No Insane People Need Apply (Bullseye)

As Mary approached the vacant apartment, the next door neighbor opened the door and leaned against the frame, lazily inspecting her as she walked by. She could feel his gaze weigh her down and, for a moment, Mary was terrified. If he had just been dressed like that or if he only had the beer bottle in hand, she would have been fine, but it was the combination of the two that caused her to hesitate and her heart to speed up just a tad. How he looked brought forth flashbacks of her father leaning in the doorway of her bedroom. Mary squeezed her eyes shut, pushing out those memories and trying to rationalize her fear. Her father wasn’t here. She hadn’t seen him since that one night when she was young. He had been burned and wasn’t here anymore.

What broke Mary out of her train of thought was the man’s accent. It was far too thick for her to understand. It honestly made her stop and replay it in her mind word for word, deciphering it as she went. It took her a few tries. “The weekend?" she finally said. “But, do you know if there is any way I can reach him? I’d like to rent the room and I don’t have any other place to stay.” That last bit of information was probably something she could have left out, but Mary had always been one to give out too much information, always being too helpful.

The grin the man gave her was unsettling, made even more so by the circular scar on his forehead. How had he come by that? Was it self-inflicited or had someone else done it? Finding herself staring at it, Mary quickly look away and down towards his extended hand. Having always been one for manners, she politely shook it. “My name is Mary. Mary Walker,” she told him as her cheeks flushed a little at being called gorgeous. That was something she was not at all used to. Mary had never thought of herself as a pretty girl. She was a shy and soft spoken brunette, more at home in a quiet corner rather than being the center of attention.

Indeed, Mary was just as innocent as she looked, and it showed at him mentioning the police station. “How do you mean?’ she asked before realising that it was a joke. At that, she looked embarrassed, her cheeks flushing a bit more red. It would have been one thing for the landlord to have been an officer of the law, which was what she originally assumed from the man’s comment, but being an optimistic, the good thoughts always arrived before the negative ones. He could have meant that the landlord was often arrested or even that he was the one led around in cuffs. For a moment, Mary felt as if she should simply turn tail and run. She could find another apartment, some place away from this odd Irish man who didn’t know her but enjoyed having a bit of fun anyways.

But then he did something unusual and stepped back, offering her a chance to step inside his own home. Mary hesitated at this, her own fears having her stuck looking at the doorway but not moving. It wasn’t dark inside, nor did it seemed entirely menacing; rather it was, from what she could see, sparsely decorated. It looked to be a typical bachelor’s pad. An hour wasn’t entirely too long to wait, and talking to potential neighbors would allow her to understand what this building and the neighborhood was like. He wouldn’t hurt her, not in broad daylight. Besides, she shouldn’t have been one to judge. Mary had known more than a few people at the institution that had seemed positively terrifying at first, but soon revealed themselves to be wonderful despite their afflictions.

Stepping inside, Mary smiled politely and thanked Bullseye. “I was taught that it’s just a bit rude to linger in hallways. I don’t want to give the wrong impression. Have you stayed here long, Mr. Bullseye?” She wanted to ask about his scar and his name, though she knew the former would have been impolite and the latter was either a nickname he had acquired, a bastardization of a native Irish surname or just simply her own self mishearing it as he spoke. Looking around inside the apartment, there suspicions were confirmed; he was most definitely a bachelor. The place decidedly had not had a feminine presence here in… probably forever. Taking a breath, she relaxed a bit and looked around, trying to both look at the quality of the place and figure out what this man was like without asking too many questions.

Mary watched Bullseye’s attitude and personality change once she entered his apartment. The gruffness disappeared and was replaced by something different, almost like a boy who wanted to impress a girl or at least make himself look presentable. And though she never would have wanted to trouble him by sitting in what seemed to be his only comfortable chair, Mary felt obligated to do so as soon as he brought out a spare one. “Please, don’t feel the need to tidy up on my account. I was the one who appeared unexpectedly and you were nice enough to let me into your home. I’m used to a little clutter.”

