Chapter Text
–Mikhail Hackette–
December 18, 2009
2:47AM
The cold and suffocating darkness swallows me, my lungs burn as water fills my airways. My vision blurs but I can still hear the muffled shouts from above, the intense rippling of the water, the heavy feeling of sinking. My mind feels as though it's trying to claw its way back to the surface despite how the light no longer shines through the depths. The way everything seems to stop existing comes quickly, and seems final. I grip the hand in mine tighter, and I fade.
December 22, 2009
9:03 AM
My body feels like lead, cold and heavy in a thin hospital gown. It took me a few minutes to even manage to peel my eyes open. When I do I find myself feeling immense regret at doing so because of the mind numbing intensity of the lights bouncing off the reflective white walls and ceiling. My hands shoot up to cover my eyes, accidentally tugging on whatever tube was in my bandaged wrist and startling the young nurse beside me.
“D-Doctor Hashimoto! He’s up!” I winced at his panicked shouting, it irked me that he was so willing to shout in a place for the ill to rest. I languidly tilted my head up to see, slightly peeking through my hands. I saw a middle aged man speedwalk through the door, he’s tan, slightly overweight, with glasses, and neatly coiffed black hair. I didn’t take any interest in the man so with another sluggish movement I lay my head down. The doctor didn’t seem to share my indifference as he loomed over the side of my bed. He gently tried to pry my hands from my face to assess my state, I let him, I saw no value in fighting.
“I see you’re awake, can you tell me your name?” He questioned calmly, his voice was soothing and gentle. I had been about to make a comment about how close he was but then his question hit me, my name? Even though I racked my hazy mind I couldn’t come up with an answer for the doctor, now that I thought about it I couldn’t even recall why I was in the hospital. What struck me as the most odd, even now, is that rather than being panicked over my lack of memory I was more puzzled. Even as I tried to reason with myself that I should care I couldn’t bring myself to.
“My name…hm…I dunno...” I shrugged as best as I could through the doctor's hold on me. I found it strange, my words had come out so informal despite the vocabulary I rambled to myself with. Why were my thoughts so flowery but my words so blunt and…lacking.
“Anything, can you recall anything?” He asked, his tone still soft but I could see the slight way he grimaced.
“Nothing dude-...Doctor.” I started to genuinely get irked. Of course it's not because of my memory loss but rather my informal speech. I felt a staggering need to get my priorities straight, still true care evaded me. The doctor finally let his expression go grim and sighs.
“We figured something along this line would happen if you woke up, but not to this extent.” He whispered solemnly. I felt myself getting curious despite myself. I saw his pained expression and couldn’t help but wonder why he’d be so upset. I knew that was a quite frankly stupid thing to be confused over however the only emotions I had felt since waking was mild confusion and slight irritation. I couldn't bring myself to feel much more.
“Could I uhm…” Curse this body and its incompetent speech. That stutter irked you once more. “See my chart…please.”
Again, the doctor sighed but relented, standing to retrieve my chart. I wanted to feel pity for the man, but alas my brain remains only curious. As I’m handed the brown clipboard my eyes drift to the standard information I should know.
“Mikhail Hackette.” I mutter aloud, tasting the name. “Am I Russian or something?” I bite my tongue at the ‘or something’ such unsure and unnecessary words. The doctor doesn't seem to get that my question was rhetorical so he responds “Your ethnicity should be listed near the bottom.”
“Thank you.” I reply a bit too curtly by mistake but my eyes remain focused on the paper.
Name: Mikhail Hackette
Sex: Male
Residence: San Francisco, California
Citizenship: United States of America
Ethnicity: Hispanic
Place of Birth: Moscow, Russia
My eyes lingered on my name before I skipped to what caught my eye, the weird jump of locations.These locations and ethnicities were all over the place, was I born in Russia to non Russian parents? Did I then move to San Francisco? Such whiplash, whoever had me must really dislike staying in one place. All this was making the fog cloud up my mind once more, I realized I had skipped over my age and was thankful for an excuse to move on. Age: 14…Pardon? A new emotion popped up, I felt a slight surprise.
