#iron heights

WARNING: This story contains a scene of attempted suicide. If this will be stressful for you, please avoid it. 

The world was topsy-turvy. It was spinning and spinning and spinning, faster and faster and faster. Like a top. Yes, exactly like a top. One with blue and white stripes. No, yellow and green. Green was the color of money, and money meant power meant being on top of the world, which was itself a gigantic top. Not that he had either money or power here. He couldn’t be on top of the world, so he was being punished by having his own world set spinning. His head was throbbing and the walls felt like they were closing in on him, and everything was whirling around and around and around and around and…

“Please, make it stop! Someone make the spinning stop!” Though he knew the voice was his own, somehow it sounded strained and distorted, as though it had been filtered through split pea soup. Split pea soup was green, like tops should be. But the tops weren’t green anymore. They had betrayed him, just like his own mind, which was filled with thoughts that danced and spun like invisible tops spun by a dexterous hand. Hmm. Invisible tops. Those would have made for an excellent weapon. But he wasn’t good enough for weapons anymore. He had failed, and so his tops and his mind alike had abandoned him. 

“I am sorry! I meant to do better, I swear it! I promise I will do better! Please, just stop the spinning!” There was no response, and a nasty little voice that sounded like his father whispered in his ear. 

“Don’t waste your breath, you stupid boy! No one would help a failure like you!” Roscoe whimpered, put his hands over his ears in the desperate hope that it would shut out his father’s voice, and started rocking back and forth in the desperate hope that it would drive off the worst of the fear. What else could he do in the face of a world that kept spinning round and round and round and round? 

Suddenly, a bright light burst into his cell. Before he could determine where it was coming from, two guards came forward to block the light. 

“This is what you get for causing trouble, freak!” 

“Once you change your mind about talking to that bleeding-heart reporter, tell us and we’ll come get you,” one of the guards said. He stared at the guard in bewilderment. What reporter? It was the tops he needed to talk to, not a reporter! Then he noticed the girl standing between the two guards, and he understood. The guards were talking to her, not him. That made more sense. The guards never talked to him. They thought that he was too crazy to understand them, and sometimes he thought that they might be right. It was not a pleasant feeling, but since his tops had left him and the world had started spinning, any pleasant feelings were few and far between. 

“I’m n-not going to c-change my mind,” a female voice said. Her voice wobbled like a top upon an uneven surface, and he felt a pang of sympathy for her. He knew what it was like to feel like your whole world had gone topsy-turvy. One of the guards laughed. 

“Believe me, you will. A little girl like you won’t last two days in a cell with a lunatic like the Top.” The girl was shoved forward, and the cell door was slammed behind her. Roscoe looked at his new cellmate curiously. Whoever this girl was, he didn’t recognize her. At least, he thought he didn’t. Right now, he didn’t entirely trust his own recollections. She had dark skin, dark eyes that were currently wide with fear, and curly dark hair. In spite of their dissimilar appearances, she reminded him of Lisa. Like his beloved, she wore skates, even if they were roller skates rather than ice skates, and she had the same tiny, elegant skater’s build. Oh, Lisa, his beautiful angel! He hoped she was all right. The tops wouldn’t let him go to her. It was punishment for his failure. If he had gotten on top of the world like he was supposed to, he would be with her right now, but he had failed, and this was his punishment. He didn’t deserve Lisa now. He had been a failure. A failure! The world spun around faster and faster, and colors and shapes began to distort, and he felt a sense of overwhelming panic. 

“I’m sorry, Lisa! I should have done better! I should have come out on top! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” For what seemed like an eternity, he battled thoughts and images that rotated through his brain too quickly to be interpreted. By the time the worst of the spinning abated, he felt nothing but a sense of crushing tiredness. He couldn’t even summon a sense of relief that the spinning had stopped, because he knew it would be back. It never left for long. 

“E-e-excuse m-m-me, s-s-sir? I d-d-don’t know if you can understand me, but if you can-your dinner’s here.” He was puzzled by the voice for a few seconds before he remembered that he had a new cellmate, the woman-who-was-not-Lisa. His eyes darted around the cell for a few seconds before landing on a plate of food. 

