Patient Overkill

Grayson's temples were throbbing and the bright white lights glaring off of the fake wood paneling made it hard to focus. The heat from the unconditioned room sent small beads of sweat down his forehead and his leg bounced with what Grayson could only imagine was either anxiety or boredom. He took a moment for consideration and decided it was most likely boredom. If it was anxiety it would only be because of his desire for this conversation to end. The bureaucratic silence and quiet humming of the office was almost deafening during the stops in conversation. Finally after a brief pause Grayson replied, “With all due respect. I think my service more than makes up for my,” Grayson locked eyes with his manager. A tall, stocky man with a partially visible beer belly. He barely fit in his button down, his tie flowing down and over his stomach as he leaned back against the table across from where Grayson was seated. “Not smiling.”, Grayson finished. The man’s arms were crossed and looked like he could nail hammers down with his fists. Grayson figured he must’ve played some kind of sport in the past. He always seemed like the classic college football kind of guy to him. Although his appearance betrayed him, the added peppering of his stubble and hair with his frown lines brought an image of some poor girl’s “shotgun daddy” to mind. If they needed someone to play an overprotective father stuck in the glory days for some shitty late night romcom, he would be perfect for the role.

His manager looked down before sighing and moving his hands to his hips. He stood straight and walked around the desk to his office chair without looking at Grayson. “Normally, Grayson, I would agree with you.” he sat down and clasped his hands on his desk. “You do great work. That cannot be denied… but there’s more to it than that. These last couple weeks alone you’ve earned yourself several infractions that should’ve gotten you terminated. This complaint about your attitude with your team members is only the beginning.” he gave a second, as if he wanted to let it sink in. Grayson wiped his forehead and stretched back in his chair. It finally sounded like this interaction was winding down to an end. “This is your final warning, Grayson. All I am asking of you is to remove yourself from situations that you know you might…react to. Others may not be so kind, think about that before you consider your next steps. I’ve authorized the next couple days for you to take off. Go ahead and take some time for yourself, Grayson. Try to regroup.” Grayson nodded his head in faux agreement and was washed with relief when he stood up to leave and wasn’t stopped. Before he could reach the threshold, he heard his manager clear his throat and then hesitate before calling out to him. “ One more thing,” Grayson halted at the door without turning around. “You should really try to smile more.”

The nightmares had returned and the lack of sleep was putting Grayson on edge. He knew he shouldn’t have blown up the way he did but- Grayson couldn’t think of an excuse. The truth was that the bastard had it coming. If it wasn’t for his coworkers who rushed in to pull the two apart, it would’ve definitely have ended in job loss or handcuffs. And possibly, a gurney. For now though, his manager had decided to refer to it as a “dispute between team members” and let them both off with a warning. Before the end of the day he found himself back in the office having another exhausting conversation with that cunt. Smile more. Who the fuck did he think he was? Grayson's lips curled into a snarl as the thought wavered around his mind, clouding it with anger. He wasn’t some office whore hired to paste a stupid fucking grin on his face and prance around to make the place look pretty. His jaw and cheeks started to become sore before he realized how hard he was clenching his teeth. With a deep breath he tried to steady himself. Staying in his head now just meant throwing more fuel into the fire. He couldn’t wait to get home to blow off some steam. It was all starting to become too much effort.

The sky was overcast and covered everything in a sheer gray blanket when he stepped outside. The wind had picked up, swirling dying leaves and discarded fast food wrappers around as Grayson continued down the darkening streets. He tried to light a cigarette but the wind whipped the flame of the lighter making it difficult enough to give up on. He pulled his jacket on as the cold started to sting at his face. A couple days off was all he needed. Having to wear this face to a nine to five every week was exhausting. He could hardly bear it but what was he to do? Considering his history it would be hard to find many other places that might accept someone as-, Grayson stopped for a moment, as temperamental as he was. Besides that, he could barely make rent as it stood. Losing his job would mean losing his apartment and that into losing his mind. And that’s just what he needed, more problems. Grayson shook off the thought. He figured once he was able to officially start his experiments, he would feel a lot better. There’s nothing like a creative outlet to calm the nerves Grayson thought to himself with a gleeful smile.

It had started to rain as Grayson made his way into the apartment complex. The interior was grim. Above hung a dimly lit chandelier that looked as though it could fall at any moment. Winding stairs led up and around creaking with old age. It stood in standards that should’ve had it demolished years ago but home is home. Even though his heart was somewhere far away. Lost in the city and traffic. Around corners, down back street alley ways and past empty public parks. Forgotten. Black and blue, lying in bile.

Grayson unlocked and shoved his front door open before lazily flipping the light switch. He kicked his shoes off while shutting the door behind him. The chains to the lock swung and hit the wood with a small jingle and knock. With three slides and the turn of a deadbolt, he was secured in his tiny two room apartment. The kitchen slash dining room was divided by an arch that began his green shag carpet “bedroom”. His kitchen was a sad sight. The dish filled sink and unkempt counters hugged most of the wall with a refrigerator tucked neatly in a corner next to it. Grime covered the sides and top of the stove he rarely used, let alone cleaned. In the middle of the room stood a dirty looking table with an ashtray filled to the brim with half smoked cigarette butts.

Grayson tossed his lunch bag and jacket onto the stained table before heading to what he thought of as the sleep room, due to the fact that it looked like he had decided to set up his bed in a living room. He had a sheetless queen size that had begun yellowing from age. Two pillows lay stacked at the left side of the head of the bed with a blanket messily folded before them. On either side of it were bedside dressers with small lamps perched on top. To the left was his bathroom, wrecked by the trials of time and past tenants. Between the bathroom and his bed was a dinner table completely covered in a plastic sheet that hung almost to the ground. Set on top was a multitude of surgical devices. A brand new pair of forceps and retractors lay next to a neatly arranged line of shining scalpels. Besides those were neatly folded white rags and a variety of surgical sponges stuffed into a mason jar. A few clamps, scissors and needles were stored in a clear box that hung from the side of the table closest to where Grayson would sit. In the middle of the table, surrounded by a host of medical equipment was a brown, labelless shipping box.

