FicWad

Simmons tapped his fingers on the desk as he stared aimlessly off into the middle distance. He looked down at his notes; reviewing the stories Gerard had told various people over the last six months. All were different; some had only slight differences, while others varied wildly. Some had him held prisoner by the band and finally, he snapped. Some maintained that he hadn’t been involved at all and had genuinely been kidnapped. When asked about the confession, he had insisted that he was reading from a script and was forced to say it; his arrest and sentence was to be her punishment for him. Sometimes, he merely admitted killing them. It was as if he wasn’t truly aware of what was real any more. But more recently, the appearance in apparent visitations of Ray Toro and Frank Iero had disturbed him so much, that he had confessed his actions were premeditated; although the real reason had yet to be resolved. Gerard was proving to be quite complex; certainly he was not faking his psychosis. Disturbed mid-thought, Simmons glanced down as the phone interrupted his concentration. Even without answering, he knew who was calling.

“Warden Horley,” Simmons greeted him tiredly as he picked up the receiver.
“How did you know it was me?” Horley replied, surprised by the response.
“Let’s just say it was an informed guess.”

Simmons had mentioned his appointment with Gerard the day before and had promised to call Horley afterwards. It seemed that the prison warden was not prepared to wait. Simmons knew that his interest was in no way out of concern for the man and his condition, but merely out of desire to see him back on Death Row. The fact, in itself, would not be disturbing, if it weren’t for the fact that Horley believed Simmons and his staff to be incompetent and their security systems completely inadequate for such a dangerous and unstable prisoner.

“Well?” Horley began expectantly. “You’ve seen Way?”
“Yes, he’s just left my office,” Simmons sighed.
“What’s your evaluation?” Horley asked eagerly.
“Do you want to know what I think, or just my recommendation?” Simmons asked, knowing it was unlikely that Horley would care.
“Tell me your recommendation” Horley snapped almost aggressively.
“Gerard Way will be rejoining your facility on Death Row.”

There was a sudden pause in the conversation and the silence became almost suffocating.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to say that,” Horley finally admitted.
“No, I know you didn’t. I have one more appointment with him early this afternoon in my office across town, but you can arrange to have him collected afterwards.”
“What… what happened to convince you?” Horley asked, still taken by surprise at Simmons’ decision.
“Warden, what you never understood is that I was never needing to have my mind changed. I know you think of psychiatrists as bleeding-heart do-gooders, but I merely wanted to be certain of Way’s sanity or lack of it.”
“So you think he’s sane?”
“It’s not as cut and dried as, is he sane or not. The question is, is he responsible for his actions. He is, regrettably, suffering with a severe level of psychosis, but he planned it all out with the knowledge that it was wrong and he is aware that he’s guilty.”
“He told you that?” Horley asked, amazed by the comment.
“Warden, Way has told me a number of different things. Individually, they make perfect sense, but taken together, they definitely do not. He appears to choose his reality. He admits guilt, then denies it, then admits it again, almost as if he never said anything. He is suffering from delusions, paranoia and self-aggrandisement. I know he knows what he did was illegal, otherwise, why would he try so hard to cover his tracks? But he also thinks it should be acceptable that he did it.”
“What about his ‘seeing people that aren’t there’ garbage?” Horley asked contemptuously.
“I believe he is seeing them and that he believes absolutely that they’re real.”
“Isn’t that all part of him trying to convince you that he’s insane?” Horley queried.
“He believes he’s trying to convince me, but in the way he’s chosen to do it, he is as transparent as anyone else who tries to fake it. What he doesn’t realise is that he actually is insane and his attempts to prove otherwise only make him seem normal. I genuinely believe he is unaware of it.”
“So where do his ghosts fit in?” Horley asked, uncertain that he understood what he was being told.
“It’s hard to say,” Simmons replied with a shrug. “Maybe they are what’s left of his sanity, punishing him for what he did.”
“So, what your saying is, he’s really fucked up and deserves to die?” Horley summarised.
“I think Gerard Way is very ill, irredeemably so. But he is responsible for his actions and should be punished.”
“So, that’s a fancy way of saying yes?”

Simmons sighed. He never understood why Warden Horley always had to bring everything down to such simplistic terms. This was not a simple case by any stretch of the imagination and making it seem so took away the importance of the evaluation.

“You can take whatever interpretation you wish, Horley, but I want you to arrange to have him picked up from my office at two o’clock.”
“Wait a minute! Your office? You’re taking him out of the clinic?”
“It’s all arranged. He’ll be under heavy guard, there’s no way he can escape between here and there and there will be guards posted once he’s there. Believe me, Horley, this has all been thought through.”
“You don’t need to take him anywhere!”
“I want to see how he reacts in a different environment. He’s been questioned at the prison and in the hospital. I want to see how he reacts in a regular therapist’s office.”
“I don’t like what you’re doing, Simmons and I’m going to go to Judge Peterson and have this stopped!”
“You can try, but I’ve already said that I can’t complete my evaluation without this interview,” Simmons replied condescendingly.
“If you fuck this up, Simmons, and he gets away, I’ll have your licence taken away from you!”
“It won’t happen, Horley, stop panicking!” Simmons replied angrily. “Just arrange to have your men pick him up.”

*

Bob glanced at his watch for the fifth time and realised it was only a minute later. He hadn’t expected to feel this anxious. He hadn’t even felt this nervous before his first appointment with Lisa; but then, prior to that appointment, he had felt very little. Slowly over months, she had coaxed out of him how he felt about the trial, his life and finally Gerard. He had only spoken about him directly once and had still not even spoken his name. It wasn’t a conscious thing, it wasn’t as though he refused to say his name, but there had been ways not to say it. Such was Bob’s trauma; he had internalised everything and Lisa’s role had been to chip away at the protective wall he had built around himself. Now, they had grown close and their relationship was now far from professional. For the first time in months, Bob was visiting a new therapist and even though he was someone Lisa knew and respected, he felt extraordinarily uneasy.

He had given too much thought to what he was wearing; he knew that. It didn’t really matter, did it? It was just a visit to a therapist, but he was acutely aware of the interpretation some people placed on what you wore. He wanted to wear a simple black t-shirt and jeans with a smart, yet casual black cotton jacket. Staring at himself in the mirror for what had felt like an age, he wondered if it looked too much like his Black Parade uniform. He wondered what the therapist would make of him wearing all black. Finally, he wondered why he cared. This was what he wanted to wear. He felt comfortable. He was going to wear it.

Downing the last of his coffee, he glanced at his watch again, it was time to move.

The office was across the street; he had been watching it the whole time. It was situated on a relatively quiet street in the office district, but within the hour the area would be bustling with smartly dressed office workers, grabbing lunch and picking up dry-cleaning. Dotted amongst the tall modern office blocks were small cafes, bars, delicatessens and coffee shops; all the trappings of a dynamic business sector.

Bob sighed heavily before entering the dark, glass-walled building on the corner. Approaching the reception desk, he mustered a faint smile.

“I have an appointment with Doctor Simmons.”