novelxo Chapter 4: Appyness
The two young men sat smoking over a park table, in the wind swept courtyard. Billy pulling down his sleeve over the cuts; stared hard at Frank. “Take the monarchy, an out-dated concept in the evolution of society. True it’s a necessary step away from anarchy, but no longer of use now we have democracy. The Americans don’t have kings.”
He stopped to drag on the depleted cigarette, as Frank nodded and shivered simultaneously. “Take the Americans,” he reiterated. “They don’t have kings, but Elizabeth. She revels in the merciless slaughter of innocent animals, and you know who else does?” He punctuated the question with his glowing butt.
Frank just shook his head, “I’ll tell you. Kids who grow up to be serial killers, one day they’ll find a whole bunch of bodies under Balmoral. It’s in her blood stretching back hundreds of years, ancestor after ancestor murderers by proxy. Think about the battle of Hastings. Why didn’t Henry just sit down with that Willy of French?” “Norman” cut in Frank. “No I definitely think it was William, so where was I? Why didn’t he sit down for a nice cup of tea, possibly some ginger nuts?” “They didn’t have ginger nuts in 1066", corrected Frank stubbing out his cigarette. “Oh yea good point.” Frank lit another two and passed one over to Billy, now into the swing of Billy’s conversation.
“Isn’t the monarchy is like an economic asset, tourists and that?” Billy’s eyes did the briefest of twitches and retorted. “So is Stonehenge, you don’t see the druids been given a Christmas day speech slot on the B.B.C.” A glazed look came over his eyes. “I bet she’d like that though, all those sacrifices and stuff.” Then he continued in a calmer voice. “Let’s go in it’s getting too parky”, and stubbing out their cigarettes they left.
Inside the two doctors witnessed this event, but in more ways than the two subjects were aware of. Yes they knew they were on camera, but the whole place was full of those. “It’s for your safety” Billy had been told, when he had suggested they were being filmed for Britain’s funniest loonies.
The two doctors had full sound and vision, but also a read out of vital stress signs. Little tells that gave Billy’s and Frank’s emotional state, an algorithm of the context of the conversation. The little variant in the intonation of their voices, even the little twitches that the two lads were oblivious to. But more information was both coming and going from this clandestine room. Because Billy like all the inmates in the program were encouraged to hum; sing or just choose music in the quiet of their room, with the shiny new smart phone each was presented with.
It not only gave you access to your favourite tunes, but also could tell from what you were humming or singing what track was on your mind and then join in. It was great. The phone made those moments better, but what Billy and his friends didn’t know was that it learnt his favourites, knew what made him happy. When ABBA sang about a memory capturing a heart they weren’t wrong, songs do have a deep rooted healing power. But they could also destroy.
Today Billy had started phase two. Now his phone knew enough, it was feeding a little of that knowledge back. When Billy’s eyes had unfocused, just at the edge of his hearing he was being played a familiar tune. This time it was walking on sunshine by katrina and the waves, not that he was really aware, it was just loud enough to suggest. Frank was completely unaware of Billy’s soundscape, for his own headphone was playing Mr blue skies. A discreet earpiece allowed the wearer to both hear the world around him, but at the same time be fed audio information direct from his phone.
In the hidden booth Dr. Peirce and Dr. Manning could monitor both tracks, and a read out of the lyrics, along with the conversation going on outside. They weren’t in control. They were just there to study and evaluate. Then suggest tweaks to the application now running on the lad’s phones.
Billy pushed the door open, and walked past the poster of two otters lying side by side in the water, paws clutched together. The legend below read otters hold hands when they sleep so they don’t drift apart. “Let’s get a bite to eat”, suggested Frank and they joined the throng in the canteen. Billy had been in Henmoor hospital for six months now.
“Bipolar Billy”, he had introduced him self to the group in one of his up moments. It hadn’t been the cuts or burns that had brought him here, it was when he had told the school psychiatrist about wanting to end it all, in one of the numerous visits he seemed to take to the medical office. So reluctant to prescribe drugs, the doctor had persuaded Billy to try this new therapy.
He sat down in the canteen with frank, and a full plate of chips. Above them was another poster, this one of a goat with a speech bubble pronouncing goats have accents. “That doctor Peirce said I was coming along nicely, I might be out soon.” Frank looked a little down. “Don’t worry, I’ll still come and see you. They still need me in every weekend and I’m not going yet.” He drummed his fingers on the table, while Frank was busy stuffing down chips. “Good co’s you still owe me that fiver, don’t want you running out on your debts.” That broke the ice and they both tucked in.
Over the next few weeks both Billy and Frank responded well to the feed back loop their phones induced. So one day Dr. Peirce had a formal meeting with the hospital board. “Billy Gellod has responded well to the treatment. Now I feel it is time to move onto phase three of the process.” An elderly doctor indicated he had a question. “What safe guards do we have doctor Peirce?” The doctor glanced down at his notes, then with confidence commenced to explain.
“The whole process relies on the Happy App or application, a complex program that monitors the sounds around it. If the patient displays signs of negative thoughts such as tone of voice, or key phrases for example, I just can’t go on, but to a much deeper level. Then it plays tunes that have been selected for the patients preferences to achieve a happy feeling.” “And this is sufficient therapy?” With zeal dr. Peirce replied. “Generally yes, but if this level of treatment is not enough there is a dedicated line through to a trained therapist. They can talk the patient down as it were, while a team would be on it’s way just in case.”