He lifted the stainless steel beauties out of the box into the air like a prize, the smoke from his cigarette swirling around them. They shone against the light with a soft glow Grayson only felt comparable to that of an angel. Finally, the surgical trays had come in. Grayson was giddy, a grin stretched across his face so taut the muscles in his cheeks could burst. All the anxiety of Christmas morning in his heart. He delicately pulled the rest of the surgical trays from the box with the slow, deliberate movements of a historian placing a piece into a glass case. All that was left to do now was collect more specimens.

Only after the first couple days of deciding to do his experiments was he able to hold off on playing with his reserved subjects. Grayson lounged in his chair looking over his sparkling new implements, cigarette in hand. He wished he had the patience to wait for everything to arrive but nonetheless it was all here now and with a few days to himself to boot. Grayson leaned back with a satisfied smile and folded his arms behind his head. Look on the bright side and all that, he thought to himself. The apartment was bound to be infested with rodents. Although he hadn’t spotted any himself, the unmistakable scratching and scuttling behind the walls made it clear the tenants shared the building with more than humans. Live traps were the obvious answer. One in the closet, maybe a few under the sink. He licked his dry, cracked lips. It shouldn’t be hard to catch a couple and the hardware store is only a short walk away.

Grayson was inspecting the weight of a sledgehammer when a voice called out from behind. “Hey kid, I haven’t seen you ‘round the place much recently. You still usin’ your room?” He couldn’t help but to cringe at the sound of the man’s grating voice. What are the chances, he groaned quietly. Another stupid word game to play, another worthless interaction. Grayson spun around with a feigned look of surprise. Practice made smiling on cue easier but that was relative. Even then it’s still hard to tell how convincing the smiles were, his mirror being as scummy as it was.

Grayson threw on a rehearsed grin, ”Just been working a lot lately. You know how it is, practically live at the job.” As if he would know what work was, he mused, being sure not to show any outward emotion. The man approached Grayson with measured, heavy steps, nearly taking up the entire aisle with his width. A swift action by the man caused Grayson to flinch instinctively, his head quickly ducking beneath his shoulders in a cowardly display. He caught himself and stood up straight with false bravado and a forced chuckle. Smoothing his clothing and trying to retain what dignity was salvageable from such a pathetic exhibit. Grayson began to feel hot, shame and silent ire colored his face.

The man was wearing a shit eating grin while raising his right hand beside his face, palm out. “I was gonna suggest a high five for the hard work but,” his smile grew, “maybe not.” He lowered his hand and looked Grayson over. Scrutinized more, really. After what seemed like an hour the man finally spoke, “Oh and by the way, since I got you here.” he paused and stepped forward, looking down at Grayson. “Rent is coming up soon,” greedily rubbing his finger and thumb together, “I don’t think I need to remind you why being late again would be a bad idea.” Grayson couldn’t help but grind his teeth with the force of concrete blocks being dragged across one another. With a dismissive wave his landlord turned away and wished him a good rest of his night with an asthmatic rasp. Grayson growled. The rest of the shopping experience was spent in quiet rage, imagining what it would’ve been like to whack the man across the head with the hammer Grayson was clenching.

Besides the infuriating run in with the bully that practically owned him, which he hadn’t considered might happen, he realized the bigger issue at hand was having been seen there by someone as intimate as his landlord in the first place. With the state of the apartment being the way it was, Grayson wouldn’t have thought to see him in such a place. His landlord hardly seemed like a handyman, let alone someone with the brain capacity needed to tackle a project as desperate as the apartment complex. As a matter of fact, he seemed as dimwitted as they came. Grayson couldn’t conceptualize a world where anything his landlord could do or had to say was worth more than pig shit. If it wasn’t a threat about the rent then it was about a fight he wanted to brag about or the latest woman he bedded. He scoffed. No self respecting woman should find themselves in his bed, paid or not. Grayson found him to be an all around boorish and disagreeable man who knew nothing other than how to hound the trail of greed with the haste of a ravenous dog, only stopping to bang his chest like an overweight, showboating gorilla.

The rain had stopped but the skies remained a foreboding muddy gray when he arrived home. Traps in the closet, under the sink, on top of the refrigerator, behind his bed and inside the bathroom covered all the bases. Albeit a bit overkill, Grayson was more concerned in being able to use his shiny new surgical tools as soon as possible rather than the ridiculous, and arguably asinine, decision to purchase twelve live capture traps and a sledgehammer. With heavy eyes, he lay agitated in his bed and revisited the incident at the hardware store. A humiliating display of weakness. What a sad excuse for a man he was. Even with a bludgeon in his hands he still shrank in fear. He dug into himself and found a pathetic, sick human who vivisects animals for sadistic, sexual pleasure. Bullied and assaulted by his landlord but ruthlessly decapitating rodents for the rush. Playfully slicing and breaking and snapping. Lustfully biting his lower lip as he relished in the neurotic artistic vision he would attempt to play out before him. Grayson stared into the cracked, water damaged ceiling. He found the monster that wore his skin. The void that devoured fresh violence. He found an abomination of a being.

No sense of confidence or poise.

No sense of courage or dignity.

No sense of integrity or decency.

No sense of purpose or being.

He was a vacuum in a shell.

The space between thoughts.

He was nothing.