He tried to explain what happened, but that didn't help. It, in fact, only worsened the case against him. Demons didn't exist. It only brought about the belief that he was delusional as well as homicidal. No one believed what the man had done to him, either. He was already seen as insane before he even had a chance to try and explain. His stuttering and bad memory, due to his stress, didn't help make his story seem more believable. He would forget, or pretend to forget, certain incidents and when he was forced or reminded to reveal them, it made him simply seem less credible.
One thing he didn't say was that he was sorry. Because he wasn't. This only furthered the belief that he had no regret and that he had done the murder.
His uncle took him in the car and sat in stony silence while they drove there for the final time. Dowasure had been told to take all his important earthly posessions. This included his sweater, his necklace, and his stuffed rabbit. He had waved goodbye to the yellow cat as it sat in the tree outside. It meowed once, then disappeared. He was pleased that the cat had seen him and maybe knew where he was going. Then he wouldn't be alone.
He hugged his stuffed rabbit. If he really thought about it, he could never really be alone. Not as long as he had his rabbit.
That was one of the first things they took from him when he got there.
Despite his young age and his lack of resistance, they took all possible safety hazards away from him, including his necklace. They claimed that his sweater was long enough to hang himself with and took that away too. They gave him a thin white hospital gown that made him feel cold and vulnerable. He couldn't help crying when they took his only remembrances of his parents away from him. His uncle couldn't see, as he had pushed Dowasure in, signed his name for him, then left before the entire debacle had began.
Pushed back and forth and told in voices that were too slow and too patient that he would be staying for a while and that that was perfectly fine and there was no need to be upset, he was led down a metal hallway that made him feel even more cold then he already was.
When he tried to speak, to ask for his posessions back, they would silence him, saying that everything would be explained. The fact that he didn't want anything explained, only answered, didn't stop them.
They lead him to a room with a large door with no windows. The room had no windows either and no sharp edges. Everything seemed to be rounded or covered with something to protect it. From what...?
They led him inside, showed him things like the bathroom and the bed, things he already understood, and left him inside while they shut the door. He sat down and stared at his knees, sighing. He then decided that, since no one seemed to be around, he could cry if he wanted to. There was no uncle or cousin to stop him.
He really wanted to cry into his rabbit, but it wasn't there. That only made him sob louder.
He didn't know he was being watched anyway, by one of the cameras hidden in one of the walls.
He was alone in the room for hours. He didn't know what to do. There was nothing to read, nothing to play with, nothing of any interest whatsoever. He was bored and felt around the walls, but found nothing would break off for study and it only bent underneath his touch. He felt along the edges of the door and found that there was almost no way he could ever dig his nails into the crack and pull it open. He retreated back to his bed, if it could be called that, and curled up in the corner. The room seemed very large and very frightening and he felt very alone. He would have even preferred to have his cousin here instead of this constant, insistent silence.
He hummed to himself and tried to think of some kind of song to dispell the silence, which was beginning to frighten him. He couldn't think of anything really definite, just tones.
He played with his fingers, toyed with his hair, and stared into the wall and fantasized. At one point he began to sob and ask quietly to himself why they were leaving him all alone like this. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He never wanted to hurt anyone. He never HAD hurt anyone. Why had they locked him away like he had? He hadn't done anything wrong...why was he being treated like this...?
"Don't leave me alone like this...I hate being alone..." He breathed, wondering if anyone would ever hear him. "I didn't do anything wrong...I promise..."
He rocked back and forth for a while, trying to lose himself in the repetitive motion, but found that his mind simply wouldn't stop crying. He eventually rolled on his side, then hid underneath the thin, solid blanket that had been attached to his bed. He hid underneath and listened to himself breathe, trying to focus on that.
Even this, hiding from everything, could not get his mind off how unfair this whole ordeal was.
He touched his chest and shuddered and began crying again. His chest felt so...so...so not his. Like it belonged to that horrible dead man. His chest didn't belong to him anymore...his body didn't belong to him...if it did belong to him, why was he letting these people do this to him.
