...it's just that you get obsessive with this stuff.”

“This is important to me. You just don’t get it, do you? You can't talk like this around my patients. Go down to the car, and I'll meet you in 5 minutes.”

“I'm getting tired of waiting for you already.”

“Then don't wait. It’s up to you.”

He sighed and said he'd be downstairs and stormed off like a child.

Aileen stopped by Mark's room to smooth things over before she left, and he was sitting on his bed in the dark.

“I'm a kid in your daycare?” he asked.

“I'm sorry about what he said, that's not how I feel at all. I'm so happy we spoke tonight ...I loved getting to know you better.”

“You did?”

“Of course. I’ve been trying all week to have a conversation with you. Can we talk some more tomorrow?”

“Sure ...I'd like that.”

“I really want to help you if I can. You could be a whole new man in a year if you just let some people in. Friends?”

“Friends,” he smiled.

“Are you feeling OK? I’ll stay if you still want to talk.”

“Your man is waiting on you,” he reminded her.

“I couldn’t care less about that man-child right now,” she insisted. “I can stay as long as you like.”

“I’m OK. We can talk tomorrow.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” he nodded with a little smile.

Aileen squeezed his hand then and leaned in to hug him before leaving for the night, and for the next 10 minutes, he was blissfully happy. He was delighted until he heard a voice in the cell beside him. Henley had an opinion to share, and he insisted on being heard.

“You're such an idiot,” the voice began.

“What?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“If you’re here, you’re probably an idiot too, so what of it?”

“Aileen is conning you good,” the voice chuckled.

“Fuck off; I'm trying to sleep,” Mark growled.

Henley was younger and cocky as hell; Mark wanted nothing to do with him. He had been briefly introduced to the punk only hours before and knew they would be like oil and water from the start.

“Do you really think she's your friend?”

“Of course not!” Mark shot back, but he did believe they were friends. He couldn't admit that to this asshole, though.

“Good. I thought you were fuckin' delusional over there. She doesn’t give a fuck about you. I've been here before, and I know how she operates. She'll tell you all the shit you want to hear so that you'll behave.”

“Whatever. Just shut the fuck up and let me sleep.”

Mark sighed and rolled over on his bunk. A complete stranger extinguished the one light of happiness he’d had in years, bringing him back down to Earth. Mark knew then that he wouldn’t be allowed to have any joy again; he didn't deserve it anyway. This was where the mood changed, where the dark, ominous cloud swept over him. The sadness that often hit him out of the blue was so oppressive that it made him need drugs to avoid feeling it, but he had no drugs now. He was trapped in the emotion, and the voice on the other side of the wall wouldn't stop.

“She sure is a nice piece of ass, right?”

“Shut up!” Mark screamed through the walls.

“Hey! Keep it down in there, Henley!”

Winston was stern and intimidating, a night orderly who didn't take bullshit, so Henley shut his mouth for a while and then continued in a hushed whisper.

“Hey ...I heard you killed a woman.”

“She ain't dead. Aileen just told me she ain’t.”

“Yeah, she is. Aileen's just fuckin' with you. Her whole family was in the hospital bawling their eyes out.”

“Shut up,” he growled. 

Mark was horrified at being lied to.

Why hadn’t Aileen just told him if she was dead?

Was it because she believed he was weak?

Did she think he couldn’t handle the truth? 

Maybe his father was right; perhaps everyone saw him as weak.

“I just came from the hospital, and this city isn’t that big. News gets around.”

“Bullshit. She would have told me.”

“Aileen is not your friend, man. She's pulling your strings.”

“Fuck off!”

“Why don't you do the world a favor, pal?”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Take a long jump off a short pier,” Henley chuckled. “You should have heard them all blubbering and cursing you in the hallway. It was brutal.”

Mark couldn’t speak; he just stared at the wall and let it all sink in. The voice on the other side was cruel, but it felt like the truth to him then.

“Hey ...use your top sheet to make a noose and just do it. I bet the grating on the window would hold your weight,” Henley snickered.

“Why are you doing this?” Mark said so softly that he wasn’t sure if anyone heard it.

“I’m just fuckin’ with you, man. You a pussy or something?” Henley scoffed. “So you killed a broad. So what? Shit happens every day. What do I care if you off yourself? Damn, I thought you were this big tough guy when I first saw you ...pathetic.”

Mark looked down at the thin top sheet he was sitting on. Henley was right; it would work. If the woman from the accident was severely injured, that was bad enough, but there was no going back if she was dead. He had been waiting for something to push him over the edge, and here it was. The mood swings, the addiction, the memories, the crushing guilt; he didn’t want any of it anymore.

“I just need to run back real quick; I forgot my case notes on my desk,” she sighed.

“God damn it, Aileen! You never leave that place behind!”

“It'll just take a minute.”

“Forget it. I don't even want to do this tonight.”

“Don't be like this, Sal!”

“Forget it. I'm taking off.”

“Fine,” she huffed. “Just go then!”

