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| Scene Title | Crazy-Crazies |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Aaron encounters what he perceives to be a delusion in the bathroom of the psychiatric hospital. |
| Date | October 24, 2010 |
Crazy-town
How did I get here?
The headache woke him. It took him some time to swim through the fog to consciousness, and while he did so he came upon a clarity. At least, it was the closest thing to clarity he felt in a long time. The question is nothing transcendental—far from it—but it has some significance. Not that it helps him immediately, as he brushes the fog away, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting that filters in through the window blinds into his small, white room. He pulls himself into a sitting position and ponders that question.
Aaron Michaels is a ghost. That's how he got where he is. He let the world turn and turn, destroying every last piece of himself until nothing remained but a shell. A worthless husk to be tossed away. Only, unlike after the bomb when he was left destitute and homeless with the masses, he found himself in a psychiatric hospital. It was his own damned fault. He let it all happen, after all. He let himself slip away.
He gets up from his bed and stretches. Everything is routine and in order. He goes through his things just to be sure, straightening anything that may have somehow drifted out of place. Socks are sorted and rolled placed next to his expertly-folded shorts. Things weren't always quite as good as they were. Aaron is nearing the end of his treatment, with the promise of freedom if things continue to progress as well as they have been. After his workout, he proceeds to the shower.
The world turns.
Towel tied around his waist, Aaron stares at himself in the foggy mirror. He brushes a hand through his hair and decides it's probably time for a haircut.
The night had been particularly quiet and the stillness of the room reflects with that same still quiet air. Aaron is undoubtedly alone. Yet in the mirror, a single figure reflects along the floor. In the fog it's somewhat hard to make it out. Until it stirs. The blue jeans and grey t-shirt of the auburn haired twenty-something only make her appear more lax. Drowsily, she uses a hand to slide along the floor, pulling herself to a sitting position. For Samara, the night had been equally restful. So much that her corporeality had failed entirely. On nights like this she literally wakes up wherever the wind blows, pushing her beyond the limits of Rue's existence to find her own way at some unknown place.
With a gasp that Aaron can't hear, the girl stares at her own reflection and Aaron's within the mirror. She doesn't know where she is, even if she's well aware of how she got here, the assurance that she's not meant to be here is enough to create her shocked state—the nearly nude male only adds to the shock. Her cheeks pale considerably as her eyes widen and mouth gapes. She's in some guy's bathroom. Maybe if she remains perfectly still her ghost powers will disappear her somewhere else?
Where she'd been on the floor wasn't within Aaron's line of sight. It's not until she pulls herself up a bit that he spots her in the mirror, and the first thing he does is swing around, startled. But there's nobody there. His eyes scan the shower stalls, which are all empty. A quick glance to either end of the bathroom reveals just as few people as he expected. He's alone without company.
Until he turns around, then there she is again. He backs away from the mirror a step and turns around again. Once again, she's not there. A glance back to the mirror and—oh look—she's there. To his formerly damaged psyche, and quite likely to plenty of others in the place who are more unbalanced than he is, it would probably be terrifying. Instead it's intriguing.
Perhaps interest in such is stupid. That is, after all, all that bravery is—well-intentioned stupidity. He takes a step forward and looks into the mirror, trying to make eye contact with the girl in the bathroom mirror.
Maybe he's crazier than everyone thought.
The motion only causes the figure to freeze further. After ages of being ignored as nothing more than air, being looked at by someone other than Rue only tenses her body. It's eerie and uncomfortable, yet wonderful at the same time. To be looked at is an act of human dignity, particularly after so often disappearing in people's ignorance.
The eye contact only makes Sami's eyes widen further. A hand is raised to her chest. Normally she'd have taken off by now, disappeared among the walls, hidden away from her reflection, and the only way anyone can spot her. Her mouth moves like she means to speak, but if she says anything, Aaron can't hear. Her eyebrows furrow with an odd curiosity before she mouths a single word, over-annunciated, 'Hell-o.' She blinks awkwardly before taking a step back, creating distance between her and the only evidence of her existence: her reflection.
"Hi."
His voice is quiet, perhaps too quiet. It's strange responding to someone who had to go to such efforts to get her message across, and since he can't hear her, he's not sure if she can hear him. Aaron raises his hands as she looks to be retreating. "Don't go," he says. Then, realizing maybe she can't hear him, he gestures for her to come closer. Afterwards, it seems crazy. For all he knows, he's talking to himself and beckoning to thin air.
Certainly, he can't think of any logical reasons why someone would appear only in a mirror. It's like the total opposite of being a vampire. It makes no sense. He must be crazy.
She can hear him. Her chin drops to her chest as she considers his urging. Her lips press together in a flicker of a smile as she hesitantly takes a step forward. And then another, bringing her feet together. And then again. Sami's progress represents that of a nervous bride on her wedding day, completing an odd wedding march towards her own reflection.
