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“Come on, you guys! It’s gonna be kewl!”
“Cartman, this has gotta be your dumbest plan yet”. Stan says, reluctantly trudging along.
“Oh, it won’t be so dumb when we’re so rich Tolkien will be embarrassed to look at us!”
“Stan is right, fatass”. Kyle adds, his face a skeptical frown. “Where the hell did you learn there’s a guy here who’s hidden a treasure and is willing to tell us where to find it anyway?”
Kenny nods in silent agreement.
“I told you, guys! Stan’s uncle told me he knows a guy who knows a guy who buried a treasure in the woods over ten years ago and he never had the chance to unbury it himself. So the treasure is still there, right under our noses”.
“Uncle Jimbo was probably wasted when he was telling you all that crap”.
“You know what? Fine! I’m going inside, and I’m keeping all the treasure to mahself! You assholes don’t deserve a single penny!”
The other three boys stare at each other with distrust about Eric’s words. But in the end, they relent and go on ahead – however hesitantly – walking towards the South Park Mental Hospital.
Life is bland, dull, devoid of meaning. It has been this way for a long time. Scott does not know for how long. It is not exactly easy to say when your only indication of time is a nurse opening a sterile, white door of an equally stark, white room to feed you, or – on rarer occasions – take you out for a walk. (As if you were a fucking dog.)
They don’t trust him to go to the cafeteria anymore, since he never eats anything, so they mostly feed him themselves.
Scott is sleepy, and so, so tired. He is exhausted of existing. One would think someone with absolutely nothing to do would be the exact opposite of tired.
But that is not the case for him.
It would have been much more bearable if he could get more than half-an-hour of uninterrupted sleep. Yet, when he closes his eyes, he always sees him. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t appear immediately, eventually he always returns to haunt Scott. It’s as if everything he has already done is not enough, and he wants to suck all possible forms of life energy out of Scott, until there is nothing more than a hollow husk left. (Well, if it is possible for Scott to deteriorate any more…)
And he is constantly smiling, slightly crooked baby teeth showing – the smile threatening to split his round, ugly face in half – bragging while laughing diabolically, his icy-blue eyes full of mirth and piercing through Scott’s entire being, who feels so weak, so unable to stand up to this ungodly creature.
Not that staying awake is much better, no.
Usually, all his head does is replay every memory he has of him: from their very first meeting, when his worst nightmare had just been a stupid little boy who asked Scott how he could seem more mature, to their very last, when he and another kid brought Scott a basket full of fruit, happily letting it down in front of him, just next to his parents’ graves. (He still does not know what the fuck had transpired back then. By the time he was out of his stupor and started to chase after them, they had already managed to run away and hide.) And when he is not thinking about him, he remembers his parents, and he begins to cry quietly, unable to stop until there are no more tears to be shed, and he might slip into unconsciousness for a short while.
There are the sessions with his assigned psychiatrist too, a few times a week, but they’ve never been of any help. How can they be when the bitch doesn’t believe him? Each of their sessions is essentially her trying to convince Scott he never ate his parents.
Scott does not bother agreeing with her. Perhaps it could be his ticket out of here, but what’s the point? Whether he leaves or stays, life will be the same. He is never going to be free of this. Besides, if he leaves, he is going to end up in some kind of foster home for at least the next three years. No one out of his extended family would want him, especially now that he’s been inside a mental hospital. No one would ever want others to know the Tenorman family has sunk so low, everyone is probably trying to cover it up.
So why does staying or leaving matter? Why does anything matter anymore?
Mom and Dad are never coming back. (Sometimes he half-expects this whole thing to be a prank of some sort, and eventually, he's finally going to meet them again and see they're alive and well. He misses them.) Nothing is ever going to be the same.
He used to have a life each and every one of his peers would want to have and now he has nothing.
“Come on, Scott. It’s time for a little walk”. He didn’t even realize the door was being opened, folded in two on the small bed he has as he was, until there’s a nurse standing in the doorway.
