Part 1 - Jane D
Story and Art by Les Garner
- Sixus 1 Media
The gurney creaked beneath her as the pair of overworked orderlies ushered her out of the elevator and into the waiting hall. The bottom floor of the facility was a place that both men hated being sent to. Thankfully it happened only on the rarest occasions, when a patient became so incredibly violent that administration deemed them no longer capable of receiving treatment among the rest of the population. This Jane Doe had come in only hours ago, flailing in a hell bent rage with a strength that was unbelievable though both men had the bruises to prove it. Sedatives had no effect save the injuries the poor nurse received from having to get that close. For the few brief moments the men had managed to hold the savage patient's arms in place, hoping a massive dose of Thorazine would ease their plight for the remainder of their shift, it seemed that perhaps they had things back under control.
As the nurse brought the syringe close, Jane Doe twisted her torso with an inhuman torque, wrenching herself out of their grasp and whipping her head to meet the nurse's arm with her open mouth, brutally biting down and tearing away a large hunk of flesh. Losing his temper, one of the men, a wiry, middle aged, fair skinned fellow with greasy hair and the faint smell of cheap cigars and beer about him, landed a series of fists directly to the side of her head. Little Jane laughed out loud, a cackling sound that froze both men in their tracks. Before the other orderly, a large mocha skinned man with the build of a retired wrestler, was able to regain his grasp on the girl, her left hand flew to the throat of the man whose blows had just opened a small cut on the side of her brow.
She squeezed. Nails penetrated skin. The man began to scream and something warm and wet ran run down his leg. Blood came trickling from the punctures made by her ragged nails. A stream of urine splattered on the floor as she lifted the man into the air, his feet dangling in a panic. Her blackened eyelids and parched, cracked lips pulled back in an evil smile, her brow crumpling ever so slightly around the blackened “X” branded between her eyes. Even in his panic, now held aloft a full foot from the floor, the terrified orderly could see blackness in her pupils, the cloudy fluid swimming between her cornea and the rest of her eye, and the pulsating blood vessels that all together created a stare that was the most hateful thing he had ever seen. The air began to leave him, replaced by nothing as the grip on his throat grew tighter, choking off any inhalation.
Just as he was preparing his thoughts for the coming blackness, Jane Doe's stare broke from him. Standing beside them was a tall, bald doctor, face wrinkled with age, wearing small wire framed glasses, and an expression of purest calm calculation, with a small name tag that read, “H. Van Meter, DPM”. Gesturing for the larger orderly to step aside, the doctor began to speak to the girl in a hushed, but firm whisper. Moving in close to her, he bent his head down to her ear and as he spoke, her eyes locked forward, blankly staring into space as she relaxed her grip, dropping the thin, piss covered man to the floor. The doctor then placed a hand on her shoulder and lead her to the gurney the two men had been failing miserably at getting her to lie upon.
Dr. Van Meter motioned to the larger orderly, “Wait here with her for a moment, Nathan. Watch her, of course, though I doubt she'll be any trouble again for quite sometime.”
“Whatever you say, doc. This one fights like she's got the devil in her.”
“Don't we all, Nathan?”, Van Meter said with a smile.
Dr. Van Meter walked to the nearby nurses station to call for someone to take the place of the choked orderly, as well as a nurse to look at his neck as he now sat against the wall catering to both his wounds and his pride.