“And you have figures to prove this is cost effective?” “Yes in most cases the application is sufficient. So the odd one that requires more attention is cheaper than full time hospitalisation or chemical treatment, along with the preferable natural environment of the community.” “And what if the device should break or be forcibly removed?” The doctor raised a rubber-covered bracelet. “Should the phone be broken, this bracelet sends a safe guard signal to the nearest three relay towers on the cell net, and a team will go to the location of the bracelet. The patient is presented with it in a leaving ceremony, so the bracelet has a sentimental value. If separated from the phone the devices give a similar alert. And as the sound is being monitored electronically, we can send help for anyone who is being menaced.” The elderly doctor smiled. “Well you have convinced me of the viability of this treatment, good luck.” Dr. Peirce went to give Billy the good news.
“So I’ll see you on Saturday”, Billy was telling a downcast Frank as he picked on the corner of his desk. “O.K.” frank looked up with a wry grin, as he proffered the copy of the Chrysalids Billy had lent him. “I’ll want that back when you’ve done with it”, and Billy got up to leave.
Back home Billy bid farewell to the doctor. Home life had been good so he was safe to return there, the real test would be out through the front door, on the streets, where he’d have to fight his internal battle for the peace of his mind. “Want a cup of tea son?” his father asked, and he went inside again. That night he re-familiarised him self with his old room, put things in order, charged his Kindle. For some reason the image of kittens came to mind. Then tired from all the emotional strain of reacquainting him self with his family he settled down to sleep.
The week went well. Billy stopped at home for a lot of it, but made forages to the mall. Like a rouge lion searching for a new pack, he was on an even keel and it suited him. Saturday soon came around and an anxious mother dropped him off, he would place himself in the doctor’s care for the day, and arranging a pick up time he strode inside. “You look happy Billy”, welcomed Dr. Peirce as he led the lad through the complex.
Then over a cup of coffee they spent the morning chatting about Billy’s week. The doctor almost guided Billy through the interesting points, as if he were rereading a familiar story, and satisfied of Billy’s progress Dr. Peirce sent him off to meet the general throng of youth. Ties were important for both inmate and the released. Billy met his mom at five, his copy of the Chrysalids clutched in hand and a promise to bring more Wyndham on his mind. Thus so he passed several weeks this way.
About a month of his new life had passed, when Billy had the first nightmare. He was stuck in a room, and could just make out the big metal shape filling most of it. He knew what it was. A big killing machine with sharp bits, heavy claws and all manner of nasty things to hurt, and it was just waiting to turn on. When Billy didn’t know, he just knew he was stuck in there with it, powerless to prevent his inevitable demise. He woke with a start, and realised his phone was ringing. Then it connected all by itself. Dr. Peirce was looking bleary eyed back at him through the tiny screen. “Billy what were you just listening to?” He shook the dream from his head, “nothing I was sleeping.” The doctor looked concerned, “well are you O.K.?” Then Billy told him about the dream, finally reassured that the lad was calm again, Dr. Peirce bid him good night and Billy drifted off to sleep.
The following Saturday Billy’s visit to the hospital focused on the dream. Dr. Peirce assured him it must have been anxiety over the progress of his treatment. “Billy, have you ever heard Last Kiss by Pearl Jam?” Surprised by this question Billy answered, no he’d never heard of it. “Why was it good?” “No”, and distractingly the doctor changed the subject again. Frank was through with the Midwich Cuckoos, and Billy swapped him the Kraken awakes for it when they parted at the appointed hour.
That night Billy had another nightmare, with huge spiders wrapping him up. He woke on the floor wrapped in his sheets, and an anxious father stood over him. “You alright son, you made an awful crash?” Billy said he was, but in his heart he knew he was lying. For the first time in months he felt unprotected, as if the bullies were back, but of course they weren’t, it was just a dream. Still something at the back of Billy’s mind kept screaming, where was he?
Over the week Billy withdrew more and more. By Friday his parents asked him if he would like them to speak to the doctors. No he would sort it, and he shut the bedroom door. What was happening? He had done so well, but this last week all the walls had come crashing down, letting fear in. Letting despair over the threshold, pulling him down into the deep dark hole he had clawed him self out from once, but now did he have the strength, and was it worth it?
He reached for the box hidden behind his wardrobe, the one he had forgotten about from the time before. Black thoughts spun through his mind, like a tunnel leading him to his inevitable doom. He took the lid off to reveal all those razor blades; some black from old blood, others still shiny and clean. Billy picked one up between thumb and forefinger as he drew his sleeve back.
A burst of sound and light hit him, as the door broke open. Dr. Peirce stormed in knocking the blade away, and folding Billy in his arms he hummed a nursery rhyme, that the boy had not heard in years. The tears flowed, and Billy knew he was safe again. “It’s alright Billy, let’s get you back to the hospital.”
A couple of weeks later and Billy’s relapse was almost forgotten, and this time both he and Frank would be leaving. Meanwhile Dr. Peirce was in another meeting. He was finding out that the treatment really could work, and his research was vindicated. This meeting was with the cyber division of the Metropolitan police.
“You see doctor Peirce we had been monitoring an individual by the name of Tomas Midgley for some time. He had been preying on other kids both physically, and over the internet. So when we found he had hacked your system, with the intent to drive young Billy to suicide. We arrested him under the new cyber terrorist laws, an intent to cause harm or death. He won’t be harming anyone for a very long time. If you beef up your security, perhaps a V.P.N. I’m sure a safe connection can be maintained.” The doctor thanked them, and left the room humming to him self.