The last thing he wants to do is walk, but he also does not feel like talking to argue. So he gets on his feet, approaching the man who is offering him what could be considered an encouraging smile.
“Nice. Let’s go”. He closes the door behind him. Scott does not know his name: he knows this man has taken him for walks before, but he hasn’t bothered remembering it. “You look better today. How are you feeling?”
Perhaps it’s these stupid questions and the contrived conversation starters that irritate him more than anything else. He hasn’t seen his reflection in weeks, but he knows he looks like shit. There are bags under his eyes, which are puffy and reddened from crying, his hair is a combed mess and he can’t remember the last time the sun cast its rays on his skin. He feels worse than shit.
But, again, he does not feel like talking. “…Okay”. It’s the first time he speaks in maybe more than twenty-four hours. His voice is hoarse.
“Really? I’m glad to hear that”. Scott bets that even if he told him the truth, that would be the answer still. “You’ve got an appointment with Dr. Parker today, don’t you?”
Is that the bitch’s name? He guesses it is. “…Yeah”. His feet are numb from all the hours he’s been lying down.
“I’m sure it’s gonna go well. Maybe these will be your last weeks here”.
Scott doesn’t answer. He doubts it, but there’s no point in sharing his thoughts with him.
“Okay. So, do you wanna go outside, or…?” He trails off, hoping Scott will reply, but it doesn’t work. He just shrugs. “Alright, outside it is then. I think you can definitely use a bit of sun”. The man adds an awkward chuckle at the end, walking slowly, expecting Scott to trudge along with him, which he does.
When the man realizes Scott has no intention of talking, he goes on. “They say the weather’s gonna be sunny ‘till Sunday”. He adds stupidly.
“I don’t really care”. Scott replies half-heartedly, dragging his feet across the perfectly white tiled floor.
"Then we can talk about something you do care about. If you'd help me, I mean". He says in a kind, upbeat tone as he's opening the glass door that leads to the yard for both of them.
The only response Scott is able to give is another shrug, and a slight shake of his head.
“Not much of a talker, are you?”
It’s funny, thinking back to how much he used to speak before, compared to how rarely he opens his mouth nowadays.
It is a sunny day after all, and even though it must be late afternoon, the sun is still shining over a yard filled with lunatics. There is a middle-aged woman who thinks she’s talking to her grandmother, a person of unrecognizable gender who has curled into a ball on top of the dirty grass, an old man wearing a military uniform (where did he even find that?) who believes the Vietnam War is still in progress, and many more. There’s even a guy who thinks he’s a rooster! What is Scott doing here? He doesn’t belong here. He's not insane, he knows that. But it’s not like he belongs anywhere anymore.
It’s someone else who should’ve been locked up in here instead…
Fred and Pat did show up to see him a couple of times, but it was Scott who didn’t want to meet them. He couldn’t let them see him like this. So weak, miserable and pathetic.
They slowly walk around the large building in circles a couple of times, occasionally engaging in a brief conversation. Or rather, the nurse tries to get him to ‘open up’ but Scott keeps his replies short and vague.
It’s been quite a bit since he was last accompanied outside, and he is unsure of what to do with his hands. Soon his fingers find themselves fidgeting with the long, untied sleeves of the straitjacket he’s wearing. They mostly put it to use during his first weeks here. He would desperately resist being sedated or fed (meals especially were a nightmare at first: how was he supposed to know he wouldn’t find human meat in whatever they were feeding him?) and thus they told him it was a necessary precaution, so he wouldn’t end up hurting himself or them. They still have him wear it – ‘just in case’ – but they rarely deem it mandatory to tie the sleeves back now.
His mind is blank during nearly the entirety of their walk, as it is during every time he is not thinking about his parents or… the incident. He doesn’t feel anything as he stares ahead, either at the other inmates, or at the snowy mountains in the background. Sometimes, he thinks about the future. Or the lack thereof. What once used to be a mostly clearly drawn timeline is now a mainly blank slate. He feels empty, as though he cannot think of anything besides the uneventful present or the recent past. There is nothing for him to be hopeful for, nothing to look forward to.