He was in the war? Then that would explain the scarring on his forehead. At first Mary thought it could have been some sort of hazing ritual or something from his childhood, but with this new knowledge, she changed her opinion. She wondered if he had been a prisoner of war. Could the German or Japanese have done that to him? She had read on the Pacific front of things, and from the new arrivals to the mental hospital she was at, that the Japanese weren’t quite as hospitable as the Nazis towards prisoners, and even they had their own evilness that eventually came to light. “I’m sorry you had to go through something as bad as the war, Mr. Bullseye. No one should have to suffer what soldiers and civilians did during that time. I’m sure you were a very brave man for doing what you did.” Mary knew better than to bring up any sort of specifics or ask too many questions. Such things sometimes caused veterans to relive painful memories, and pain was the last thing she wanted to cause.

Mary’s cheeks flushed red at his question. Why had she expected him not to ask that sort of thing? Naivety perhaps? But, it was true, she sort of did stick out like a sore thumb. Her clothes were clean, maybe a little old and worn, but walking through the neighborhood, it was easy to tell she didn’t belong here at all. “I… I used to live in Hell’s Kitchen when I was little. We moved when I was eight and now that I’m eighteen I thought I would come back here and see if I could find a place to live. Things seemed to have changed a little since I’ve been gone,” she said with a weak smile. It was a terrible lie, with her words being awkward and stilted as she said them, and in reality, she hated lying. It was wrong and it had gotten her in trouble so many times before. “I’m on my own and I don’t have a job just yet, so I can only afford to live in so many places. Hell’s Kitchen is one of them. I was born here, I just didn’t…. it’s odd being back. Something I didn’t really expect to do for some reason.” For some reason, as she spoke, Mary tensed a little, as if waiting for a reprimand for giving the wrong answer. Maybe it was just nerves.

Mary had heard of soldiers doing rather crazy things in the heat of battle, but this most definitely took the cake. Self-inflicted wounds? She hadn’t heard of that, but then again, her knowledge was only limited to where she stayed. She wasn’t a doctor, but from what she knew about returning war heroes, she wondered if Bullseye suffered from shell-shock. That was an odd first thought, but her second one, the one she vocalized was more appropriate. “I’m sure your men were grateful for your actions. You probably saved them all. Did you receive a medal for your bravery?”

When Bullseye called Mary out on her lie, the girl sort of shut down a little. She became quiet and reluctant to make eye contact as the thoughts raced through her head. Was he going to kick her out? Tell her she didn’t belong here? Mary nervously chewed her lower lip as she thought of options and felt her stomach tighten from fear. She had done something wrong and she didn’t know how to fix it. She was backed into a proverbial corner. Her brain kept saying that she should just wait for the explosion to come; the yelling and screaming she would receive because of her lying. Amazing that even after ten years, she was still terrified at the prospects of a raised voice directed at her. Maybe… maybe if she could explain it better, the situation would be diffused and she’d be okay. Maybe.

“I’m from New York, sir,” she told him softly, still keeping her eyes downcast. Her skin felt tight and itched just a little, and for a brief second, Mary swore she felt the bed restraints on her wrists and ankles once more. That was why she never wore bracelets. Long-sleeved blouses were one thing, but never bracelets. Catching herself rubbing her wrists, Mary stopped before taking a shaky breath. Eyes quickly glanced up at Bullseye before quickly looking down at her purse. Inside was a folded piece of paper that was her release form from the mental ward she had been institutionalized at. As reluctant as she was, Mary removed, unfolded it, and presented it to the man. Her heart hammered as she did so, mind starting to fuzz at the edges as if she were tired from the sudden stress. She kept a death grip on the piece of paper, afraid that if she let go of it, it would simply cease to exist and the men in white coats would burst through the door and haul her off once more. Mary’s throat was dry, but she did manage to croak out ‘I’m sane’ as if that made everything all right, though it was a weak reassurance and almost instantly she regretted doing such a thing.

He laughed at the paper. Mary heard that part clearly and it made her feel less than she already was. But there was something off about his voice. He spoke slowly and clearly to her. Why? What was he worried about? Did he really think she could hurt him? He was an army veteran and she was just an eighteen year old girl. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to her and there would be nothing she could do about it. Almost in response to that thought, Mary’s lip twitched and curl for a instant, as if her body was denying that fact. “Sane people also don’t black out and apparently hurt people or claim to be someone else.” She could verify the blackouts happening, since, well… she had blacked out many times before. That part was true. What troubled her would be the claims she hurt other people or was someone else entirely.