He sniffled and cried some more underneath the bed, running his hair through his fingers.
"Wake the patient."
The sudden voice made him gasp. He scooted out from underneath the blanket and curled into the corner, staring with wide eyes. He couldn't see clearly, as they had taken his glasses, but he could see vague shapes moving, at least three of them. He was torn between screaming in fear and screaming in relief that someone had finally come.
"Looks awake to me."
He huddled in the corner, holding his knees to his chest and trying to slow his breathing.
"Don't worry." The middle blur tried to speak with kindness, but it didn't seem possible. It only made Dowasure suspicious. "We aren't going to hurt you. We just want to take some tests."
Dowasure just blinked at the blur, narrowing his eyes in an effort to see it more clearly. The two blurs near it moved towards him and slowly came into focus. It was only when they were a foot away that he could see they were two males.
Seeing them made fear rush through his body and he unconsciously screamed, pressing his forehead to his knees and burying his fingers in his hair, shaking uncontrollably.
"I don't want to..." he tried to make himself sound strong and angry, but he only sounded frightened and hurt. "I don't want to play any games...I don't want to...I don't want to..."
"We aren't playing any games, boy." The male orderly near his left said. At the last word, Dowasure felt panic rush through his body and he tried to run, remembering hot still air and words that also sounded so forced, so kind, and so cruel. Words that hurt, but not as much as the touch itself. He never wanted to feel that again...never...! Never!
He tried to run but felt someone grab his arms, making him scream again.
"Don't! Don't! Stop!"
"For heaven's sake, calm down." The first blur spoke again. "You're over-reacting. Nothing bad is going to happen."
Dowasure was pushed against a wall and his heart beat like the wings of a frightened bird. He gasped through his mouth, feeling the familiar sensation of a sob working it's way out of his throat. He let it go quietly and gave himself up for lost. He leaned his head against the wall, exposing his throat and, so he thought, his chest and cried.
"Somethin' weird happened to this kid." The other orderly, the one that wasn't holding him, spoke to the first blur. The blur hadn't moved close enough to be distinguished from it's surroundings.
"Of course something happened. That's why he's the way he is now. Locked in fantasy. Hold him still so we can sedate him."
"Um..."
Dowasure didn't know what to do. Fighting hadn't worked. Appealing for mercy didn't work. He didn't know what else he could do.
The old adage about how if you ignore things they go away came to mind. Perhaps if he just didn't move, didn't think, didn't see, and didn't speak they would disappear...everything would disappear...
He tried to draw his knees back to his chest but found this was impossible in his current position. This did bring attention to his wounded extremitys, however.
"Scars. He's got scars."
"Where?"
"His knees."
He heard some scritching and felt his heart throb painfully. He hated his knees and he hated himself for having such horrible knees, such proof of his own evil...of his weakness...he made another noise and then tried, to the best of his ability, to become completly stiff.
"Don't hurt me..." Words that wisped from his throat softly. The room was deathly silent for a few moments and he felt as if he had said something wrong. He felt that his request would be answered by what he didn't desire and he felt more tears sliding down his face.
"Look, we aren't going to hurt you, okay?" Since Dowasure's eyes were closed, the only way he could identify the speaker was by voice. The voice sounded as if it were being forced to be kind. Perhaps it was his youth that was forcing this kind of consideration on this orderly, which he felt somewhere inside him must have been a bit more cruel and bit more demanding to the other, older patients. "Just calm down, for god's sake."
"Sedate him." The blur that had yet to be identified spoke again.
"Fine, fine..."
He finally opened his eyes and saw a syringe heading for his arm. Shrieking loudly, he tried to struggle free and found the orderly only tightened his grip painfully. His rocking efforts had momentarily stayed the syringe's progress while the orderlies stared at him.
Within his body Dowasure had always had a terrible fear of needles, ever since he vaguely remembered having to have a shot as a child and being told that it was something else. He associated needles with lies and flaring pain and both of which Dowasure feared. His inherent reaction to a needle was to run. However, as it was he had no such option.
