Pauperdelle - Chapter 3: Merrifield

June 11 at 9:00 PM

"Jizmann, get a load of this," I said, turning up the volume.

"I'm standing outside of the Merrifield psychiatric hospital," said the raven-haired newscaster, "where authorities lost contact with the facility just a few hours ago. There are reports of gunfire, but no confirmed casualties at this time."

Jizmann took a sip of his coffee. "What's the name of the hospital?"

"Merrifield," I read off the side of his mug.

"Now that's messed up," he grinned.

"Where did you get that?"

"From the kitchen. There's a whole cabinet full of them."

Indeed there was. There were Merrifield pens, napkins, coffee mugs, even creamer. Everything was branded with its holy name.

"Sure we're not in Merrifield?" Jizmann chuckled.

"This is Pauperdelle, not Merrifield," I replied. "Do you see a SWAT team waiting outside? Commandos ready to burst through the window? Trust me, we're light-years away from that mess. And besides, with the recent budget cuts, I wouldn't be surprised if the two hospitals were pooling their resources."

"Whatever you say, man."

I wasn't sure why I bothered including Jizmann in the conversation. He was a troublemaker and compulsive liar. Every other word that came out of his mouth was bullshit.

"Any hostages?" said Jizmann.

"I don't know. She didn't say."

"There are always hostages," he gulped down the last of his coffee.

I turned my attention back to the tube.

"We're cutting over to a live report from inside the hospital," said the reporter. "Steve, what can you tell us?"

"Thanks Carolyn," Steve smiled for the camera, showing off his perfect teeth. "I'm standing here live inside the main gate of the Merrifield ward where negotiators have just secured the release of the remaining hospital medical staff. So far everyone appears to be in good health and there are no reports of fatalities on either side."

"Bullshit," Jizmann hurled his coffee mug into the television. The screen exploded in a dazzling burst of light and glass.

"What did you do that for?" I put my face in his. "The Pittsburg Steelers are kicking off the regular season in three weeks. How in the hell are we supposed to watch them now?"

"I guess you'll have to watch them from the bar, bitch," he smirked.

I scooped him up and slammed him on the floor. Jizmann was surprisingly strong for his abbreviated size. Still I was able to pin him down, my hands converging on his throat.

Impossibly the broadcast continued.

"And in related news, the director of the Pauperdelle psychiatric ward resigned today amid allegations that he was having an affair with one of the patients. In his place, the board voted unanimously 10-1 for his replacement, Mr. Corey Cahill, a current resident at Pauperdelle, with one abstaining to vote."

I gaped at the shattered screen. All I could make out was the reporter's blue eyes and a fractured image of myself taken during better times. But it was enough. Enough to know that improbably all this was real.

"Congratulations, Director Cahill," Jizmann managed. "Could you let go of my neck?"