WHO AM I?

My name is Jack Steen. 

That name shouldn’t mean anything to you. But it does to others and that’s what counts. 

I’m a nobody, really. 

I’m not a writer. I’m not a storyteller. I’m not a goddamn thing.

I’m just a man who wipes the asses of that society couldn’t give two shits about. I give them their medicine, change their diapers, and provide something no one else has… 

An audience.

I work as a night nurse in the Asylum. 

Which one? Doesn’t matter – they’re all the same. After you read the stories, you should be able to figure it out, but apparently, I might get sued if I actually say the name, so I won’t.

You picked up this book because of the title, right? Deathbed Confessions of the Criminally Insane. That’s exactly what you’re about to read. 

That’s what I do. I take their deathbed confessions. The ones no one else has heard. The ones everyone wants to hear.

My patients tell me their stories, they confess their messed up lives because I do what no one else in this fucking asylum does.

I listen. 

I’ve worked here the longest out of anyone on my floor. I’ve got the scars, the stitches, the broken bones to prove it. I worked my way from the shittiest jobs here to the one I have now.

I used to think being a nurse was my calling. My passion. 

I thought I could make a difference, that what I did was important. 

I was stupid to think anything in life was worth this shit. 

I used to work in a hospital full of people who had lives and loved ones that cared about them. Most of my patients here have been discarded, forgotten about, left to spend their final days alone. 

I won’t tell you which hospital I work at. 

I won’t tell you the names of those dying.

But I won’t lie to you.

You’ll read exactly what I’m told. 

Instead of their real names, I’ll tell you the names I gave them. The names I whisper in their ear as they fall asleep. Sometimes they hate these names, but I don’t care. 

If you’re smart, if you can read between the lines, you’ll know who is telling the story.

I can’t say all the stories are one hundred percent true but like every tale ever told, there’s always a nugget of truth – but then, what the fuck do I know?

These sadistic bastards could be playing their final game with me by messing with my head and now, they could be playing with yours.

CLYDE.

Christmas. Ho-ho-ho and all that merry shit people like to say. We all know by now how I feel about the holiday, so Ike says I need to skip all that shit and just get with the program.

The program – as he likes to say – is about figuring out ways to not be a scrooge.

At least he doesn’t tell me I have to enjoy it.

Between you and me…I don’t mind Christmas, I just hate how commercialized it is, how it’s so narrow-focused, and the expectation everyone feels because some stupid corporate heads want to be rich.

Holidays aren’t easy for everyone. I know you know that. 

I wish everyone realized this simple fact, that they’d stop being so focused on the holly jolly, merry gifts, and rum punch.

Sure, maybe for those who are at home with family, holidays are a give-and-take kind of deal. You have the happy with the crazy, the fun that outweighs the stress, but for those in the Asylum, Christmas fucking sucks.

Not for everyone. Some people seem to find ways to enjoy the holiday – even if it’s just the cookies they get for dessert or the ornaments and lights that get strung up by the staff.

We try to make it a happy thing on this floor – I really don’t have much of a choice. The day shift does most of the decorating – they even invite the off-shift employees to join them, and they host a cookie decorating challenge after the place looks all festive.

I don’t join in. You really didn’t expect me to, right?

So, all this brings me to the first patient I want to introduce you to.

Ike sent me an email before shift with some lyrics and told me to guess who had arrived:

Deck the halls with knives and muscles,
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la 
Spread your arms for a good bear tussle, 
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la 
Pull them close, shiv them tight…
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la 
Kill your enemies and say good night, 
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

I knew right away who was on the floor.

Clyde.

Clyde is a little rough around the edges – and that’s being nice. 

He’s one hell of a beast – or he used to be. He’s slender but had muscles you weren’t even aware of, once upon a time. 

Clyde is hard. He’s gruff and ugly-tempered. He’d sooner break your bones than give you a smile. 

I once watched him bring someone in for a hug and almost broke the girl’s back from his grip.

Clyde is an ugly sonofabitch, and he’s quite proud of it.

His story has to come first, whether it’s what I want or not. By the time you’re done with this book, you’ll understand why.

ANDREA.

The cookies.

You’d think my staff would have waited until I was there to open the box, right?

No. Apparently, all is fair when it comes to my mom’s baking. Asshats, the lot of them.

It’s a good thing she gave me two boxes – one to share and one for myself.

She spoils me, and I know it.

There’s still cookies in this box, so I don’t go to my secret stash…I’ll save those for later.

The first cookie I ate was a sugar cookie, covered in sugar sprinkles, just how I like them. 

Listen, I’m not picky. If the sugar cookie has all that icing shit on it, I’ll eat it. They’re just not my favorite, you know? With that icing on it, it gets all hard, and there’s a crunch to the cookie I don’t enjoy.

Sugar cookies are meant to be soft and fluffy. I’ll fight you on that any day of the week.

Ike comes along, whistling some merry tune, and I hand him the last sugar cookie in the container.

“To Clyde,” I say.

“To the assfuck,” Ike says as he takes a bite. “He really was a grumpy shit, wasn’t he?”

I stick the rest of the cookie in my mouth. “Nah, you just needed to get to know him. He only had two sides – gruff exterior and a soft heart for Penny.”

Ike doesn’t say shit, not until he decides to grumble about my choice of music.

“This year, you need to let us add some songs, man. This crap you have on there sucks.” 

“Like I’d let you add some of that Swift shit.” 

He punches me in the shoulder. “Lay off the Taylor, man. That girl has some mad skills and doesn’t need your judgment.” 

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, Ike’s soft heart includes listening to Taylor Swift songs. 

“On, that note, let’s make a bet.” He’s got his arms crossed but the way he looks over his shoulder, he’s up to something.

“I bet I know who you’ll be chatting with next.” 

Like that is a surprise. Even I know who I’ll be chatting with next.

“And if you’re right?” 

“I want a box of your mom’s cookies.” He doesn’t even hesitate when he says it.

I pretend to think about it, but knowing Mom is already making him and his wife a tray of goodies, I don’t care if I win or lose.

“Are your verses ready for them, yet?”

Ike rubs his hands together in glee. “Are my versus ready? Who do you think I am?” He reaches over the ledge to the desk below and pulls out a sheet of paper from beneath a patient folder.

Deck the halls with love and kisses,
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la 
Fill your boots with knives and shiv…es, 
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la 
Be a mother, love your daughter…
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la 
Kill the woman who let someone abuse her, 
Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la.

“That’s your weakest one yet,” I tell him. 

“I’ve never chatted with her before, so it’s the best I can do.” He gives me a shrug and I leave it alone. 

He’s not lying. Hardly anyone has chatted with Andrea. Since coming here, she’s been quiet like a church mouse, only I doubt she’s ever been inside a church before. 

It’s rare that we ever get partners in this place, but this bunch…they’re a special breed. 

Where Clyde was hard and ugly-tempered, Andrea is even worse. Think…. Alias with Jennifer Garner but uglier and meaner and definitely without that girl-next-door smile.

Now that I think about it, maybe Andrea resembles Elektra or even that Peppermint movie the actress was in, instead of the sweet Sydney Bristol. It’s been a while since I watched that series…maybe it’s time to do some late-night binge-watching again – and don’t you fucking judge me for that. That shit was good, and you’d know that if you watched it.