By the time they return back inside the building, it feels as if he's been sleepwalking for the past twenty minutes or so. There is nothing that could possibly shake him up, make him truly react.
Except for what appeared right before him once they went back inside.
He hears him before he sees him.
“It’s okay, you guys. Don’t worry. Apparently, that was just the wrong nutcase. But he’s somewhere around hyah, I’m telling you”.
That… that voice… That awful, screechy, childish voice… That ridiculous, peculiar accent…
(“Nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah! I made you eat your parents!”)
That little beast is standing just a few feet away, oblivious to Scott’s own presence, as he is busy talking to three other kids who follow behind him. He recognizes the two out of the three. The boy with the green ushanka and the one with the red puff-ball hat. It seems like they never take off those tacky hats of theirs. But no matter. There is only him in Scott’s mind. The other three might have as well not existed altogether.
And he is there, exactly like Scott remembers him – if only slightly taller. In his red buttoned jacket, the yellow gloves, the brown pants that might very easily burst at the seams with an abrupt movement or two because of his morbid weight proportionally to his young age. He’s talking, with excitement plastered on his pudgy, ugly face as though he never murdered Scott’s parents in cold blood, fed them to him and then proceeded to lap at his tears with disturbing glee.
Scott is frozen on the spot, his eyes unblinking. His heart skips a beat and he is pretty sure he has ceased breathing too.
Be it a fragment of Scott’s imagination once more?
It wouldn’t be the first time his mind is playing tricks on him using the little monster. (And it won’t be the last.) But no, this isn’t a hallucination. More than seeing him, Scott can somehow feel his presence. He is not entirely sure how, but this is exactly like that time in the cemetery.
This time, however, Scott overcomes the initial shock much faster. And he has no intention of letting him get away.
He charges at him, running unlike he’s ever run before, fueled by all the hatred, all the bitterness, all the spitefulness he’s been feeling for the past months.
Perhaps he hears the nurse’s voice, who is yelling at Scott, because he turns to his direction. There is surprise in his icy eyes, but also a tinge of fear. And fear is something Scott has wanted to see in those eyes for so long…
The cowardly grade-schooler takes a few steps back, not quite in the condition to run due to the shock, but visibly shaken. But even if he runs, it won’t matter. A little piggy like him won’t manage to even run twenty feet ahead. (Where are those stubby little legs gonna take him?) Not like that matters though. Because Scott is going to catch him. He is going to catch him even if he has to chase him across all the white corridors, he is going to catch him even if he has to chase him to the ends of the earth.
Suddenly he is being restrained: the nurse has wrapped his arms around Scott, preventing him from reaching the boy. He is telling him to calm down, and other stupid shit like that, unaware that the only thing able to calm Scott down at the moment would be his hands in a chokehold around that thick neck. In a flash of rage from being kept from his goal, Scott jabs his elbow backwards twice, lands a kick with an unknown target, and jerks his head until he feels it hitting the nurse's face. These do the trick and soon enough, he's free again.
The path before him is open. He’s so close, so close to getting his hands on the little devil it’s almost cathartic.
But before he can take the last few strides, he is captured once more, by two other men this time.
He fights against them desperately, as though he is fighting for the need to breathe. Alas, physical confrontations have never been Scott’s strong point and he knows that. It’s precisely why, when he intended to have fun with someone, he never resorted to physical intimidation. “Let me go!” He screams to the men holding him back, who are trying to tie the sleeves of the straitjacket behind his back despite all his trashing. “God damn it, let me go, I’ll kill him! I’ll kill him for what he's done to me!”
His words might be directed at the idiots holding him back, but his gaze is set straight ahead, at the little monster in front of him. He can’t fail… Not when he’s so close…
The nurses successfully tie the sleeves back, making Scott despair even more in their hold as his arms are being squeezed at an uncomfortable angle against his chest, trying to fend them off like a rabid dog. His hands might be tied, but that’s okay. He can take care of that later. He only needs to get to him…
His only option left is to kick, and it doesn’t do much, since it doesn’t prevent a needle from being jammed into his neck. Fuck, no…
Scott lets out an undefinable sound as the realization that it’s most definitely a sedative hits him. It must be quite strong too, because barely a few seconds later he feels himself getting weaker. His fighting gets less and less intense against the nurses. Mentally, he is pushing forwards, but physically he is staying rooted to the spot. His vision starts to become blurry, as the boy’s plump figure in front of him turns into a foggy silhouette.
