Stead woke up again. His mind was sharp to focus primarily because he was awoken by an unfamiliar
sensation in his penis. His eyes opened to find a strange man in a white uniform inserting a long clear tube into the tip of his manhood
“You can get the fuck out of here!” cried Stead leaning forward to grab the man’s wrist, crushing it with his vice like grip. The man squealed as the pressure on his wrist bones made them creak, Stead grabbed at the tube and yanked it out not quite hating the sensation it caused
“Please sir! Let go! It’s only a catheter to drain your bladder, stop you wetting the bed” he was cut off abruptly as Stead’s other hand grabbed his throat and his face began to turn purple
“I don’t wet the bed!” screamed Stead, incensed “I’m a fucking pirate! I don’t piss the bed! Shit, who are you boy? Where’s Satan?”
The sheer uncomprehending fear and total bewilderment that passed across the man’s face, made Stead pause for thought. This man is a nurse he realised, paid to look after me by my government. Nurses? Nice helpful underpaid people. Government? Overpaid unhelpful people. This was Earth bullshit he realised. He released the nurse and sat on his bed. The nurse scuttled from the room a set of purple finger marks showing up on his pale slim throat. I’m back, Stead thought; I’m back here on Earth. A pang of nostalgia pierced his heart, like when one experiences a dream of perfect excellence and wakes to find reality lacking. Then the questions came flooding into his mind.
How could it have been a dream? So long, so detailed. What else could it have been? How did I break my legs?
Then he remembered the drugs, he had taken a lot. That could account for a long detailed dream of such bizarre content (and probably the broken legs to). He finally convinced himself, but sat there on the bed he felt he had lost a lot more than just a dream.
The next day, when Stead was coming to terms with his loss, he was visited by the police. Two smartly dressed, plains clothes detectives entered the room and sat on two cheap, plastic chairs by his bed, they introduced themselves as detectives Grey and O’Donnell. Stead treated them with the barely concealed disdain he reserved solely for members of any law enforcement organisation. Not introducing himself, not speaking to them unless spoken to and constantly giving them his best mad dog stare.
“We’re investigating the incident at the garage Mr Steadman, we’d really appreciate a description of what you remember from that night” this was Grey starting the seemingly polite interrogation, he knew this guy had an attitude but giving one back wouldn’t help, they needed to pry the information from him carefully.
“Watch the tapes from the surveillance cameras that’ll tell you what you need to know, you can’t learn nothing new from me!” said Stead trying to excuse himself from the conversation.
“Well those tapes were erased, and we need an oral statement from any witness to such a crime” Grey let a slight desperate tone enter his voice so this arrogant punk would realise the gravity of the situation, that is if this punk understood gravity at all.
“We’ve waited a long time for you to recover” he added
“Well” Stead rubbed his chin “It’s a bit vague really”
Stead was not joking; large amounts of acid can leave big holes in your memory. Plus the incident seemed to have happened months ago which was impossible because it had happened last week, yet the memory had age as if a lot had happened in between now and then, but nothing had except sleep and dreaming. Stead gave them a brief rundown of what happened ignoring their disbelieving looks.
“Do you remember being hit by the car Mr Steadman? Or anything after that?” enquired detective O’Donnell.
“I was hit by a car?” a bewildered Stead asked
“Yes” said O’Donnell “That’s how you broke your legs”
“Did I dent it?” Stead was full of pride at his surviving a car attack. The detectives who were now growing a little suspicious of Stead’s odd attitude and gave each other a look that said, this guy is guilty as fuck. Stead caught this look and immediately grasped its meaning.
“You fucking pigs can’t frame me up in this motherfucker! No way!”
“Please calm down Mr Steadman, nobody’s framing anybody were just making enquiries” that was Grey trying to placate Stead. Grey was scared of him, he had an odd look about him as if he was constantly on the verge of a fit of violent anger. Not to mention a vein pulsing wildly in his forehead as far as Grey was concerned that instantly made him a suspect for a psychopathic murder.
As the detectives got up to leave Steads anger peaked along with the volume of his voice.
“You bacon smelling cockjobbers, you even try to pin this one on me I’ll slice open your testicles!”
Now ignoring his unreasonable outburst the policemen left the room only for Grey to turn round and mention the fact that
“We’ll be leaving an officer outside your room Mr. Steadman, purely for your own protection” he added with a grin; he just managed to close the door when Steads rather full bed pan bounced off it spraying urine around the room and splashing it up the door
“You ain’t got shit on me Mr Officer” cried Stead “If I could move my legs I’d kick your ass!”
Several minutes of seething anger passed for Stead, sitting there in his bed silently cursing to himself. When his anger abated, he thought about his actions. He then began to think he had been somewhat extreme but though he had always had intolerance for the police he would never have been that abusive. He felt as though he had changed recently, some part of him seemed wilder more passionate. The young nurse that had attended him earlier made a hasty exit after some lewd remarks and having her arse roughly felt. Another example was the TV, they had wheeled in a small portable television to keep him entertained. This resulted in a bout of tears at an ‘Animal Hospital’ program in which a small cat had been put to sleep and the stupidity of a slack jawed gameshow contestant had incensed him enough to hurl the telly against the wall. He decided that something was definitely up. It was if his arousal levels had been lowered to a very anti-social degree. Not that he gave a fuck.