“You may have it. I have no appetite at present. You see, the world keeps spinning and spinning and spinning, and my tops have abandoned me. You can understand why I have no appetite at present. Why eat when reality itself has turned against you?”

“But you…y-you’re so thin!” Confused, he looked down at himself. He wasn’t sure what was more alarming: the fact that he was all but skin and bones, or the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to care. Eating was…it was too much effort. Besides, the tops were punishing him for his failure. He deserved to starve. 

“It’s because of the tops. Don’t you understand? I’ve failed my tops, and my angel, and my father, so they are making me starve!” 

“Are you….are you all right?” He was puzzled by the question. Except for Lisa, no one had ever cared for him, and right now, even his tops had turned against him. Why would this girl, who he didn’t know, care about a lunatic like him? It made no sense. 

“Don’t worry about me. If you’re in Iron Heights, you have enough problems without concerning yourself with mine. I don’t want the tops to hurt you, too.” This is the only kindness he can do for her. He is a failure and a monster and a freak, and she should not suffer for his sake. 

“You…you don’t want to hurt me?” 

“No. No, no, no, no, no. You’re so much like my beautiful angel. I would not hurt someone who is so much like Lisa. You are good…too good to be here with the lunatic. I will not hurt you. Not you. No, no. I am a failure and a criminal and a monster, but even I can recognize a priceless, bejeweled top when I see one. You need to go away. If you don’t, the tops might punish you because I like you.” The words burst out of him like water from a fire hydrant; rapid and pressured. He can barely understand his own words, and he can tell from the girl’s face that she understands him even less. This doesn’t surprise him. He is not so mad to not know that something is badly wrong with him. 

“I’m so disappointed in you, son. How will a lunatic like you ever bring honor to the family name?” 

“Father, I’m sorry! I know I’ve failed! I’ll do better, I promise…but you have to tell the tops that! They’re the ones who are doing this to me!” Then there’s a loud bang, and he feels a sharp prick in his left arm. 

“That’s enough out of you, nutcase.” And before he can work out what is happening, he is claimed by oblivion. 

***************************************************************************

He misses the oblivion of sedation. There was no spinning there. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he woke, but he does know that the tops have been punishing him with a vengeance as he lays here in the top bunk in his cell. His head is throbbing and his stomach aches and the world spins and spins and spins. Voices sound distorted and strange, his tongue feels like sandpaper, and his father’s mocking jeers come more and more frequently now.

“If I’d known that I was going to have a lunatic for a son, I would’ve had you aborted so that I could have had a normal child. You’re a failure and a freak, and we would all be better off if you died!” Worse, this voice has been joined by other voices. 

“I’ve tried to make you see the error of your ways, but I guess some people are hopeless. If you have even the most rudimentary concept of justice, you should kill yourself for all the crimes you’ve committed.” 

“Crimes, nothin’! He should die ‘cause he’s a freakin’ worthless waste of space! Ain’t that right, Dillon?” 

“No! NO! Please, I didn’t…”

“Pathetic. What my sister ever saw in a snob like you, I’ll never understand. She’s too good for you.” 

“You’re right, Lenny. I loved him when he was successful…but I can’t love a failure. If he wants me to be happy, the best thing he can do is to put himself out of my misery.” He took the words like a punch to the gut. 

“You…you want me to die?” he asked weakly. 

“We all want you to die, you idiot boy! Of course, knowing you, you’ll be too weak to even do that, but we can dream.” He almost laughed. His father underestimated him. If his angel wanted him dead for her own peace of mind, then she would get her wish. It wasn’t as though he had anything else to live for. His tops had turned against him, he was in constant agony, and the only people he cared about wanted him dead. But if he was going to give the lady what she wanted, he would have to move quickly. Otherwise, his weakness would kick in and he would lose his nerve just as his father had said. After a few minutes of intense, desperate struggling, he managed to remove his straitjacket. He tied one end of the straitjacket to the bedpost, used the other to form a makeshift noose, slipped it around his neck, and then jumped off of the bunk. The fall proved to not be enough to snap his neck as he had wanted, but the noose was tied tightly enough that death by strangulation was assured. It wouldn’t be his most poetic or pleasant death, but he would escape the spinning, and that would be enough. His vision was starting to grow fuzzy when he heard a screech. 

