Chapter 24: Richard
I once again dreamt of the incident at the so-called “Recovery Facility” – except in this case I was in Beth’s position, wearing a dirty straitjacket and being repeatedly electrocuted. I woke up with a start – how common were situations like these?! How many patients were being abused like this? I rubbed my temples – I couldn’t fix every problem; the Institute was enough.
After a small breakfast, I put on what I had come to think of as my “Inspector Uniform”, and I got in my car. I drove to the office and chatted with Margaret a bit. I then spent two hours writing a report about what had occurred at the facility – my observations, actions taken, who was involved… I didn’t really know if this was done correctly, so I emailed Madeleine, said this was my first crack at it, and we could discuss it Monday… she was supposed to guide me for issues like this, right?
That was as much paperwork I could handle in one day, so I headed out. Not to the Institute, but rather to visit Richard, the old inspector. I knew he wasn’t well, and I had questions. I had warned him I was coming of course – I wasn’t about to show up unannounced to a dying man. I probably should have been calling Madeleine and discussing yesterday’s media explosion but… I wasn’t up to it yet.
The trip wasn’t long – he lived in an old suburb on the outskirts of town, a green bungalow. The grass was yellowing, killed by the frost, and hadn’t been mowed in some time.
Richard opened the door with a wide smile “Come in, come in!” he said in a raspy voice.
I mumbled a hello and followed him in, trying to hide my dismay. Margaret had shown me a photo from two years ago – I expected a short, barrel-chested man with a full beard and big square glasses. The glasses were still there, but he was gaunt, haggard, badly shaven. He had lost at least fifty pounds. He was wearing an old housecoat, under which he wore a basic black latex tracksuit of sorts.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” he said as we sat at the kitchen table. The place was small, cluttered. I saw several sketches and paintings on the wall; and was a bit startled when I realized that they seemed to depict the patients. I clearly recognized River’s long ponytail, Alexandra’s eyes… he had talent.
“Ah, you like? I felt that taking photos would have been a violation of their privacy, but perhaps that illustrations were the best way to capture their essence,” he said. He paused, looking around as if he only now noticed the clutter. “Pardon the mess,” he continued softly, “I haven’t had the energy to clean much lately.”
“Oh, it’s ok! A man in your condition…” I trailed off awkwardly.
“I’m dying, and I don’t feel like mopping the floor. It’s ok, I’ve made my peace with it. I wouldn’t have minded living another few decades, but I’ve had a good life, it’s ok,” he repeated. Was he trying to convince himself? No, despite his obvious fatigue, he really did seem at peace.
“But look at you! Young and full of piss and vinegar! Where did they find you?! The post was vacant for far too long…” he trailed off.
“Oh uh, I got the job through a connection. I didn’t plan for this job at the Institute; it just happened, I guess,” I replied. I had to get a better answer for this question – every time it made me think of Uncle Doug and his designs and I felt guilty and fumbled the reply.
“I hope you don’t mind the rubber… well I hope you really don’t, because otherwise you’re in the wrong job,” he laughed, but finished in a coughing fit. “Serves me right,” he muttered. But he looked up and in a more serious tone, “you’ve been to the Institute, yes? How often are you there?”
“Oh, of course!” I replied. “I’m there probably 3-4 days a week. I’ve been to some of the dances too.” I was a bit surprised by the pride I heard in my voice.
His eyes widened slightly then he gave me an inquiring look. “So, you’ve been wearing latex – one of those latex lab-coats I imagine?” he asked.
“Oh, only at first.” I replied, but seeing his surprised look I continued. “Maker made me an outfit, so I’ve been wearing that instead, it’s much nicer.”
“Maker made you an outfit? You must have made a good impression then!” he chuckled.
