In Laymon's Terms

He spent many sleepless nights staring at the ceiling. At times he was Adam, at others he was Steven or Dennis or Jack, or even the one whom Ellen had dubbed “the other Adam.” Regardless of who he was at the time, he always listened to the screams and wondered when he would be allowed out of this Godforsaken place.

Because of overcrowding, many of the patients were forced to share their rooms. Once Locke felt confident Jude would not surface in the middle of the night to wreak havoc upon a helpless roommate, an extra bed was put in Adam’s room.

Its occupant was a guy with long, oily hair and perpetual stubble. He had this creepy habit of staring at people through his bangs for long periods at a time. The orderlies always addressed him as Richard, but he frequently insisted on being called Dick. They refused to tell Adam what Richard had done to be locked up, but from snippets of conversation he gathered that Richard had not been very cooperative with his previous roommate.

The first night went smoothly, but in the middle of the second Adam awoke and heard a peculiar shuffling noise from the opposite bed. A shaft of hallway light slanted in through the door window to illuminate Richard’s bed, and Adam saw Richard’s hand moving swiftly back and forth beneath the bedsheets.

Adam winced and glanced toward the head of Richard’s bed. To his considerable surprise and discomfort he found Richard staring back at him, eyes wide as he licked his lips.

Adam—or Dennis? He suddenly couldn’t be sure—blinked beneath the hallway lights as he came to. His body rocked and shuddered on a Gurney being rushed down a corridor by an orderly and a nurse. They whipped around corners and dodged patients, and Locke jogged along behind them, his ever-present book bouncing in his hip pocket.

Adam groaned. The last thing he remembered was sitting in front of Locke’s desk, trying to shut the doctor out. Apparently Jude came forward again. This could not be a good thing.

“What’s happening?” Adam demanded. He tried to sit up, but straps across his chest, waist, and legs held him flat to the Gurney. More straps bound his wrists to side rails.

“Behavior like that will not be tolerated any longer!” Locke snapped. “You’ve got this coming!”

“What are you going to do?” he asked, growing more alarmed as they entered a room filled with a humming sound.

“We’re ready to go,” a nurse informed the doctor as they entered. She held a rubber headband with several wires running to it in her hand. The Gurney came to an abrupt halt, and the nurse stepped forward and wrapped the band around Adam’s head.

“What is this? What’s happening? Let me go!”

Locke grabbed Adam tightly by the jaw and flashed a penlight into his eyes. “Are you back with us, Mister Lewis?”

“Yes! Yes, it’s me!” he said urgently. “Please! It’s Adam!”

“Pity,” Locke said as he returned his penlight to his pocket. “I’m sorry, Mister Lewis. This is for your own good.” He nodded to the nurse, who stood in front of a small console.

“No, wait—”

A burst of high voltage surged through his skull, and his mind and body went numb.

He didn’t know who he was. They checked his vitals and reflexes, then sat him down on the threadbare couch in the rec room. With a total lack of understanding, he watched as Tom built a better mousetrap to ensnare Jerry, botched the plans, and fell victim to it himself.

A religious commercial followed. When he saw the pretty young woman displaying a nondescript brown book, a nervous tic tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Lunchtime came. The other patients milled about with their trays of dry chicken and mushy potatoes. He remained on the couch as the next set of cartoons started. A dumpy dog in a brown cape flexed tiny muscles.

“Never fear, Underdog is here!” echoed a fat woman as she took a seat beside Adam. The couch cushions gave way beneath her, tilting him sideways to lean into her shoulder. He barely noticed it, and she made no move to correct the situation.

Fifteen minutes into the program she froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. She looked at Adam, eyes wild, as if noticing him for the first time. “Are you watching my show?” she demanded. “Are you watching my show?”

A nurse and two orderlies came running, and had they been paying attention in the first place they would have taken Adam away from Alice to avoid trouble—she did this at least once a week. Before they could do anything about it, she dumped her plate on the floor and swung her tray like a club. The corner smacked into the bridge of Adam’s nose and he saw stars.

She managed to break the tray in half on the back of Adam’s head before the orderlies dragged her away. He passed out as the nurse tended to his broken nose.

Locke did not acknowledge the bandage on Adam’s nose or the dark purple bruises that surrounded his eyes. He flipped the DSM IV closed and clasped his hands over it.