It didn’t last long, nothing seemed to. However my age interested me, it made me wonder where my parents are. I wonder how they would look at me if they knew I couldn't remember them, they might be sad, or disgusted that I wasn't. I didn’t know how I would feel, if I would feel.
The fact that I might have a family didn’t quite faze me, I didn’t know what to think about that. The only emotion I continued to feel seemed to be the all consuming curiosity of mine. I soon remembered the man watching, I sat up a bit straighter with a wince of discomfort, I turned to the man.
“Uhm, sir, do you know where my guardian is?” I ask the doctor who politely watched me stare into space for a minute or two. He nodded.
“Your mother is abroad…at work. She told me she travels often and that she couldn't come…sadly.” I blink, before staring back down at my lap. My bandaged wrist burned, however I of course don't remember why. I fought the urge to pick at the bandage.
“May I please…” I cleared my throat, pressing my fist to my mouth. “Call my guardian…er…Mother?” I ask, though I'm hesitant. I'm not nervous to speak to her, but I don’t know how she acts, it irks me. The doctor smiles sadly like he expected the question, I wonder how often he gets it.
“Tomorrow, Mikhail. I’ll arrange for that, but for now get some rest, the call button is there if you need anything.” The man, Dr. Hashimoto, ruffles my hair and walks out before I remember to thank him. I don’t see a point in scolding myself now. Dr. Hashimoto had turned off the lights as he walked out, leaving me in darkness.
I wished it didn’t feel as strange as it did. I wished I didn’t see the shadows move. I wished what I saw wasn't familiar. I wished I didn’t know that wishing was childish.
December 23, 2009
7:56 AM
The winter wind danced over the trees in the courtyard outside my window, like an impish boy running past people and causing trouble wherever he went. I had been staring out the window for an hour now; there wasn’t much else to do. The previous night had been… interrupted, a shadowy figure constantly lurked in the corner of my eye, logically I knew I was paranoid but it didn’t help.
I snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of my door clicking open, there stood Dr. Hashimoto, personally bringing me breakfast on a tray, something I could've sworn thought was a nurse's job. Dr. Hashimoto looks a bit surprised to see me awake at this hour, but gives me another sad smile as he sets the tray on my table and sits next to me.
“Good morning Mikhail,” He speaks as softly as always, “I understand if you’re not hungry I just figured I would bring you breakfast.”
“Thank you, Dr. Hashimoto…” Plaguing my mind all morning had been the fact that I foolishly let the most important question slip my mind yesterday. I forced myself to think before my words came out unrefined. “Though I’ve been meaning to ask, if I may…?” Dr. Hashimoto gives a patient nod of encouragement.
“What exactly…happened to me?” Dr. Hashimoto’s smile dropped a bit more, it seemed like he was expecting but dreading this.
“Mikhail, this… it’s a bit hard to say, we were hoping to get answers from you when you woke up, but since you don't remember we don’t know the whole story.” Dr. Hashimoto sucked in a deep breath. “Aparently you and your older brother fell off a beachside cliff into the ocean, that’s what a bystander told the police after calling them. We wanted to ask you about it due to the strange rope burns found on your wrist. Sadly Mikahil we… We couldn't save your older brother, he drowned… I know you probably don’t remember him but your mother said you were the closest."
Everything dropped, my heart, my stomach, my mind. I stared blankly. I had no idea how I felt, it wasn’t fear, I knew fear. I knew this feeling deep in the back of my mind, rooted there instinctively. A name came to mind.
“Alex…?” What was I saying? I didn’t know who Alex was or if that was the name of my brother but it felt instinctual. The name made me shiver. The way that name made me feel… I wasn’t sure if I loved or feared the person it belonged to.
“Yes…” Dr. Hashimoto is momentarily frozen “Yes, your brother Alexander! Your mother said you were the only one he let call him Alex. You remember him?”
