Skitz

The room was white. Everywhere he looked was white. Everyone said he was insane. But he knew he wasn’t. St. Jimmy told him that they were the insane ones, with their chemicals and theories about schizophrenia. St. Jimmy held nothing but contempt for the poor souls who can’t see the world as it truly is. So Benny followed St. Jimmy’s example. Benny refused to take the pills that made St. Jimmy unreal.

Benny’s parents sat in the waiting room. An important looking doctor walked in and sat down across from them.

“Mrs. Skreen, Mr. Skreen,” The doctor greeted them, shaking their hands. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. It’s about Benny---,” The doctor was cut off abruptly by Mrs. Skreen.

“It’s always about Benny,” she said in a long-suffering voice. “Why else would I be here if it wasn’t for his son?” Mrs. Skreen asked, jerking an accusatory thumb at her husband.

“Now, Kathy, dear, please be polite. He’s your son too. Benny is legally your son because you chose to marry me and adopt him.” Mr. Skreen smiled apologetically at the doctor. “What about Benny, Dr. Armstrong?”

“Well, Benny is refusing to take his medicine. We have to put him in a straight coat just so he doesn’t attack anyone he sees carrying a drink.” Dr. Armstrong said, steepling his hands. “As Benny is already in a top-security room, there is little more we can do, short of tying him up to stop his violent antics.”

“What do you suggest we should do?” Mr. Skreen asked, concern for his son shining through his eyes. Mrs. Skreen had pulled out an emery board and started filing down her nails.

“There is little we can do, Mr. Skreen. That is the problem.” Dr. Armstrong sadly informed them.

“Well, then, what are we wasting our money on you for then?” Mrs. Skreen asked, arching an eyebrow.

Benny twiddled his thumbs. The time was near. He could feel it in his bones.

“St. Jimmy?” Benny called out softly.

“Yes, Benny?” St. Jimmy asked, his voice hypnotic. “What can I do for you?”

That was the incredible thing about St. Jimmy, Benny thought. St. Jimmy was always willing to listen to him and help him. “Can we go over the plan one more time? I’m not entirely sure what is that we would be accomplishing when we carry it out.”

“Benny,” St. Jimmy crooned. “It’s quite simple, really. I open the door for you once everyone is asleep. You will set the ward on fire. The so-called doctors will be gone forever. So will the white walls of this room. You’d like to never see this room again. I know how much you hate it here. I hear your thoughts everyday.” St. Jimmy circled Benny and finally stopped with his face inches away from Benny.

Benny’s eyes glazed over as St. Jimmy talked. St. Jimmy smiled to himself. Now Benny would do whatever St. Jimmy wanted him to.

In the back of Benny’s mind, a voice piped up. What about the others who will get barbecued? It asked. St. Jimmy says it’ll all be okay, Benny firmly told the voice, hoping to squash it. But what if it’s not? The voice persisted. Benny thought for a moment. In a way, the voice did make sense.

“Now, Benny, you wouldn’t be having any doubts, would you? You know that it will all end perfectly fine and you’ll never be bothered again, don’t you?” St. Jimmy asked, his voice a purr.

“Of course not, Jimmy,” Benny assured him and mentally told the voice So there.

Benny’s parents had left hours ago. The doctors had talked with him. Well, they had tried to, anyway. Benny was a bit busy remembering the plan. He didn’t even bat an eye when they told him that they were installing video surveillance in his room. Benny just nodded and smiled as though this was a normal, everyday occurrence.

St. Jimmy was true to his word. He opened the door for Benny and led him to the matches.

“Go on, light the fire, Benny. It’s easy,” St. Jimmy egged Benny on.

Why should I? That rebellious voice in his head asked. Just because some guy who calls himself St. Jimmy says to? Benny couldn’t help it. He laughed out loud. This was hilarious. There he was, kneeling in the kitchens with a box of matches, about to burn the place to the ground, and he was laughing.

“What’s so funny, Benny?” St. Jimmy asked softly, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Just go on and light the match. It’s so simple.”

“If it’s so simple, why don’t you do it?” Benny asked St. Jimmy, anger flaring to the surface.

“Because you are the one destined to rid the world of all that is white, Benny, how many times do I have to tell you this?”

“Why do you treat me like I’m stupid or something? You are just as capable as me of lighting a match,” Benny said, holding the box of matches out to St. Jimmy.

St. Jimmy reached out, took a match form the box, and it flared to life. St. Jimmy stalked over to the gas stove, and turned on the propane. The match had died when he moved. St. Jimmy let the gas fill the kitchen. It seemed to take an eternity for St. Jimmy to light another match. Benny watched, hypnotized, as the sulphur head was dragged across the sandpaper and the match flared to life.

The explosion that followed sent Benny flying across the kitchen and into the wall. He lay there, dazed. Then the smell of melting plastic caught his attention. He looked around carefully and saw that the stacks of plastic plates were fast melting. Then he heard the anguished scream and saw St. Jimmy on fire. The stench was horrible.

Benny pulled himself to his feet and limped toward the door. He looked back, once. St. Jimmy screamed at him “Why are you leaving me? After all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?”

With an inhuman roar, St. Jimmy hurled himself at Benny and they both went down in a heap of burning clothes and kitchen utensils.

St. Jimmy had his hands around Benny’s throat and was trying to choke the life from him. Benny’s hands scrabbled about, trying to find something to use as a weapon. His hand closed on something heavy. Benny heaved with the last remnant of strength he possessed and smashed St. Jimmy in the head. St. Jimmy was knocked out cold. Benny looked down at his hand and saw that he was holding a frying pan. A cast iron frying pan to be exact.

Sirens wailed in the distance. Benny checked St. Jimmy’s pulse. There was none. Benny choked back a sob. He killed St. Jimmy! Then he thought about it some more and realized that it might not be such a bad thing after all. With a sigh, Benny collapsed next to St. Jimmy, his other half, and died a free man.

The funeral for Benny was small and private. It was widely thought that Mrs. Skreen hadn’t wanted to spend the money on her dead stepson and only attended the funeral so she could hand Mr. Skreen divorce papers. Family and the few friends he still had attended. Everyone was so sad that someone as young as Benny had died in such a tragedy. But Benny knew that in the end, he had won. He had killed his inner demon.