“Oh yes, it’s pretty neat actually, there is a lot of symbolism in it – and I really like how it’s TE but it’s not and, uh…” I blushed slightly, suddenly realizing I was sounding much too enthusiastic. But at his encouragement, I described my pale gray latex robe, the hood, the cape, the addition of the catsuit underneath…
“Ah, Maker really has the soul of a poet. It sounds like the perfect outfit for you,” he replied. “So, you enjoy wearing latex …” he paused, leaving the question hanging but looking very satisfied with himself.
I realized that if I wanted him to answer certain questions, I was going to need his trust. And surely if I could admit this to anyone, the previous inspector would be ok. He was wearing essentially latex pajamas, for crying out loud.
“I… the Institute made me realize I had a latent rubber fetish. It’s been… it’s been pretty intense. I’m a bit conflicted about it, if I’m being honest.”
Richard protested “But what’s the shame in that? Latex fetishism isn’t very common, sure, but it’s quite inoffensive.”
“Oh, it’s not that I think there is something wrong with having a latex fetish in and of itself. It’s about the Inspector of the Institute having one. What if I can’t be objective? What if I get… sucked in, like what happened to Red? I’m supposed to protect the patients, not get my rocks off,” I answered. I must have sounded more dejected than I realized as he put a hand on my wrist and said softly.
“Listen Judith… we live in an imperfect world, and this situation is very … complicated, and messy. You are right that this could affect your objectivity. But not being a rubber fetishist is just as biased a position! Can you imagine an inspector who sneered at fetishism? You have to accept yourself fully, get rid of shame, because otherwise you risk projecting your inner conflicts onto the patients, making them feel judged. As far as being absorbed… is that truly so bad?” I looked at him a bit startled.
He paused, clearly trying to remember something, and then added. “Are you familiar with project 1083j? You really should look into it, it was approved 18 months ago in fact, but it never went through because of my illness. I think you will find it… very relevant to your work. It’s… I think the document will be clear, I don’t want to bore you with all the details, I would forget half of them anyway.”
“Thank you, I will ask Margaret to find it – it’s in the office I suppose?” As he nodded, I was filled with a mixture of intense curiosity and mild annoyance – both at his arcane filing system, but also wondering why he was so vague all of a sudden? Was he embarrassed? I wrote the project name down.
“So, apart from wearing rubber, what have you been doing at the Institute, how is it going? I imagine you’re mostly taking it all in?” he asked.
“It’s been quite the learning process,” I replied, “but I’ve already started implementing some new methods.” Seeing his inquiring look, I elaborated. “I’ve been looking at the patients who have left the Institute, to do a follow-up. I’ve already met three so far, and I think it’s showing the need for this, some of them aren’t doing so great. I think this task will keep me busy for several months.”
He winced when I mentioned how some of the patients hadn’t been doing great. “Which patient?” he asked warily.
“Patient 101, Beth” I answered. “After a number of petty crimes, she was put in a mental institute, against her consent. I put my head in my hand and continued. “It was absolutely horrible. It was a private institute that took a fee for each patient they took care of. Terrible living conditions, barbaric treatments. I don’t know if we will be able to help her at the Institute, but at least she, and the other patients at that terrible place, will receive better care.”
As his eyes widened, I continued. “I shut the place down,” I said proudly, “It was quite the operation, the cops had to get involved. I’m imagining the court cases will take years, and this story will haunt me for a decade. It made the news, you know.”
“Ha, I will have to look it up!” he exclaimed. “I’ve been meaning to do a follow up like that for years, but I never got around to it. Another of my failures. It’s an excellent idea, and I hope you pursue it. Hopefully not every patient who left the Institute is struggling!”
There was another moment of silence, and I asked, “So, something that’s been bothering me… why are your reports written in that way?”
Richard barked a short “ha!” then looked pensive. “I think it’s because of the audience. It was a way for me to keep records, to keep track of my observations. But I felt it was necessary to obfuscate what I was seeing. As you well know, a lot of these details can’t be made public, but Canadian Access to Information laws means that there was a possibility of some of my reports being released to the press. Or a leak, or just some stupid accident. Plain writing just wouldn’t do.”
