Frank Klus - Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

“Eugene,” Hurd said, “you told me you were thirsty, but look, Doc—he just spits it all out. Well, I guess you weren’t so thirsty, after all.”

Hurd removed the bottle, but Eugene protested. “Please! It’s too much. Please take the straps off me.”

“If I let you out of your chair, will you promise to behave yourself, Eugene?” the doctor said.

“Yes, I promise, doctor.”

Eugene was released and taken to the utility table, where he was told to sit down. A few minutes later, the nurse brought him some soup and bottled water. Eugene drank down the water at once and asked for more. Then he ate the soup. It was mostly chicken broth; not very filling.

After ten minutes Eugene was brought back to his chair. Hurd started to strap him in, but Sistrunk stopped him.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Hurd.”

The nurse brought him another bottle of water and handed it to Eugene, who continued to quench his enormous thirst.

The interrogation continued but Eugene seemed to drift in and out of consciousness. He couldn’t concentrate well, and when he didn’t answer right away Hurd would hit him again. Eugene found himself gibbering away so as to avoid the punishment.

Eugene prattled on until he noticed there was no one around. He looked up at the clock. It was half past eight. He figured he must have passed out because the last time he noticed the time it was about 6:30. Eugene stopped talking, and the next time he looked at the clock it was 11:45. He also noticed he was strapped to the chair again. He wasn’t sure for how long, but he realized he must have passed out again.

Doctor Sistrunk came back and called for Hurd. The guard came back down the steps and resumed his position next to Eugene. Then the recorder, or whatever he was, resumed his position to the right of him.

“Now, Eugene, please try to stay awake.”

“Okay, doctor.”

The interrogation continued, as did the occasional beatings. Eugene then felt the sting of a needle, and saw the nurse just finishing an inoculation. Eugene looked at the clock. It was now a little after three. Eugene didn’t know if it was morning or afternoon.

“The nurse gave you some ephedrine. It will help you stay awake and focus on my questions.”

“Please, doctor. I don’t want to cause trouble, but how much longer will this go on?”

“It will go on for as long as it takes, Mr. Sulke,” the doctor said.

At 4:30 Doctor Sistrunk concluded this phase of the interrogation. “Well done, Eugene. You can get some rest now.”

Hurd released the straps and escorted Eugene into the little room he wondered about. It was dark and had no furniture. It appeared to be an empty utility closet, about four by five, with only a cement floor to sleep on. Eugene was locked in.

There wasn’t enough room to fully lie in it. His pants were wet with urine, and he drifted in and out of consciousness. When awake, he reflected on all that happened. What’s going on? I remembered being home when the doorbell rang. It was Dennis and Teresa. Teresa was holding a plate of brownies, and Dennis had a case of beer. If I wasn’t going to go to them, they’d invite themselves over to my house.

I was sitting on the couch and drinking some of the beer when I felt tired. That was it until I woke up strapped to that chair. They kidnapped me! They kidnapped me ! I don’t understand. They’re my friends . Was Cassandra right, after all? Am I fully in that sling she talked about? Why? Why is this happening to me? What do they want me to do? Treated for what? What is this place? Then he fell asleep.

Eugene slept fitfully in his lifeless room until the overhead light came on. It was harsh and brutal, like the entire room. Hurd opened the door and ordered his prisoner out. Eugene moved slowly. His back and stomach hurt, and his left arm was asleep. His face was a mixture of red, black, and blue. Pus formed around his left eye.

“Come on, come on, Sulke. The doctor doesn’t have all day.”

Hurd reached in and grabbed Eugene, who was still semi-lying on the cold cement floor. He yanked him to his feet, and dragged him to the chair. The chair waited for him, baring its ferocity, yawning out to reach him, and capturing the scared man in its infernal embrace.

“Man, you stink,” Hurd said. “What’d you do, piss yourself?”

“Good morning, Eugene,” Sistrunk said. “I trust you slept well.”

“Oh, like a baby. That cement floor was so comfortable, doc. How’d you do it?”

Hurd reached for the soft truncheon and hit Gene over the head with it. “Is this any way to talk to the doctor, Sulke?” he said to him, nose to nose.

Eugene wasn’t tied down, so he pushed Hurd back and stood up to confront Dr. Sistrunk. “How am I supposed to sleep in that cage?” His voice was harsh and angry.

Hurd was about to clobber him again, but Sistrunk motioned for Hurd to leave him alone. He stared at Eugene again with that crooked absurdist smile. “Progress and comfort go hand in hand.”

He turned to Hurd. “Why don’t you have Alisha bring Eugene some breakfast?”

“Yes, doctor.” Hurd motioned to the nurse who was sitting at the utility table.

“Now, Eugene, why don’t you sit over at the table? I think we have some nice bacon and eggs for you; maybe a little orange juice as well. You like that, don’t you?”

Hurd grabbed his arm by the shoulder and led him to the table. Eugene was quieted, but his expression reflected anger. He flashed a look of fury at Hurd. As Eugene sat down and waited for his breakfast he continued to stare at Hurd; a steely look, filled with venom. Hurd paid no attention to him; standing at parade rest and facing away from him.

Alisha brought Eugene his breakfast, but Eugene continued to stare at Hurd. The smell of bacon and eggs to a desperately hungry man was enough to soften his countenance, however, as he now dove into his breakfast. No sooner finished, Hurd brought him back to the interrogation chair. He wasn’t strapped down, and the interrogation continued as the questions turned to his wife.

“When did you meet her?”

“How did you meet?”

“What are her parents like?”

Then the questions turned to his parents and brother.

“What do they believe in?”

“How do you get along with your brother?”

“Do you argue?”

Eugene’s answers were short, crisp, and curt. His voice was raw and angry, but controlled. The dour man pecked away at his machine.

The nurse tended to Eugene’s face while the staccato questions were fired, and then she put an ointment over the discoloration. Hour after hour, the doc fired away his relentless questions until Eugene lost consciousness. When he awoke, Sistrunk resumed the interrogation.

“What’s your boss like?”

“Tell me about your co-workers.”

“What do they believe in?”

“How well do you get along with them?”

“Who are your friends?”

“What are they like?”

“How did you come to know them?”

“What do they believe in?”

“What do you argue about?”

Eugene continued to answer the questions directly, offering only enough information to satisfy Sistrunk. Sick and tired of the inexorable, prying questions, he finally mustered up the nerve to ask the doctor a question.

“Excuse me, doctor, but why do you want to know all this?”

Hurd was about to clobber him again, but Sistrunk gestured to him, and Hurd maintained his position.

“These questions are necessary in helping you with your treatment.”

“What treatment?”

“You will know when it starts.”