“I will. Have fun babysitting those goofs like their fuckin' mommy.”

Sal pulled out of the parking lot then, screeching his tires and leaving her in a cloud of fine dust.

“Idiot,” she grumbled.

Aileen got back up to the office and listened for any sounds in the ward; all was quiet. She hadn’t forgotten anything; she wanted to check on Mark when she remembered what an asshole Henley could be to new guys in the facility. Henley hadn’t been there for a good six months, so it hadn’t occurred to her right away that she should add some distance between them, for Mark’s sake.

“Hey, Winston. I was thinking of moving Henley to the opposite wing from Mark. When he wakes up, he’ll be nothing but a pain in the ass for Mark, and he doesn’t need that right now.”

“He’s already awake,” Winston grumbled.

“Seriously? I thought he’d be out till tomorrow.”

“Nah, he was up talkin' shit to Mark already, so I think you got the right idea about moving him.”

“What was he saying?”

“I don't know, but he was winding Mark up pretty good. Why?”

“Mark was in a pretty fragile state when I left ...where's Julianne?”

“I'll get her; she's writing up the new therapy schedule.”

Something compelled Aileen to go and look in on Mark then; she just had a bad feeling about it. Her heels clicked in the empty corridor, and she reached Mark's door just in time to see his face turn white.

“Winston!”

A cold chill flooded her veins as she yanked the door open and ran toward him, leaning against the wall with a sheet tied around his throat.

“Mark! Why did you do this? God damn it!”

Winston took a pocket knife from his jacket and cut Mark down as his eyes rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the ground.

“Call the ambulance!” she screamed as Julianne came to join them.

Mark wasn't speaking, and Aileen lay her head on his chest to see if his heart was still beating. There was a faint pulse, but he wasn't breathing, so she began mouth-to-mouth as Winston held the line with 911.

“Is there a pulse?” he asked.

“Very faint.”

“No chest compressions then, just give him a breath every 5-6 seconds,” Winston instructed her via the 911 operator.

“Come on, Mark ...come on ....”

Aileen held his nostrils closed with his head tilted back and continued to give him breaths for what felt like forever.

“Check his pulse,” she asked of Julianne.

“It's steady but not strong,” Julianne answered.

“I'm so fucking sorry, Aileen. I thought it was OK. These guys squabble all the damn time at night ...I didn't think-”

“It's not your fault,” she assured him.

“Fuck! He better make it,” Winston exclaimed. “I'll never forgive myself.”

“Hey, it's not your fault, Winston. I should have taken care of this before I left, and who could have known anyway. I thought Henley was still crashed.”

The paramedics arrived then, took over for her with oxygen, and asked how long he'd been hanging.

“A few minutes tops, his eyes were still moving.”

In just a moment, he was gone, and Aileen followed the ambulance to the hospital, where she planned to wait all night for answers if that’s what it took.

A song played softly in the distance, and he didn’t recognize it or where he was. Mark rolled over on a beach and felt a wave wash over his legs, wetting his jeans up to the knees. There were three full moons in the sky above him, and he smiled as one illuminated globe began to reflect the face of the Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland. The massive cat face observed him closely with emerald green eyes. The entire moon’s surface was a cat face with that sinister, all-knowing grin. It was terrifying and somehow beautiful all at once.

“Hello?” he called up toward it.

Mark recalled an Alice in Wonderland book he owned as a child then. Maybe that’s why the cat was there. Zach colored in that book with his mother’s lipliner when he was 5, and Andy Wallace lost it. Why his father cared about a child’s book, he never understood. It was likely just an excuse for violence like everything else in his young world.

~ Your Grandmother bought you that book! You ignorant little shit! Why did you do that, Mark?

~ Don’t know, Sir. Just did.

And then he began to remove his belt.

Mark shook his head to chase away the memory as the cat answered him.

“Why are you here, wanderer?”

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Wonderland?”

“You don’t sound very sure,” Mark noted.

“Perhaps I am mad; perhaps you are too.”

“Maybe I am if I’m talking to you.”

Mark stood up then and realized that the three moons felt almost close enough to touch and that the ocean was moving away from him, making the beach even wider. He felt tiny below the three moons and a billion stars of different colors like Christmas lights. He had received the Alice in Wonderland book for Christmas, so maybe that’s why he was seeing Christmas lights. His brain was desperate to make some sense of what he was seeing. He tried to spot a familiar constellation in the sky, but the stars were evenly spaced, multi-colored, and artificial, much to his disappointment. Three paths led into a jungle surrounding the beach, and Mark felt a chill in the air. Maybe there was shelter down one of the paths.

“What road do I take?” he asked the cat moon.

“Where do you want to go?” the cat inquired.

“I don’t know.”

“Then,” said the cat, “it doesn’t matter, does it?” 

Mark thought about it and figured that if a cat moon was in this world, Aileen might be there too.

“I want Aileen,” he sighed.

Aileen was the only person who smiled at him; he wanted her close to him ...so why had he run from life?

