The Cheerleaders of Doom

The room was silent.

Dr. Dozer frowned. “OK, well, we’ll work on that next time. For now, I’ve noticed that Heathcliff hasn’t spoken.”

“Don’t call me that,” Heathcliff snarled.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor replied. “Would you prefer your other name? Simon?”

“I’ve given up on that one, too,” he said.

“Then what are you calling yourself?”

Heathcliff grimaced. “I haven’t decided.”

“Well, until then, is there something you’d like to share with the rest of the group?”

Heathcliff looked around the room with disgust. He considered keeping his thoughts to himself but then wondered if getting a few things off his chest might not make him feel better after all.

“I hate all of you!”

“Hey!” Sca

“Sca

Heathcliff turned his angry eyes on Ragdoll. “I particularly despise you!”

Ragdoll whimpered.

“I’m losing my mind,” he continued. “And yes, I get the irony that this is a mental hospital, but I was perfectly sane when I was dragged in here. Do you know what it’s like to sit in my room without any diversions—no books, no television, no explosives! All day and all night I have to listen to my roommate, Chucky Swiller, giggle like an idiot at the boogers he digs out of his nose!”

“Let’s be honest. This isn’t about your situation. This is about the teeth, isn’t it?” Dr. Dozer asked.

Heathcliff frowned. “Yes! My amazing, glorious, magnificent hypnotizing teeth! Knocked out by a lucky punch from one of my bitterest enemies. And now, look at me. I’m powerless. Just some regular kid with a genius-level intelligence—surrounded by morons!”

He hunched down into his chair and tried to avoid their pitying eyes. What he didn’t want to tell anyone was that, along with the therapy, the empty space where his teeth had been was driving him crazy. He had developed the habit of poking his tongue in and out of the empty cavern, with its coppery-tasting hole, over and over again. He did it day and night as if his tongue might probe once more and find that his front teeth had suddenly returned from a long summer vacation. He could stand it no longer!

He leaped from his chair and yanked it off the floor. With all his strength he hefted it against a nearby window, which shattered on impact. Heathcliff dashed for it—prepared to cut himself to pieces if it meant escape—but before he even reached the jagged window frame, two hulking guards were on him. Both of the men were easily six foot seven inches tall, all muscle, with shaved heads and sour faces. They wrapped him in a snug straitjacket and shackled his hands and feet with chains that linked into a padlock at his chest. They slipped a hard plastic mask over his face to prevent him from biting anyone, then hoisted him onto a dolly.

“You do realize that when I rule this world you will suffer?” he seethed.

“I believe you’ve made that clear,” one guard said.

“You dare mock me? You will be the first to taste my merciless rage,” Heathcliff grumbled.

“Pipe down!” the other guard said. “You’ve got a visitor.”

Heathcliff was rolled into the visitors’ room. It wasn’t much more than a long hallway lined with cubicles. Each had a chair that faced a thick glass window. Many of the hospital’s patients were too dangerous to have direct contact with visitors, so they were separated by the window and communicated by telephone. On the other side was a familiar face—his goon. The man looked like he’d lost a fight. One of his eyes had gone blind and his hair had a peculiar streak of white ru

“So,” Heathcliff said into the phone his guard held to his ear.

The goon tried to pick up his phone, but one of his hands was nothing but a metal hook. He struggled with the receiver and it fell out of his steel claw seven times before Heathcliff lost his patience.

“Use the other hand, you fool!”

The phone was attached to a plastic cord that was very short. To wrap it around to his other ear the goon nearly had to strangle himself.

“What do you want?” Heathcliff barked but suddenly wished he could take it back. The goon had a reputation as a man who liked to break bones. Heathcliff suddenly worried that the thick glass between them might not be thick enough.

“I got good news fer ya, boss.”

“Tell me you’re going to get me out of here,” Heathcliff begged. He was so excited the phone fell from his shoulder onto the desk. The guard stared at it indifferently. Heathcliff leaned over so that his ear was near the receiver.

The goon shook his head. “Can’t do it, boss. This place is tighter than a drum. They’ve got guards guarding the guards. Never seen anything like it. You know they only put the most dangerous screwballs in here.” The goon paused. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say you was a screwball.”

“If you can’t free me, how could anything you’ve come to say be considered good news?”

“I delivered the present.”

“The present? What are you talking about?”

“The box and the letter! Ya know, the one you gave me in case of dire consequences. You said to give it to Gertrude Baker if you ever got arrested. Her mom moved her to Ohio, but I got it to her.”

Heathcliff gri

The goon looked offended. “As a goon, I take my employer’s privacy very serious. It’s sorta an unwritten rule of the profession.”

“Well, you would have hardly understood it, but that present will destroy the world.”

“How is that good news, boss?” the goon said.

“Because if Gerdie Baker is as smart as I remember, she’s going to build a machine so dangerous they’ll be forced to let me out so I can stop her. Screwball will soon be free!”

“Screwball? I thought you were calling yourself Simon.”

“If the world thinks I’m crazy, who am I to argue?” Screwball said, then a sudden giggling fit came over him. It went on and on.

“Wow, boss, that laugh is creepy,” the goon said.

“You like it?” Screwball asked. “I’ve been working on it for a while. I think it has the right combination of foreboding and madness. New name! New laugh! New doomsday plot to destroy the world!”

Then he laughed again.

“Real creepy, boss.”

ALL RIGHT, LET’S GET THIS TEST STARTED. THE LESS TIME I’M ALONE WITH YOU THE BETTER!

BEFORE WE GET STARTED, YOU NEED TO VERIFY YOUR IDENTITY, SO PLEASE TELL ME YOUR CODE NAME.

HEE-HEE. I FORGOT HOW FUNNY THAT CODE NAME IS … GIVE ME A SECOND. OH BOY! I HAVEN’T LAUGHED THAT HARD IN YEARS. I NEARLY WET MYSELF.

OK, NO MORE GOOFING OFF. LET’S GET TO THE TEST.

TO ACCURATELY DEDUCE YOUR MENTAL STATE, IT IS IMPORTANT THAT YOU ANSWER EACH QUESTION HONESTLY. EVEN IF THOSE ANSWERS MAY MAKE YOU APPEAR TO BE A LOONY-TUNE, YOU STILL MUST ANSWER AS CLOSE TO THE TRUTH AS POSSIBLE.

EACH QUESTION IS MULTIPLE-CHOICE AND HAS FOUR POSSIBLE ANSWERS, WHICH IS WHY WE CALL IT A MULTIPLE-CHOICE TEST, DUH! SEE, NOW YOU’RE CATCHING ON.… YOU MIGHT WANT TO WRITE DOWN THE NUMBER OF POINTS FOR EACH OF YOUR ANSWERS ON A PIECE OF PAPER. LET’S BEGIN.

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1. WHEN PEOPLE DON’T LISTEN TO YOUR IDEAS, WHAT DO YOU DO?

a. CRY (3 POINTS)

b. POUT AND STOMP FEET (2 POINTS)

c. BREAK SOMETHING (5 POINTS)

d. PLOT THEIR DEATHS (10 POINTS)

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2. ARE PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT YOU BEHIND YOUR BACK?