Voices IV

Links to the previous Chapters of the "Voices" series can be found at the end of this story.

The Nightmare

"Mom! Mom! No! Don’t go!" Timothy's voice wavered with panic as he reached out, desperate to stop her.

But he couldn’t reach her as she faded into a cloud of light. Timothy wept, overwhelmed by the thought that he might never see her again.

Timothy snapped awake, restrained to the hospital bed, his skin clammy with a cold sweat. “Help! Someone help me!” he shouted, his voice rough and trembling.

A large, muscular man stepped into the room, his voice hard and commanding. “Shut it down.”

“But I need help. I’m scared,” Timothy said, his voice was shaky.

“We’re not here to coddle you, Timothy.”

“Then why am I here?”

“You’re here because you killed your mother.”

“I did not kill my mother. Timothy killed her.”

“Shut your mouth up kid, you’re delusional.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so mean. I’m a good person.”

“People that kill their own mother are not good people.”

“Again sir, I did not kill my mother. It was Timothy that killed her. Now let me out of here. I have a concert to get ready for tonight.”

The Incident Report

Correctional Officer’s Incident Report

City of Orange Men’s Correctional Facility

South Wing – Mental Ward

Officer Name: Correctional Officer Jansen Thomas

Inmate Name: Timothy Andrews

Inmate ID: ASWM932

Date of Incident: Thursday, October 7, 1982

Time of Incident: Approximately 9:45 AM

Report Summary:

At approximately 9:45 AM, while assisting another inmate in the South Wing of the Mental Ward, I heard inmate Timothy Andrews calling out for help. His tone was urgent and his voice shaky, suggesting distress.

Upon entering the room, I observed that Mr. Andrews appeared to be in a delusional state. His demeanor was noticeably agitated, though he was not combative.

During the interaction, Mr. Andrews referred to himself in the third person and exhibited signs of disassociation, speaking as if he were identifying as someone else.

Action Taken:

I ensured that Mr. Andrews posed no immediate threat to himself or others and informed the medical staff on duty of his condition for further evaluation and monitoring.

Submitted by:

Correctional Officer Jansen Thomas

City of Orange Men’s Correctional Facility

South Wing – Mental Ward

Date Submitted: Thursday, October 7, 1982

An Altercation

Later that afternoon, Jansen Thomas stood in Timothy Andrews’ room, his muscular frame filling the doorway. "Alright, Andrews, time to move," he commanded, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.

Timothy lay strapped to the bed, his blonde hair damp with sweat and blue eyes blazing. He didn't respond.

Jansen stepped closer, his heavy boots echoing. "Get up. Don’t make me ask again."

Timothy twisted against the restraints, his body was tense. "You’re not my boss," he shot back defiantly.

Jansen muttered, "Here we go again," and began unlocking the restraints. "Walk yourself out, or I'll make you move. Your choice, kid."

As soon as Timothy was free, he swung at Jansen, landing a fist on the officer's shoulder. "Get off me!" he yelled.

Unfazed, Jansen replied, "Wrong answer." He grabbed Timothy’s wrist, twisting it to prevent another strike. Timothy thrashed, but Jansen held firm. "You think I’ve got all day?"

Timothy lunged, biting Jansen’s forearm. The officer grunted in pain but didn’t release him. "You’ve got a lot of nerve, kid." He yanked Timothy’s head back, forcing him to release his bite. "You done yet, or do I need to get rougher?"

With practiced efficiency, Jansen wrestled Timothy into a sitting position and pinned him against the bed and hoisted him into a wheelchair, securing the straps tightly. "You’re not in charge here, Andrews. You don’t get to call the shots"

Leaning close, Jansen added coldly, "Dr. Havelock’s waiting, and you’re going whether you like it or not."

Timothy's glare remained, but his breathing slowed as the fight drained from him.

Jansen pushed the wheelchair toward the door. "Let’s go, Andrews. I’m not in the mood to babysit."

The squeaky wheels echoed down the corridor as Jansen marched on, leaving Timothy silent but seething. The battle wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

Doctor Havelock’s Visit

Entering the interrogation room, Jansen pushed Timothy’s wheelchair up to the table where Dr. Havelock was sitting. He nodded at Havelock, then politely left the room.

“Timothy,” Dr. Havelock lowered his glasses, “this is not the ideal setting for a seventeen-year-old minor.”

“Your name is Havelock, correct?”

“That’s correct, Timothy.”

“I have a beef with you.”

“Is that so? Go on.”

“Why do you insist on calling me Timothy? My name is Rick Henry.”

“I’m sorry, Rick. My mistake.”

“Timothy has told me all about you. You’re his psychoanalyst.”

“You and Timothy are open with each other. How do you feel about that?”

“Drop that psychoanalytical mumbo jumbo. I know about your techniques. Timothy warned me about you. He said you’re sneaky.”

Havelock nodded in agreement and let Timothy continue talking.

“Timothy is afraid of you. He won’t admit it, but I can tell. However, you do not scare me. I can see right through your form of hypnotism.”

“I have a question for you, Rick.”

“Shoot, Havelock.”

“Where is Timothy right now?”

“That’s another one of your trick questions. I’m on to you, Havelock. I’ve already said too much. This conversation is finished.”

Havelock closed his notebook and agreed, “It’s your call, Rick.”

“Well, wait, Dr. Havelock, why am I locked up here?”

“Well, Rick, it’s not you that’s…”

Timothy cut in, “No, Doctor, Rick just left. This is Timothy.”

🤐🤐🤐🤐🤐

"Doctor Havelock (The Song)

Lyrics written by Rick Henry Christopher

Song Concept by Rick Henry Christopher

🤐🤐🤐🤐🤐

🤐🤐🤐🤐🤐

With Mysterious Curiosity, RHC 🤐