Then he remembered the woman he had killed.

“The blonde lady?” asked the cat. “She is the one you seek?”

“That’s her. The beautiful blonde lady ...the only person who liked me back in my world.”

“Down there, wanderer.”

The cat’s huge eyes moved toward a path, and the ground lit up as it wound into the trees.

“Thanks.”

“Do not come back this way, wanderer.”

“I don’t even know how I got here.”

“You let the madness win. We are all mad, but you can’t be only mad; you must balance it to avoid returning here. Find the blonde lady, and don’t come back this way.”

“I’ll try not to.”

The cat moon closed its green eyes and began to purr, rumbling the ground softly beneath Mark’s feet.

He began down the path, his pant legs still wet from the ocean and his eyes trying to focus on what lay ahead.

“Aileen?” he called out. “I want to come back.”

The path grew dark, and suddenly he couldn’t see a damn thing, not the cat moon, ocean, or beach. Even the trees around him faded into blackness, and he felt scared as the Christmas light stars flickered and went out above him.

“I don’t want to be here, Aileen ...are you out there?”

It was some old Chicago song on the radio, but the radio was just slightly between stations ...Mark hated that sound and wished someone would fix it.

“Will he be OK?”

Mark could hear Aileen, and it made him happy immediately, but he couldn’t open his eyes.

“There aren't any signs of permanent neurological damage yet. His mental health will probably need the most tending to.”

Mark didn't recognize the other female voice.

“Can he come back to the facility after his 72-hour hold?”

“Yes, but he has to see a psychiatrist on a regular basis, and you need to keep him on suicide watch for the entire duration.”

“That's no problem.”

“He's very lucky you came back when you did, Aileen?”

“He's a special case ...I can't believe he did this. He seemed OK when I left; I don't understand. I was talking with him about his childhood ...I must have made him upset ...I never meant to. I just wanted him to know that I care and that he could talk to me.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Ailee. We’re all just doing our best here.”

“I feel like I really fucked up,” she whimpered. “He wasn’t ready to share it ...I failed him.”

He could hear Aileen crying then as the other woman comforted her, and he hated that. He remembered trying to kill himself as she spoke, and he couldn't allow her to think it was her fault.

“Aileen ....”

His eyes opened to a dim and depressing hospital room. Aileen was standing over him, looking excited to see him awake. His voice was scratchier than usual, and he recalled the top sheet digging into his throat as he slumped against the wall.

“Mark!”

“You ...“

He began to cough then, and the other woman, who he could see now was a doctor came to help him by raising the head of the bed slightly.

“Take it easy, Mr. Wallace. I’m Dr. Ross here at Mendelson Memorial ...welcome back.”

A pretty woman with long dark hair bent over him and pulled a small flashlight from the top pocket of her white lab coat.

“Thanks-”

He began to cough again as she shined a bright light directly at his eyes to check the pupils. His throat and neck muscles throbbed severely, which made complete sense.

“Your voice is going to be hoarse for quite a while; your larynx is badly bruised,” she said. “If you need to communicate, I recommend writing it down when you feel better.”

Dr. Ross came closer and checked his blood pressure, listened to his heart and lungs with her stethoscope, and then took his pulse before he could process what was happening.

“Should I leave?” Aileen asked.

“Don’t go ...paper,” he insisted, and Aileen grabbed him some from the side table as the doctor began to fill in his chart.

“Are you two OK in here for a few minutes?” the doctor asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Take it easy, Mr. Wallace. I’ll be back as soon as your visit is over to discuss everything further.”

“OK,” he nodded.

The doctor left him with Aileen, and he felt embarrassed by what he had done and even more guilty than before. Now he had also hurt the one person who showed him kindness.

Aileen moved the bed upright so that he could write on the tray table over the bed. Mark took the paper and a pen from her, and his shaking hand wrote the most important words.

~ It's not your fault. I'm sorry.

 She sighed and looked deep into his eyes as they began a half-written and half-spoken conversation that cemented a few things for Mark.

“I thought you were OK when I left,” she began.

~ That guy just got to me. It wasn't you.

“Henley?”

~ Yeah!

“What did he say to you?”

~ I killed that woman. Why didn't you tell me?

“She isn't dead, Mark. I would have told you that.”

~ You aren't just saying that?

“No, Mark. I wouldn't lie to you about anything so serious. She's alive in this same hospital as we speak.”

Mark just sighed then, relieved, but it still didn't make his guilt go away.

~ Why would he tell me that?

“Henley might be the only man I’ve met who is beyond hope.  He’s sociopathic. He should have never been next to you, but I thought he would be out of it until morning.”

~ It fucked with my head

“I’m so sorry. You’ll be here for a few days for a psych assessment, and then you'll be back with me ...under suicide watch until court.”

~ OK

“Do you see that you need help now?”

~ Yes

“Can I bring you anything for your hospital stay? Magazines, clothing, anything at all.”

~ I'm OK

“I'm sorry if I pushed you to talk about things that upset you.”