Mary would wake up, often times restrained, with bruised knuckles and blood under her fingernails while the orderlies looked at her disapprovingly. Things happened, but she didn’t know what. She had seen other patients have fits, so she suspected that was what happened. Then the doctors showed her the audio recordings from their sessions. It would start with Mary talking and answering questions then, a second woman would interrupt and be a general terror; cussing, threatening, countering anything the doctors would say or try to do, and always, always hating on Mary. Calling her weak and no good, useless beyond all belief.. They claimed that the second woman was her, but it made no sense. They sounded nothing alike and Mary would never do those things.

“You…? You’ll help me with the apartment?” she asked, making sure she heard Bullseye right and it wasn’t just in her head. Why would he do that, she thought to herself and confusion showed clearly on her face. Then he said words that made her stiffen once more and jerk her head from his touch. “I’m fine, Mr. Bullseye. I’m fine. I don’t need help, I told you that. I showed you that I’m sane.” Due to the stress, Mary was finding it harder to speak clearly, as if her mouth were full of cotton and there again was that heavy feeling on her body, fingers feeling stiff and distant. That was usually a sign of an oncoming blackout, which only made her heart pound harder and bring the symptoms on faster. She was supposed to be cured, she wasn’t supposed to be doing this anymore. Wanting to get out and to get away before Bullseye could see her statement of sanity be false, Mary bolted form her chair, stumbling a little as she went for the door.

Her hand made it to the knob before she stopped and leaned her forehead against the wood frame, tension and fear suddenly draining from her body. “Oh, Mary, Mary, Mary. Did you really think I was gone?” she asked with a soft laugh. Her voice was slightly deeper than Mary’s; a husky contralto to her gentle, dulcet tones. “Bad little girl,” she said with a tisk. Turning back to Bullseye, she gave him the once-over, casually leaning against the door, body language much more open than Mary’s ever was. “You’re gonna help me?” she smirked. “You don’t look like any doc I know.”

She smirked, watching the somewhat confused look on his face. Older guy. Irish, by the damn sound of his voice and the way he talked. Not exactly one hundred percent normal if that funny little mark on his head was any indication. Even with that scar there, she couldn’t help but let her gaze drift down and watch his backside as he went into the kitchen. He did have a nice body, even for an old guy. Then he came out with a second beer in his hand, as if that would help fix everything. Oh, this was gonna be fun, she thought.

“Only a moron would think you’re any sort of a physician, especially a shrink. Last time I checked, they didn’t exactly go around looking like you,” she smirked. Yes, there was something different about this woman when compared to Mary, and it wasn’t just her body language, voice, and speaking pattern. While Mary was a pale little thing, this girl’s skin was a bit more flushed and warm to the touch, as if she had a low-grade fever. Her hair also seemed a bit more fuller, as odd as that sounded. Were there anyone or anything in the room that could tell it, they would know that even her heart rhythm and breathing pattern had changed. For all intents and purposes, this woman wasn’t Mary Walker.

“Oh, Mary’s a little kitten when it comes to a lot of things, Bullseye,” she purred, knowing his name without even asking since she had watched the whole previous conversation from behind Mary’s eyes. “She whines and trembles at the smallest thing. But, I’ll tell you this, it wasn’t you laughing that set her off. She doesn’t like to think she’s crazy after spending ten years in a psycho ward. She likes to think she's cured. That’s why she carries that little paper around. This little thing,” she said, looking at the somewhat crumpled sheet as if she hadn’t realized she was holding it. “Frankly, I’d burn it just for laughs, but that’d send her into a new level of craziness, might pop her balloon even, so I’ll play nice and keep it.” With that, the girl refolded the paper and stuck it back in her purse.

When Bullseye approached her and leaned close, she couldn’t help but hook a finger into one of his belt loops and playfully tugging at him, wanting him just a bit closer. “They, uh, they never gave me an official name at the institution, thinking it’d reinforce Mary’s delusions or something. And she can't name me herself since it's kinda hard to do when she doesn’t even know about me, but the orderlies did have a nickname for me… or her, whichever. They called her Typhoid Mary,” she said with a wicked little grin. “I’m sure you know all about that girl. Pretty Irish thing that didn’t know she carried a disease that killed people. Thought people were persecuting her for no good reason. Why don’t you call me that, since I’m not exactly the Virgin Mary here.” With that, Typhoid pulled Bullseye in a sudden and deep kiss.