“Guards! Guards, help! You have to help! My cellmate’s trying to kill himself!” 

********************************************************************
Roscoe woke to find himself in the infirmary with the prison doctor, whose name was Dr. Adam Brooks, standing over him. He was extremely hungry, had a very sore neck, and wasn’t quite sure how he had gotten here. The last thing he could distinctly remember was taking off his straitjacket. 

“What…what happened to me, Dr. Adam Brooks?” The doctor frowned. 

“You tried to hang yourself in your cell, Roscoe.” Now that the doctor mentioned it, Roscoe could vaguely remember hearing voices that had told him that he was better off dead. Apparently he had decided to act on them…again.

“In that case, how am I still alive, Dr. Adam Brooks?” 

“Your cellmate, Lashawn Baez, saw you hang yourself and screamed for the guards. When they found you, Correctional Officer Morrison rushed you to the infirmary. Their quick thinking saved your life, Mr. Dillon.” Roscoe was slightly surprised that any of the guards had bothered to save him, but since one of them had, it made perfect sense that it had been Correctional Officer Robert Morrison. He was one of the few guards in the Pipeline who treated the inmates like human beings instead of animals. 

“I see. How long have I been here, Dr. Adam Brooks?” 

“A week and three days. You were unconscious for two of them, and when you woke up, you were rambling incoherently, claiming that tops were punishing you, and obviously hallucinating. Warden Wolfe told me to ignore it and send you back to your cell in the Pipeline, but I refused, since you were clearly having a severe depressive episode. When he tried to say that that wasn’t reason enough to keep you in the infirmary, I told him that if he didn’t want me to do my job, he should find another doctor. Once he backed down, I had you put back on lithium in order to help pull you out of your latest mood episode. You’re not fully recovered yet, but since you’re awake and speaking rationally, I think you’re finally on the mend.” Roscoe looked at Dr. Adam Brooks in surprise. 

“Why did you help me? I am a criminal, and I have never helped you. Why would you go out of your way to help the prison’s lunatic?”

“I helped you because you are my patient. As a doctor, it would be unethical of me to deny a patient treatment that they desperately need to survive.” 

“But I was not sick, Dr. Adam Brooks.” 

“Yes, you were. We’ve gone over this, Roscoe. You have bipolar disorder. You may not have a visible illness, but when you have a mood episode, you are very sick indeed. You have had five manic episodes, and this is your fourth depressive episode and third attempted suicide.”

“I do not have bipolar disorder, Dr. Adam Brooks. I may be temperamental, but that is only because I am a genius.” Roscoe wasn’t going to admit, even to himself, that the doctor might be right. His father had told him that the mentally ill were weak, and he was not weak! 

“Roscoe, this is the second mood episode that you have had where you experienced mood-congruent delusions. That simply does not happen unless you are ill.” Roscoe scowled, wishing that the doctor would stop making sense. He couldn’t be mentally ill…because if he was, there would be nothing to protect him from slipping into lunacy once more. 

“And what if I am ill, Dr. Adam Brooks? What does it matter? As soon as I go back to the Pipeline, Warden Wolfe will ensure that I am stopped from taking any medication. He allows no drugs there, no matter what their purpose.” 

“You’re not going back to the Pipeline, Roscoe.” Roscoe laughed bitterly. 

“Don’t mock me, Dr. Adam Brooks.” The doctor frowned. 

“I’m serious, Roscoe. When Correctional Officer Morrison learned about your condition, he told Warden Wolfe that he would resign immediately if you weren’t moved to a part of the prison that would be less openly destructive to your mental health. The Warden resisted, of course, but between Officer Morrison’s popularity and my proof of your condition, there wasn’t much he could do.” 

“And the two of you did this…for me? Why?” It just didn’t compute. No one but Lisa was supposed to care about him…least of all the employees of Iron Heights. 

“Criminal or not, no one deserves to have their own mind turn against them.”  Roscoe frowned, completely bewildered by the doctor’s response. He just couldn’t understand it. Why–and how–would anyone show kindness to a lunatic?

The Flash #782