Dr. Severius flashed his credentials at the prison guard and the gate rolled open for him. The sentry waved him through. A drop of sweat slipped into Dr. Severius’s eye and he wiped the salty beads from his forehead. The prison staff parking lot was nearly empty, save for the warden’s truck and the prisoner transport bus. The psychiatrist parked his shiny black luxury sedan, taking a moment to compose himself. He did not want to be caught off guard if he ran into questions inside on this dreary Sunday afternoon. Dr. Severius managed to get to his office unnoticed (he knew the guards never watched the cameras too closely) and thought he was safe when he heard a voice from behind his desk. His plush leather office chair turned slowly to reveal Esk lounging in it.

“Dr. Severius, you are right on time,” Esk said.

“Um. Yes. On time. How… exactly did you get in here?” the flustered doctor asked.

“I came in undetected. Do not worry. Where are the psychopaths?” Esk replied.

“Right. The psychopaths. Cell Block D. I’ll go there with you as soon as I get settled a bit.”

The physician set down his briefcase, which upset and spilled papers all over the floor. Esk rushed to help pick them up. He held in his hands the scrawled notes of a mad scientist, yet found his writings fascinating and progressive.

“I prefer to think that I am ahead of my time,” Dr. Severius said with hesitation.

“You are not far off in some of your written thoughts,” Esk said.

“Oh. Really? That’s great to hear from a fellow scholar and researcher. Thank you.”

“You are welcome. Are you settled?”

Dr. Severius exited his office and strode toward Cell Block D, Esk in tow. The jeering convicts in the cages reached for his clothing and spat at him. Esk stayed as close to the far railing as possible. Some of the prisoners shouted at the doctor and called him names that did not even make sense to Esk. He doubted that they were meant to make any kind of sense other than being an insult. Once past Cell Blocks A and B, the noise quieted down. To Esk, Cell Block C was mildly disturbing in its calmer atmosphere, and Cell Block D was downright creepy. There was no sound in Cell Block D. The lights were dim, flickering on and off in some cells, and shadows danced across the walkway suddenly, unpredictably.

“This is Cell Block D,” Dr. Severius informed Esk in a low whisper.

Esk understood why the whispering was necessary, seeing dark figures watching with beady eyes from unknown corners of tiny, barred rooms. A few grinned and their white teeth shone in the subdued light. Esk did not want to disturb them, either. Unlike the captives in the other cell blocks, those in Cell Block D were all silent. Esk could smell pharmaceuticals of various sorts as he passed by certain cells. Some were medicated. Others were not. The psychopaths would be interesting to work with.

“This is it. Solitary confinement,” Dr. Severius said.

“Solitary confinement? Is this where the current psychopaths for research are kept?” asked Esk.

“Shhh! Remember what I said about not letting on that we’re doing research on them. We’ll be inmates here if we get caught, okay? Trust me on this.”

“Sorry. Are these the psychopaths we will be visiting today?” Esk rephrased.

As a heavy door lurched open, Dr. Severius nodded that they would be working within the confines of that space. He slammed the door shut behind them. Esk felt a tingle shoot from his head to his toes. His thumb was pulsating. Esk hoped that the psychopaths could not smell his fear. Dr. Severius opened another door with a key and swung it open. Stale air met them. They stepped into the first cell together.

“You blatherin’ id’git! Why on earth would ya’ come in an’ scream at me like that in church?” the Reverend Bandersnatch yelled.

“Oh, so this is my fault? You cattin’ ‘round with some young pretty face and I’s the one who’s gotta keep my mouth shut?” the Chief Gossip shot back.

“Jean, I heard you an’ Deacon Pritchard been rollin’ in the hay behind my back for a couple years now. What ‘m I s’posed ta’ think ‘bout that?”

“An’ just who did ya’ go an’ hear that from, Mr. Cheatin’ Heart?”

“The whole town, Jean! The en-tire town is buzzin’ with stories ‘bout you and Deacon Pritchard bein’ t’gether—in my own office, even—without any explanation b’sides havin’ an affair with ‘im. Now go ‘head. Tell me yer not.”

The Chief Gossip, Jean Bandersnatch, could not meet the Reverend Bandersnatch’s eyes. She turned away abruptly and began to walk toward the main door. Expecting her husband to stop her, she purposely slowed her pace from that of the busy-ness that she normally conveyed with her quick step. No words begging her to stop came. Not a whisper or a howl of pain were heard. When Jean turned around, she found herself alone in the master bedroom. The Reverend had not waited for her shenanigans to play out this time. He was gone.