“Yes- no… I don't know, I just… I know the name, that's all…” I manage to mutter, more to myself than him.
“Well… That’s still a start…” Dr. Hashimoto sighed, he didn’t seem upset with me, just in deep thought. “Well, in two days or so you’ll be fully healed, but you’ll still need to be taken care of somewhat. Based on the test data we’ll have your mother decide where you’ll go.”
“Uhm, pardon, what tests, and may I ask when I can call my mother?” The strange feeling faded as quickly as it came, leaving me to bask in my usual curiosity but still skittish. Dr. Hashimoto smiled, a bit warmer than his usual sorrowful smile.
“We’re going to have you do some extensive psychological tests and speak with a therapist so that we can hopefully see how to help or if anything else is wrong, and you are arranged to speak with your mother this afternoon." He responded kindly.
“Alright…thank you, very much…” I spoke quieter, now that too much information laid a veil of fog in my mind. If anything else was wrong with me I might just end up in a mental institute, it wouldn’t surprise me…
December 23, 2009
1:04 PM
Mental exhaustion plagued me, having to explain and answer questions for nearly four hours straight was mind numbing and a drag to be frank. However now I had one last thing to do, call my mother. I was torn between my curiosity and my dread but ultimately my decision was predetermined by the fact that it was already scheduled. I made my way to the landline, feeling a bit woozy since I hadn't been up for this long in a while. I pressed the buttons to call my mother. Dr. Hashimoto had written her number on a sticky note for me. It irked me to know that she knew me in blood supposedly but I didn't even know her voice.
Before I could hesitate any longer the phone is to my ear and ringing, I wait silently until I hear a click.
“Hello, who is this?” The voice of a middle aged woman picked up, it was charismatic in a plastic way. Fake sounding.
“Uh, Mother, it’s me. Mikhail.” I responded, sounding more meek than I intended to.
“Oooh, hi babyyy” The way she drew out her words sounded like a husk of an affectionate tone.
“Yes...hello...as I said…” I mutter, feeling even more exhausted after realizing how this was going to be.
“Oh, don’t be like that baby!” She replied, clearly only half listening, “I heard about your little accident, you gotta be more careful, that cost mommy a lotta money!" She seemed to infantilize me with her babyish tone, thinking I was dumb enough to not notice. If I didn’t find it to be a drag to argue I would’ve.
“Alex… is dead, mother. I wouldn’t call that little” I wasn’t sure about whether I hated or loved him, but hearing her act so blasé about it irked me. Greatly.
“Yes yes, I’m aware. I’m sorry that your half brother has passed away, my condolences and all, but he was your dads son, not mine-” Her voice was cut off by the sound of me slamming the phone back into its slot. That was supposed to be my mother. Huh.
December 25, 2009
12:52
The children's floor of the hospital was full of noise and life, it was Christmas, after all. Although I was usually irked by the loud noise, I figured I shouldn't ruin these kids' spirits by complaining. I sat in my hospital room, unlike everyone else who was scattered around the common area. The smell of holiday foods wafted through the cold air, the amount of cinnamon was making me nauseous. I was so busy wallowing in my misery that I didn't notice when my door creaked open. When I finally did notice I turned to see Dr. Hashimoto, standing in my doorway once more carrying a small box. A mournful smile on his face.
“Your test results are a bit concerning, Mikhail." He walks over to me, planting a hand on my back. “The results strongly suggest PTSD and schizophrenia.… You've always had a genetic predisposition for it. We believe the trauma from the accident may have triggered the symptoms. We were lucky to get a diagnosis so quickly.”
For a moment my world stopped, for a moment I was relieved, the shadow I saw at night wasn’t real. Then I realized, it was a part of me, I’d never be able to get away from it. The familiar shadow of a man was mine. Dr. Hashimoto gave me a firm squeeze on the shoulder.