Biting her bottom lip, she watches him in the mirror while leaning back and forth on the balls of her feet before shrugging a little. She takes another step forward, literally walking through him towards the mirror, effectively blocking his reflection from view, putting her own in front. A single pointer finger is pressed against the mirror. She displaces the fog with her touch, scribbling the word: SORRY in capital letters across it. She cringes a little and shrugs, it's a non-verbal apology made clear in capital letters.
There's a brief cringe as Aaron prepares for her passing through him, and then nothing. She just walks through him like he's not even there. He keeps his eyes on the mirror as he writers her message and he looks puzzled. "Sorry? For what?" The fact that he appears to be talking to himself is present in his mind. The fact that he's half-naked has mostly passed. He's not that shy and feels no reason to be around what he perceives as a hallucination.
That might be a speed bump in terms of recovery.
The question has Samara taking a step to the left, thereby no longer blocking Aaron's reflection. She points towards the towel and shrugs. Unlike Aaron she's painfully modest. Her cheeks flush at the notion as she shrugs again, before letting her hands drop to her sides. Her lips twitch to the side in an odd half-smile; wholly refreshed that he's not freaking out at her, even if it does mean a speed bump in his recovery. With a silent sigh, she floats back to the mirror, her finger pointing outwards again. 'SAMI'. She points towards her reflection before pointing back at him. Her head tilts expectantly, eagerly awaiting her first introduction in nearly four years.
Aaron's face colours just slightly when Samara points out what's bothering her. "Sorry." It's part of his routine: Workout, shower. Breakfast normally follows that. The introduction is certainly unexpected. Do hallucinations normally introduce themselves? He's not a shrink, how's he supposed to know? He gives the bathroom another quick look to make sure it's still vacant before offering his own name. "Aaron, Aaron Michaels."
Samara raises both palms into the air. No judgment from her. With another shrug of her shoulders, she turns to face him, examining each of his features in turn. There's a curious wrinkle of her nose and a small skip in her step, she's never met anyone like this before. She hops back towards the mirror, her delight at the introduction more than evident. At her name she presses her lips together. If he's going to use his full name she may as well. She draws an arrow away from SAMI towards a new name SAMARA BETH DUNHAM. Her name. She hasn't written it for ages.
Again she smiles at him, her grin broadening considerably. With another silent inhalation of breath she sideglances him and then writes underneath her name three words: I'M A GHOST. She shrugs again as if to ask, 'What are you gonna do about it?'
And one hallucination took the form of his roommate, and claimed to be her until she after she'd tried to kill him. Then it just mocked him for not being able to figure out it wasn't her. Psychotic hallucinations do things like that. Aaron's just a little more cautious now, so he only offers a shrug at her proclamation of being a ghost. A delusion is more likely, and he'll eventually figure it out one way or the other.
"A pleasure to meet you, Samara."
Delusion or not, Aaron earns a very toothy dimpled grin. With another little bounce, Sami's eyes light up at him. Normally people are uncomfortable with the girl who isn't, but with the notion of meeting someone other than Rue who remotely believes her existence is enough to bring a new level of delight. Her chin tilts upward to study him further, and she paces around him, with a careful inspection, discerning in its own right. With another shuffle towards the mirror she points towards her first name, it's what she'd rather be called: SAMI.
She smiles again before pointing back at him. She's pleased to meet him too, even if she can't say as much; some things aren't worth writing though. The smile disappears for a moment as her eyebrows furrow tightly together but only momentarily. She writes in the fog again: YOU MEET A LOT OF GHOSTS? More than anything she'd like to meet another dead person.
"Ghosts?" It's Aaron's turn to quirk a grin. "Ghosts, no." He almost laughs, but manages to keep the volume down to a low chuckle. He points to his surroundings, as though that somehow explains it all. After a second, he realizes it probably doesn't, so he decides to spell it out for Samara. "You do realize you're in a psychiatric hospital, right?" Somehow, he imagines she doesn't.
The surprise pulls at Samara's eyes, lips, and chin. But the surprise only lasts a moment as she sighs again. She'd spent months convincing Rue that she wasn't crazy for seeing the ghost of Christmases past, doing that again would just be too much work. With a small frown she points at him and shrugs. The unspoken question hangs in the air: is he one of the crazy-crazies, or… does he have other reasons for being here? Or maybe he's cured of the Crazy-crazies?
"Well, technically this part of the place is more like a group home or halfway house. We can actually be semi-responsible for ourselves." He nods, sagely. "I know, it's hard to believe." Especially since he's talking to the reflection of someone who isn't there. The condensation on the mirrors is dispersing, much of it running down, especially around all the lettering. "Anyway, I should get to breakfast. Go ahead and wander around to your heart's content. I'm not going anywhere." He heads towards the doorway, "Not for another week, anyway."
Samara looks over her shoulder at Aaron as he moves for the door. Curiously, she blinks at him; he's getting out. Maybe it's only the crazies that will ever believe or be open to her existence. With a quick wave towards him, she steps through the wall. Time to figure out where she is in the city, and more importantly, how to get home…