He can’t stop… Not now. He can’t give up…
His will might be unparalleled, but his body is not helping. Their grip on him loosens. Either that, or his limbs are starting to go numb. Maybe both, because his footing on the floor is rather unstable and Scott feels himself slipping downwards. Despite his immense urge to pounce on the little devil in front of him, he ends up crumbling to his knees, and the fact that he has no control over it is killing him.
Scott quickly loses control of all his limbs, and he can’t stop himself from slumping onto the tiled floor. His brain screams at him to get up, yet all his muscles are unresponsive. Scott makes one last attempt to stand on his feet, but this proves to be a failure as well, and not long thereafter everything around him begins fading to black.
The last sound his ears pick up on is a lengthy, demonic, sadistic laughter full of wicked glee.
“What the hell was that?” Kyle asks in a panicked tone as the four boys exit the Hospital, following the path that would take them back to their homes. Eric was insisting that they continued with their research, but his three companions decided they’ve had enough for the day.
“Cartman, you’ve really fucked that guy up”. Stan says, his expression a mixture of disgust and pity.
“Yeah, did you see guys see him? He was all like: ‘I’m gonna kill him for what he’s done to me!’ and then those men held him down and gave him that needle and then he dropped right in front of my feet! His mouth was open!” The heavyset boy laughs. His reactions could suggest that perhaps he had just witnessed the most amusing spectacle in his life. “Did you guys see his mouth was open? It was awesome!”
“No, Cartman, it wasn’t ‘awesome’!” Kyle glares at him. “You’ve literally made a guy go insane just because he took – what? – fifteen bucks from you?”
Kenny mutters something about the whole scene being scary.
“First off, it wasn’t just ‘fifteen bucks’”. It’s Eric’s turn to return the glare. “It was sixteen dollars and twelve cents, Kyal!” Next on, he addresses Kenny’s point, or rather, dismisses it. “Second off, Scott Tenorman isn’t scary, you guys, he’s just stupid, that’s all”.
“I think we all saw how you stepped back when he dashed at you”. Stan reminds them.
The boy in the orange parka laughed, saying that ‘Cartman had totally pissed his pants’.
“I wasn’t scared, you assholes! He just surprised me. It’s been months since I last saw him”.
“Yeah, right”. Kyle chuckles discreetly.
“Shut your mouth, you dumb Jew! You seem to forget that Tenorman thinks you and your faggy BFF were part of the plan too”.
“I doubt he’s after anyone but you, Cartman”. Stan argues. “He was staring at you the whole time, I don’t think he even saw the rest of us”.
Just as Eric was ready to reply, the three of them hear a frightened cry coming from beside them. Kenny has somehow managed to tumble into a pit that belongs to a road construction site. Soon enough, a cracking sound is heard. The pit is way too deep, there is no way the poor little boy survived that fall.
“Oh my God, they killed Kenny!” Stans exclaims, terrified as they all gaze into the pit.
“You bastards!” Kyle adds on, his voice just as panicked.
And just like that, Scott Tenorman left all the boys’ minds – he was forgotten.
Again.
(Eric… Eric…)
They say that when you wake up from having suddenly lost conscience, you don’t remember the last moments before you passed out that vividly. This is not true for Scott. He remembers: he remembers everything. Unfortunately for him. He wakes up with the image of Eric Cartman etched in his mind.
He seems to be back inside his room again. The nurses must have carried him back. The sleeves of the jacket are also still tied, he discovers as he slowly rearranges himself on the small bed. But that’s barely a concern, compared to everything else that transpired just a couple of hours ago.
What the fuck was Eric Cartman doing here?