“I see, so uh, what is, ah, personality delamination,” I asked.
“Oh, that one’s rare, thankfully,” he retorted. “It’s when a patient has a split mind, like River, and the two aspects of the personality fully separate – it’s something to be avoided.”
“Ok, and, uh, BECMI?” I asked further.
He smiled, “Oh, that’s a more complex version of B/X.” Seeing my blank look he added, “an older version of DnD. The pen and paper roleplaying game.”
“Wait… did people play dungeons and dragons at the institute!?” I blurted out.
“Oh yes, I was the GM, playing Dragonlance… campaign’s dead now I imagine,” he replied.
I smiled at the thought. What a silly yet wonderful idea. I had played a bit in college and had enjoyed it. Perhaps…
I decided to change tack a bit. “About what you said earlier, about details which can’t be made public… we might not have a choice. I have been speaking with Patty – patient 127, the journalist who blew the case. She’s warned us that there are a number of groups who want to do projects on the Institute – documentaries, true crime podcasts, those sorts of things. The 10-year anniversary approaches. I’m afraid we are going to get a lot of publicity in 2-3 years… any advice?”
He looked troubled but then closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He looked at me and said, “Well, if it can’t be avoided, you have to plan for it… but what to do, oh I don’t know, there were challenges in the past, and there will be challenges in the future. It’s up to you now, I just don’t have the strength – or time. I lasted longer than the doctors gave me.” He smiled as he looked at me “I think the Institute is in good hands. You’ve shown some initiative. You and the others, you’ll figure it out."
We gossiped a bit – he clearly had very fond memories of River, but I realized I had the chance to ask about some of the staff.
“So, how did Dr Reed get involved in all of this?” I asked.
“That’s a good question,” he replied. “When I joined, they still hadn’t figured out how to help them – all that was happening was the patients were being given their monthly cube break. It wasn’t a lot of work per patient, but there about a hundred of them, keeping them alive and healthy was the most we could manage. There was no staff besides Renee, a few drones, volunteers from the Family association and that Boilerman fella. One of the first things I did for the Institute was launch a search for someone who could help us deprogram them. It wasn’t enough to get them out of the cube, if we couldn’t get them moving the patients would develop bed sores. They were actually better off in the cubes!”
He took a sip of tea and continued “I wasn’t having much luck, until one day Dr Reed contacted me – she had heard of the situation, seemed eager to help, had studied mind control and deprograming… it almost felt too good to be true, but we were desperate for help. And since she was willing to do the job for not that much pay and that passionate about the work, we had to give her a chance. We’re lucky we found someone so devoted, she’s helped a lot of patients get better over the years. Her mastery of slowly tweaking hypnotic files, on avoiding shame and centering consent, her input on the physio program, her willingness to put in long hours…” he paused and added, “She also solved a big emergence challenge in a way that startled me.”
Seeing my raised eyebrow, he explained. “Once the patients started reaching the emergent state, regaining a form of consciousness if you will… a lot of them were very fearful and distrustful. Dr Reed came up with the idea of us – the staff, visitors etc. – wearing latex. It smoothed the process and uh… oh what the heck, I’m dying. As you may have guessed, I’m a rubberist too, and well it was a bit of a dream to be able to wear rubber at work, ha! But to be honest, to this day part of me wonders if it was a mistake. The wearing of latex can be an obstacle to social re-insertion, but on the other hand it’s been ingrained so deeply, Dr Reed fears that yanking out would cause significant further trauma. I don’t know how to overcome this issue…”
I nodded. It was a pity he was in such poor health – for his sake of course, but also because I felt I could have learned a lot from him. He clearly had given the Institute a lot of thought.