The next morning Stead discovered his ankle had been chained to the bed and a police officer was just outside his room, he wondered how they expected him to get away with two broken legs, high speed wheelchair escape perhaps? The same day he was allowed his first visitors they were Darryl and Stony, his usual partners in crime. They had a colourful background as small time hoods, drug dealers and were currently running a large tobacco smuggling project based on muscle and intimidation, all in all they weren’t bad people as such, just scum
“Alright Stead, you a crippled bitch now eh? A lightweight can’t take his acid!” said Darryl in a friendly greeting
“Ay fuck you, you nazi pig dog!” croaked Stead from his sick bed
“Stead, what’s up with the police babysitter sat outside” asked Stony jerking his floppy haired head towards the door
“They got me figured as a suspect in the murder at the petrol station, I was there but I didn’t do it!”
“Yeah we heard about that” said Darryl “what happened?”
After Stead had furnished them with an enhanced version of the truth, which made him out to be a bit more of a hero and the crack head from hell sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger on a bad day the policeman outside knocked on the door and shouted
“Wrap it up in there! Visit’s over!”
“Fuck” cursed Stony “Stead man, you gotta beat this charge and heal those legs dude. We’ll keep the business running, you just hurry up and get well”
“Will do!” said Stead cheerily
“Oh and that twat Shaun still owes us that cash, I was hoping you could do for him but…looks like it’ll have to be me” Stony informed Stead as he casually checked the odour level in his armpit.
“Cool, take care of that shit, man” agreed Stead
“Oh before we go, here a little something for you.” moving closer Darryl pressed a small package into Steads hands “Stay up man!”
“See yaaaa!” intoned Stead in his favourite mongoloid voice
“Seeee yaaaa!” echoed Stony as he left the room, closing the door behind him
Stead waited several minutes until everything had quietened down outside, then he opened his package. It contained a small amount of skunkweed, some papers and a lighter.
“Ooh baby!” giggled Stead as he put three papers together and hastily started to roll up.
Daryl and Stony sauntered past the police guard, letting waves of disregard roll off them. As they reached the further end of the corridor Stony considered something aloud
“You sure it was a good idea to soak those papers in LSD?”
“You stupid? Heat destroys LSD it wouldn’t work if he smoked it.” was Darryl’s reply
“Oh so you were just fucking with me?” Stony seemed relieved, the joke was gnawing on his conscience just a little. Slipping drugs to unwary friends was accepted custom among his peer group but dosing a guy chained to a hospital bed surrounded with police stank of a bad trip.
“Yeah of course I was fucking with you, I smeared the glue on the papers with LSD. That way when he licks the glue he’ll get a whopping dose!” Darryl was pleased so he split a grin and placed his hand in the air “High five!” he called.
Stony stared “Not cool” then he to split a grin “funny though….”
The police officer outside the door had a name, his name was Tom. Tom was a simple man, devoutly religious in a particularly unquestioning way. He had very banal views on life, right and wrong. His consciousness was polarised thus he was denied the deeper meanings. Being a police officer, he perceived himself as an avatar of clearcut justice, operating in a universe of sharp contrast. By capturing state appointed criminals he was ensuring himself a place in his preferred afterlife. Death was a big concern for Tom; this he was worrying about when he smelt the smoke. Fire! Was his first thought, he looked up and down the deserted corridor looking for smoke signals, seeing none he took a deep sniff, the smoke had a distinctly herbal smell, It was a smell he was familiar with; it was cannabis! Jumping to his feet he turned and noticed thin tendrils of smoke curling from underneath the suspect’s door. That scabby bastard! Tom thought, smoking weed in the hospital! Tom grabbed the handle of the door fully intending to give the little cunt a cuffing. The door swung open revealing a room cloaked in darkness, great wafts of smoke billowed out into Tom’s face choking him, covering his mouth with his hand he entered the smog filled room and felt along the wall for the light switch, he flicked it on and nothing happened. Now growing nervous due to a barely perceptible babbling that was emanating from the murk he flicked the switch repeatedly in the foolish hope that the frantic action would somehow compel the light to work. When this failed he tried to compose himself, he had no reason to be scared he was in a dark room with a scumbag cripple, nothing to worry about. Now with new confidence he entered the room but as the door behind him closed of its own will that confidence vanished leaving a dark fear filled void in his heart. A dim green light appeared, its luminescence diffused by the smoke in the room, the light hovered bobbing gently. Then as it grew in intensity it allowed Tom to see more of what was happening in the room. The light was being clutched by a withered looking bald man in a long dirty black coat. The man was bent over the suspects bed drooling. The suspect writhed and babbled on the bed, sweating profusely. The lights intensity grew filling the room with shifting patterns of green light, revealing Tom. The bald man looked up slowly noticing Tom for the first time; the man seemed unconcerned at his presence. As Tom looked into those small black eyes he saw a small burst of blue fire in them; Toms will collapsed and he slumped to the floor. Everything he believed in failed to help him. The Thief’s stare stole his courage, his dignity, his love and his hope. Tom lay on the floor, a sobbing wreck watching the strangely silent approach of two black boots, one of which was brought swiftly down onto his neck taking the last thing Tom had to offer, his life.