Scott needs to put his thoughts in order.
Maybe that pig came over to see him and gloat? To rub his total victory in Scott’s face? No, he was surprised when he saw him. That wouldn’t make sense. Eric was not expecting to see him.
So why was he here then? He didn’t look like he was about to become a new inmate, although he definitely should have.
Scott remembers him telling the other three something… about a ‘nutcase’. They were looking for someone apparently. Yes, that must be it. Since Scott also stumbled upon them in the entrance hall, and they were coming from the main corridor that leads to the patients’ rooms, they must have definitely been looking for someone. And apparently, they probably never found that inmate.
Whatever. Not like that’s what bothers him the most.
He was the last person that brat expected to see. He had the audacity, the gut to humiliate him, to destroy Scott’s life like that and then not even remember him, barely a few months later. (He can’t quite explain it, but that’s what it felt like: Eric barely thinks about him, that’s why he was so taken aback.) Not to mention how he laughed as Scott was immobilized and rendered incapable of giving that monster the strangling he rightfully deserves.
To say that Scott has hated him ever since the events of… that day, would be the understatement of the century. Scott does not hate Eric Cartman: he detests him with every fiber of his being, he despises the moment he came across him, he loathes that stupid brat. Eric has awakened emotions within him he thought it was impossible for a human to feel.
Fantasizing about killing him is not something new. In fact, it’s quite frequent. It occurs when he’s asleep, or even invertedly when he’s awake, Scott does not believe he has control over it. And whenever the doctors have him do that stupid exercise where he sits on a desk and draws, he is the only thing Scott ever draws. Eric being stabbed, Eric being cut, Eric being fed to snakes, Eric being electrocuted, Eric being amputated… And so on and so forth. (Or, well, what he knows is Eric. Scott has never been one for art.)
The thing is, killing him has always been just a distant fantasy. An indulgence of sorts to make himself feel better. But Scott saw him again today in the flesh. He heard his voice. Hell, Eric was standing barely a few feet away from him.
He was real, not just a figment of Scott's imagination like he usually is. And Scott's surge of hate was more real than ever. He was this close to getting his hands on Eric. He has to do it again. He will truly go insane if he does not get another chance to murder him. When he was the closest to Eric, he felt the most alive he has felt in months.
Scott needs to get out of here. No – he has to get out of here.
But escaping would not be advisable. They’ll go looking for him after a while, and that would just be inconvenient, because he wants to take his time with Eric.
Yes, the more thought he puts into it, he realizes that he does not want to kill Eric instantly. He only gets one chance to ensure that little beast endures the most pain possible, killing him at once would be a waste. Eric Cartman has to suffer first. Scott is not exactly certain how yet, as there are so many things he wants to do to him once he has him helpless before him he loses count.
(Oh well, that’s no problem, he’ll just make a list.)
Except, Scott wants to make this more personal, like Eric did with him. It’s what he deserves. Just trapping him somewhere and torturing him at random for a few days would be uninspired. He needs to learn more about the fat little kid who takes pleasure in ruining people’s lives.
He’ll ask around. You wouldn’t believe what some people would be willing to tell you with just fifty bucks. Maybe he can even keep a close eye on Eric more personally. But that’s all then. He’s still figuring his strategy out. He’ll let his thoughts flesh out naturally. It’s been quite a bit since he has had such a transparent, defined goal.
Scott raises his body completely, until he’s sitting on the bed.
What he has to do now is make sure they willingly let him out. It won’t be that easy, especially if they take his latest outburst into consideration. (And to think that Scott does not think of himself as a violent person. Not physically violent, anyway. It’s just that Eric has this unique ability to drive him out of his mind.)
But then again, he is still Scott Tenorman. He has been getting kids and adults alike to unknowingly – or unwillingly – bend to his will for years now. Convincing a few uneducated nurses and stupid doctors that he is healthy should be a piece of cake.
It’s been so long since he last devised a plan. Scott feels quite refreshed.
Of course, he will feel even more refreshed when he at long last gives Eric Cartman a taste of his own medicine.