He continued, “But I’m getting off track. Basically, without Dr Reed, the patients would probably all still be in the cube. She’s the one who figured out that the Baron had put hypnotic leads towards dronification, and how to take advantage of this to break his hold on the patients. She’s the one who figured out that these weird contraptions were actually physio equipment designed for people who had been cubed – it’s not easy to do physio on someone who isn’t really conscious, you know. I hear there has been grumbling in the Family association lately about the slowing down of progress but… oh I remember the first time it worked; it was such a big deal! Knowing that there was hope…” he trailed off.
Progress had slowed? I was going to have to follow that up. But… looking at him, it was clear to me our conversation had exhausted him. We exchanged a few more bits of gossip and pleasantries, and I made my excuse to leave. As I left, I wondered if I would ever see him alive again.
I got in my car and headed to Patty’s. I had offered to help her move – I looked at the clock, shit, I was going to be late.
I arrived at her small house – cabin really – to see a cargo van parked in the driveway. Patty and her friend Lucie, the hairdresser, were already hard at work loading her belongings into the van.
“Judith!” Patty called out “Glad you could join us! Can you help us with these boxes?” and with that, the three of us loaded the van in less than an hour. It really helped that Patty didn’t own that many things… We drove back to the institute, with me leading to show the way, Lucie following in the van and Patty on her motorcycle bringing on the rear.
As we arrived in the parking lot and exited the car, Lucie paused, clearly apprehensive.
“I haven’t been there since that night…” referring to the time she and other friends had rescued Patty and blown the case wide open. I could see that the chaotic memories had been awakened by the sight of the building.
“Don’t worry Lucie, the patients don’t bite!” Patty said, smiling. But seeing her little joke hadn’t reassured her friend in any way, she continued in a softer tone “Listen Lucie, it really has changed in there, they spruced up the place, it’s clean and well lit… night and day really. But if you aren’t ready to go, you don’t have to. I’m really grateful for the help you gave us so far!”
Lucie said “oh… I think I’ll be able to go… but maybe not today. I’ll just unload boxes and put them near the entrance”. Patty gave her a quick hug, and we opened the cargo door.
That’s when Renee showed up, wearing a burgundy latex top and skirt combo. “Patty! Welcome aboard! Don’t worry, help is on the way… and less than a minute later, dozens of patients came out of the back door – all clad in latex of course.
Lucie’s eyes drew wide as the sisters began unloading at a rapid pace. Lucie and I stood out the way, and Patty instructed the sisters as to if an item was going to her room or in storage. The entire operation was over in less than 15 minutes, with only 3 gloves busted, one box dropped and one shoulder rip reported. Latex wasn’t the best garment for this type of labor, but with the Institute having its own team of latex crafters, repairs really weren’t an issue.
Lucie looked on, trying to process what she was seeing. “Don’t they get hot working in rubber head to toe like that?” The temperature had increased to the mid teens, a sharp contrast to yesterday.
“Oh, they wear special devices to help them deal with the temperature”.
Lucie nodded and replied “I’m… this is very, very weird. But cool, in some strange way? Anyway, it seems only fair that Patty is getting free rent out of this. You know she never received any compensation from anyone?”
“That’s terrible. She took a huge risk, saved many people and got scant thanks for it. Speaking of, thank you for your help, Lucie, and I’m sorry I arrived late” I replied.
“Oh, it’s ok… hey how about you follow me as I return this van to the depot then give me a lift home?”
“Of course, I would be glad to help,” I replied “and oh, I meant to tell you, thank you again for the hair cut, I’ve been receiving good comments. I really like it!” I saw this made her happy, and not too long later I was dropping her off at an old apartment building.
I drove home and realized that Lucie was the only person in town I had gotten to know that wasn’t a patient, colleague or staff at the Institute.
What a depressing thought… but was it? Why was my mood low all of a sudden? It came to me later - as I got ready for bed, I frowned as I realized I hadn’t worn any latex today. But it was ok – tomorrow was Halloween. Thinking about my costume and plans made me both giddy and … quite aroused.