"Don't! Don't! Stop!" He couldn't think of any better words to say. He tried to force his muscles to accumulate enough strength to break free, but they refused to listen to him. The orderlies grip was too strong and was beginning to hurt to such an extent that his muscles were trying to ignore his mind's commands.
"Jesus!"
"Hold him down if you have to!"
With more force then the orderly probably intended, Dowasure was pushed back against the wall, unable to move from the sudden collision. If the drug that was injected into his bloodstream didn't knock him unconscious, the sharp contact with the wall would have.


~~~
He woke up in a different room, this one with windows. He was glad just to be able to see the sunlight again, blurs of blue. After focusing his eyes as best as he possibly could, he found a blur sitting only a few feet away from him. Almost in his line of vision but not quite.
He shivered as he remembered what had happened to him.
"Are you okay now?"
A voice that, again, seemed to be strained with kindness. As if it were forced and not true. It bothered him. He nodded fearfully, not sure what the response would be if he said no.
"Listen, we just need to ask you some questions..." the blur flipped through some papers. "Dowasure, is it?"
The blur pronounced his name wrong. When he tried to speak he found his mouth slow to respond, but he eventually managed to get it under control."You're saying it wrong."
"Hmm?"
"You're saying my name wrong. It's not 'doh-wah-shure'."
"Oh? Then what is it?"
"Doh-wah-soo-ray." He pronounced the syllables slowly so that the blur would be able to understand. He could almost feel a slight sense of annoyance coming from the figure as they responded.
"Do you know where your name comes from?"
Dowasure gave the only answer he could remember. "Japanese."
"Well, Dowasure..." Again the mispronounciation of his name. "I hardly think you're old enough to know much about another language."
"That's the right way to say it." Dowasure was adamant on this point. He had often argued with his teachers on this very topic. "That's how my parents said it and they could speak japanese. So they knew what they were saying."
"Really? Your parents?" The blur flipped through some more papers. "I thought you were an orphan."
"I..." Dowasure paused for a moment. "I was, and then they adopted me..."
"And then they died in a car crash, didn't they?"
Dowasure stared at the blur in what he hoped was shock.
"Oh, sorry, touchy subject. I forgot. Either way, you don't have parents now, do you?"
Dowasure shook his head and tried to restrain his tears.
"Now, let's get straight to the point." The blur leaned forward and stared at him steadily. "Tell me, Dowasure..."
"You said it wrong again."
"Dowasure." The blur seemed insistent on pronouncing his name wrong and this severely annoyed him. "Tell me why you killed that man."
"I didn't!" Dowasure was used to this question and gave the only true answer. "I didn't kill him!"
"Then who did?" The voice seemed quietly amused, as if knowing he was lying but finding such fabrications amusing. "Who did kill him, Dowasure?"
"I told you already, the two demons did it, and don't call me that!"
"The 'demons', yes." The blur nodded slowly. "Yes, I've heard about the demons. But who really did it?"
"THEY DID!" Dowasure was so frustrated at their lack of belief in him that he started crying again. "No one believes me, but I saw them...they had wings and claws and everything..."
The blur shook it's head sadly. "You still won't leave your fantasy world, will you, Dowasure?"
"Don't call me that!" He shouted through his tears. "That's not my name!"
"It's the name you gave me."
"It is NOT! You're saying it WRONG!"
"Am I?" The question was intended to make Dowasure pause and consider his words, but it didn't. Dowasure's response was quick.
"YES!"
Dowasure tried to move his arm and then realized at this point that they were tied down. The blur stood and walked away into the obscuring mists of his bad vision.
"Listen, we're going to have you moved to a different wing, since you don't really seem to be a threat to anyone in your current state. Not to mention that's the only wing that has an educational facility, which you'll need...you're how old?"
"Eleven." Dowasure answered sullenly. The more the blur spoke the more he began to dislike it. He didn't even know what sex it was, it's voice was indecipherable, and it was one of the many that refused to believe him. Not only that, it refused to say his name correctly. Even his cousin and his uncle had said his name correctly.