“After telling your mother the results we reached, she thought it’d be… beneficial for you to stay in a psychiatric ward. To navigate your new life, Mikhail, here are some items for your stay." He slid the box to me and gestured for me to open it. Once I finally snapped out of my surprise I pried open the lid and gently pulled it off, I was met with a few things. A dark gray hoodie that was soft and seemingly high quality, it had no drawstrings along with an oversized fit. I slid the hoodie over my head, atop the normal clothes I had been brought a while ago. Underneath the hoodie at the bottom of the box was a photograph, a picture depicting myself, however a large blurry blob was next to me in the photo. The blur of the photo seemed to swirl in a way I knew it shouldn’t have.
“That’s a photo of you and your brother, your father mailed it to us from abroad, do you recognize him?” Dr. Hashimoto asks patiently.
“Uhm… It’s all just… swirls, that’s all I can really say…” Dr. Hashimoto's expression wilted. I couldn't describe what I was seeing in a way that would be accurate, for once I was at a loss for words. The swirls matched the colors of the background, the sight made my head ache horribly. I turned my gaze back to the kid, in the photo, despite being in the hospital for three days I hadn’t really seen myself. Dr. Hashimoto had told me the bathroom connected to my room had a mirror but it was broken during an accident, they had yet to replace it. In the photo I had overgrown brown hair which stuck out in many different ways, messy and thick. I looked down at my hands, they were a bit paler than the warm tan skin of the kid in the photo, or… I suppose I should start saying “me”. I couldn’t really make out much of my face due to the blur of the photo, but I could tell that the spirally misshapen hand of my brother was holding my side. I put the photo down, the sleeve falling over my hand as I do.
“It’s alright, Mikhail. It might be that the trauma of the accident caused your perception of him to… blur, due to your schizophrenia." I frowned, I couldn’t help it, but Dr. Hashimoto noticed. “You can keep the photo, the mental ward will allow it, maybe if you see it enough it’ll get clearer.” Maybe… It was such an infuriating word, so uncertain yet so full of false hope.
“Could you by chance describe him to me…? Do I look… like him…?” The way my voice trailed off irked me. Dr. Hashimoto gazed at the photo and turned back to me as he adjusted his glasses.
“Well, your brother seems to be paler than you, he has glasses, a bit taller, and has wider blue eyes. That’s the most of what I can make out of this photo. There are some similarities, but not many, you are only half brothers after all.” I listen intently, trying to see if the descriptors would trigger anything, a trace, a glimpse, anything. Nothing came to mind, nothing more than the name that made me feel things I couldn’t begin to describe. With a sudden desperate feeling to change the topic I turn to look Dr. Hashimoto in the eyes.
“When…when will I be admitted?”
“Soon.” He smiled.
December 29, 2009
8:46am
It felt far too early to be up, but then again I had just been finally able to sleep after days of staring up to the ceiling at night. Trying to pretend I couldn’t see the figure loom over me, reaching up to touch me but fading right before it could… I’m once again reminded of where I am when the nurse beside me ushers me past the doors to my apparent room. The room had two beds on opposite sides of the room, the bed on the same wall as the door looked lived in and cluttered, the sheets were askew. The second bed looked like it hadn’t been touched in a while and had a window next to it, peering down at the parking lot from the second floor. Other than that there were two small closets and desks on either side of the room and a rug on the floor, all the furniture had rounded corners.
After being told a minimum of thirty times about how lucky I was that they took me at such short notice or how I was lucky my diagnosis was so quick I felt underwhelmed. I found myself sitting on my bed by the window wondering if it had been a bad idea to tell the psychiatrist about the figure in the shadows. All this hassle couldn’t be worth it, but because of all that's gone wrong with my life apparently they needed to observe me. What irked me most was that Dr. Hashimoto couldn’t send me off, I wasn’t mad but he had been the only person I really felt normal with. All the other nurses, doctors, and psychiatrists would walk on eggshells around me, treating me like I was fragile. Even though Dr. Hashimoto was soft, he didn't treat me like a newborn who needed to be shielded from the truth, he tried to help me find it. However all good things come to an end, I only further realized that when the nurse introduced my new roommate.