Sam was at a loss as to what happened at church that morning. One minute, he was planning on tutoring Esk in the ways of the church, and the next minute, chaos ensued. Sam felt truly cheated in his own right, not having been able to explain how church worked to his friend. It was an especially hard blow because it concerned communion. Communion was of the utmost importance as part of the church service. The airing of the Bandersnatches’ dirty laundry sabotaged that for the congregation for an entire month. Disillusioned with the church and all that was going on, Sam decided to go for a swim in the slough to cool off. It was only June and temperatures were in the triple-digits. Sam did not need to be told about the drought. He could feel it.

Esk stood before the Council naked in his native DNA form. He addressed them humbly, glowing slightly brighter with humiliation.

“If I may address the Council, I have new developments to report regarding the Reverend, the Chief Gossip, and the research on the psychopaths.”

“Proceed,” answered the Council’s collective mind.

“I have introduced a confound into the experiment of communing with the dead. This was a mistake on my part and entirely preventable. The mission as a whole has not been compromised, however. The Chief Gossip and the Reverend left the communion service and the Deacon Pritchard said there would be a communion service next month. This will give me ample time to more fully research psychopathy with Dr. Severius. The research began this afternoon.”

“Proceed, Esk. You are doing a fine service for the collective consciousness,” came the reply.

Esk slithered out of the presence of the Council and got back into his armor. He headed back to Earth, bent on doing damage control. What he had learned of the psychopaths earlier that day had been a good start, but he craved more information, and now. He translated himself to the prison’s solitary confinement cells that night to take a run at the psychopaths alone. Dr. Severius’s warning stuck and nagged in the back of Esk’s head: “Don’t go down there without me.” Esk was not the least bit worried. Perhaps he should have been. Perhaps the psychopaths should have been, too.

Dr. Severius had approached the psychopath, whom he always referred to as “the prisoner”, with caution, as if the man were going to kill him on the spot for being in the same space. The prisoner was grateful for the few moments of light that he had while Esk and Dr. Severius were questioning him. That is all they did—question him. Dr. Severius would ask a silly question (or at least Esk thought it was less intelligent than necessary) and the psychopath would give a false response. What Esk did learn about the psychopath that they were studying was that he was an exceptional liar. He was also always on his toes—very quick with his lies—and never broke eye contact with Dr. Severius. He stared deep into Severius’s soul with black, dilated pupils that carried within them a black hole of hatred and rage. Esk marveled at Dr. Severius’s ability to hold the same eye contact in return—a steady stare—as if in a contest.

Dr. Severius and Esk walked back to the psychiatrist’s office after the interview was over. Esk was unimpressed with the beginnings of their research but thought it best to hold his tongue on the matter. Dr. Severius, on the other hand, was quite impressed with himself and bragged about his progress with that specific inmate.

“He seemed genuinely engaged today, Esk.”

“Oh. Is he not engaged on a regular basis?” asked Esk.

“No. Usually, he stares off into space when I ask him something or spits at me.”

“Is that improvement, then?”

“Why, yes, of course it is! Just your presence brings it out in him. I can tell. You are quite a different creature, Esk. I don’t know what it is about you, but you bring things out in people. You have got to teach me how to do it,” Dr. Severius said.

“Some other time. You will learn as we perform research together.”

“Very well, then. Tomorrow morning? Bright and early?”

“Yes, Dr. Severius. Tomorrow morning. I will meet you at the gate.”

Esk walked to Dr. Severius’s door with him and, as Severius locked his office door with his back to him, Esk translated himself. Dr. Severius went home that evening a very befuddled man.

The Reverend wandered the streets, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets, a solitary man. Sam went home to his recliner without anyone to talk to. Jean Bandersnatch cried on her silk bedsheets where no one else heard her. The Deacon Pritchard watched an adult film at his apartment absent any company. Esk pondered the meaning of this mess that he had to straighten out and understand without input from the Council. Dr. Severius tried to figure out Esk’s secrets unaccompanied in his small flat. The psychopath scratched profane and taboo graffiti into the walls of his cell until his fingertips bled, in isolation. The whole world was alone that night, or so it seemed.

Image by Chouaib Saoud via Pixabay