"Right, you still have school to finish. You'll be moved tomorrow."
Dowasure stared at the blurring window and found his eyes watering again. "Can I at least have my glasses back?"
"You wear glasses?" The blur only sounded mildly surprised. Dowasure felt annoyance continuing to rise within him.
"Yes."
"That would explain why you were always squinting at me. I'll arrange for them to be sent later. Is that okay?"
Dowasure forced a pleasant tone into his voice. "Yes, that would be lovely."
The blur returned back to it's previous seat and stared at him again.
"Now, we're trying to help you. You shouldn't be troublesome."
"I'm not being troublesome. You just won't believe me. I don't need your help."
"Dowasure-"
"It's not pronounced that way."
"Why did you kill that man?"
"I didn't kill him! And he deserved it!" Dowasure felt pain rush into his head from painful memories and leaned his head back against a headrest he just discovered was there. He let a sob escape his chest. "I don't want to remember why..."
The blur stood. "You need our help, Dowasure. You can't deal with the real world this way..."
He heard the door close as they left and raised his head again, staring out the blur of blue. "I don't have problems dealing with the real world..." he sniffled. "It's having problems dealing with me..."

~~~
The tests proved that Dowasure's brain wave pattern, general chemical makeup, and overall behavior signified that he would not improve in solitary confinement. They moved him into a room that had a window, which was reinforced with bars, not nearly as much padding, and two beds.
The first thing that Dowasure had done was walk directly to the window and stare outside. They had returned his glasses to him and for once the world almost seemed to be in focus. If the bars weren't there, then he could truly have a clear view of the world. But there was nothing he truly could do.
Patches of almost dead grass, a solitary cracking tree, and other sights didn't particularly cheer his heart. The only thing that truly pleased him was the overwhelmingly clear view of the sky. He could finally take up his favorite past-time again. Watching the moon move and watching the sky glow.
"Oh, we were told we could give this back to you." The orderly that had escorted him to his new room held out his rabbit by one ear, as if it were some dead thing he hated to have to even be forced to touch. Dowasure rushed forward with an incoherent sound of joy and hugged the stuffed animal closely, feeling a rush of comfort at it. He wasn't alone anymore...
"They're going to find some room-mate who matches your brain-wave pattern for you, someone that won't set off...whatever." The orderly apparently wasn't comfortable discussing what had happened and abruptly turned and left.
Dowasure didn't even bother trying to explain what had happened. They wouldn't have believed him anyway. He had learned that much. People don't want to believe the truth.
They'd rather believe an eleven-year old child had mangled a full grown man rather then two demons. For some reason, it seemed more plausible.
He sat on his bed and noted with pleasure that he could still have a clear view of the window. He wondered if the demons knew what had happened and would come back for him. He wasn't sure if he wanted them to. What if they tore him apart for some mistakes he had made in his past...?
He brushed his fingers across his knees for a few moments and hugged his rabbit, feeling fur even through his thin hospital gown.
Why couldn't they have given him back his sweater...? He wished he had his sweater. Although the smell had long since changed from his father to himself, he still associated his father with the sweater. He wanted his necklace back as well, he wanted to have his parents with him.
He stared at the rabbits hard glass eyes which stared unmoving at him. He at least had this. This meant he wasn't completely alone.
A room-mate...
He hoped it wouldn't be like his cousin. Maybe he could have someone nice stay with him for once...that would be nice.
He wondered if the cat could slip through the bars. He just wished that he had someone living, someone breathing, someone who would sit next to him and tell him it was okay. As it was, all he had was the rabbit, and it couldn't talk. It's mouth had been stitched shut.
If it had a mouth...
"I'm NOT crazy." He asserted to himself, not wishing to give into the delusions his mind was trying to make him have to justify this kind of treatment. "I am NOT crazy. Two demons came and killed him, not me. I didn't do anything and I'm NOT crazy."
Saying this outloud with no one to tell him he was wrong made him feel better.