The Egomaniac Goes Bad

The Egomaniac Goes Bad

By Charlie Fischer





The Ninth of May, 1989 was a lovely spring day and the Rolling Hills Sanitarium’s grounds reflected this day well. The variety of song birds on the tree-populated acreage were chirping against the sunlit backgrounds of blue sky and white wisps of cloud, and the mulberry and lilac bushes provided other homes for the song teachers. The ground cover of verdant green grass appeared as a manicured carpet fit for the palaces of the gods, but this lovely day in May found Karl Schwartz as unhappy a guy one might imagine. Karl’s mother was committing him to the sanitarium; Karl had been diagnosed as an egomaniac.

Karl Samuel Schwartz is a reincarnated King of Norway; he says he is King Anacrackel of the Fifteenth Century. He claims he is back here, in time, to do penance for his drunkenness, thievery and disregard for other’s lives that took place over Five Hundred years ago. Karl Schwartz currently, in this Twentieth-Century, lives under the cold, beady, penetrating, green and domineering eye of his mother. He works as an auto mechanic for the Governor of the State of California by servicing the State Official’s vehicles. At times he even works on the limousine that is used to escort the President of the United States of America, but he hates this work especially working on the limo; Karl feels it should be the other way around. The president should serve him, the King, King Anacrackel of Norway. Anacrackel, the great, the……[enter the facts that make for good reading]

“…[and] over here Mrs. Schwartz is the patients’ cafeteria and here,” she gestures as a show to Karl, “is the recreational room where volunteers come each Friday evening to hold dance parties. They bring along cookies, cakes, punch, the décor and prizes too,” said the Welcoming Initial Intake Person, [W.I.I.P.] (Patients refer to them as the Wimps.)

“How charming,” remarked Mrs. Schwartz. “Karl, sweetheart, tell the nice lady how you would just love to celebrate with the volunteers, Dear.”

Karl spoke up, “I am the King of Norway; this place is not fit for a King, I repeat this place is not for the King.”

“Dear nurse, he doesn’t mean that this hospital isn’t nice, clean and good; it’s that

Karl, when he is like this, believes he has lived in a palace in Norway. You think this is a fine place, right Karl,” said Mrs. Schwartz, as she unmercifully gouged her nails deep into Karl’s arm she was holding as an attempt to bring Karl to a more reasonable state of mind.

Karl, feeling the intense electric like shots of pain in has arm, replied with a nearly noticeable indication of housing fearful feelings of a horrendously terror filled and ghastly nature, “Oh, yes my sweet mother, dearest love of mine, this hospital is wonderfully marvelously bestowed with the Grace of God. Here, here right here in this facility is where any King should be proud to dwell, as a spirit of royalty dwells within these most beauteous walls.

“You see nurse?”

Ms. Jennie Wrench, the W.I.I.P., who was processing Karl’s admission exclaimed how delighted she was to have such a fine young man as Karl, Karl was 27, here at Rolling Hills. She went on to explain how so many souls here at Rolling Hills communicate their feelings about the Sanitarium differently, yet all really do love it here. She went on about how pitiful it was that so many outsiders just couldn’t understand Rolling Hills’ patients as the resident staff. They, the staff, see their patients as one big family Rolling Hills’ family.

“Your name tag says, Jennie Wrench, is this correct?” asked Mrs. Schwartz.

“Why Yes, Mrs. Schwartz, but just call me Karl’s maid. I actually am called a W.I.I.P., but just to make it easier, call me Karl’s maid.

“I am a King, you are not a maid, you are a slave. Mom when you refer to this woman, say, ‘Hello King’s slave, hello’,” said Karl.

“Would that be all right, Jenny, if I called you the my King’s slave?”

“Certainly, Mrs. Schwartz, I am the slave of your King, Karl.

“OK, Mom, she is the slave, I am the King. Everything will be OK Mom as long as she does not forget just who she is and who I am. I love you Mom.

“Son, King, Great Royal One, I must get on my way to get our Gerald dinner. I’ll stop off for some caviar, wine and a duck. Mary, our maid will have it all ready with in a few hours, and Gerald will be happy, but I must scoot now, King,” expressed Karl’s Mom.

Mrs. Schwartz left and Jenny left Karl in care of the psychiatric technician, Kurk Kurk, a scholistic appearing 25 year old student of psychiatry was quieter than the average technician. He showed Karl his ward, but Karl couldn’t find any peace except in the commode stall within the restroom. Here is where the King set up his throne. One evening while reading a book entitled, My Life With Recreational Drugs, by George, the Tea, Gardner. Karl decided to steal some pain killers from the hospital’s loading dock after the drop shipment was made. He planed on inviting his friend to pay a visit in order to pick the pain killers up for the purpose of selling them on the street at a fat profit.

He telephoned His friend, Jerome: “Hello Jerome, this is Karl, yeah, fine, how ya been? Great. Jerome do you want some money? Could use? Me too. Well could you sell some pain killers in pill form for a couple of bucks each? Wow! OK. Bring me a 32c pistol and a blotter of speed to Rolling Hills Sanatorium; I’ll have you some drugs for you that won’t quit, man. I am a patent here, but not for long.”

After studying the area where he dwelt, Karl learned much of the lay out. There was an old, now defunct, laundry chute right on the stairwell platform off of his ward. It lead to an old laundry room never used since the new one was built. The old laundry room was just a few yards away from the loading dock where the pharmaceutical products were delivered. Karl’s plan was to steal codeine that he found out was delivered each month on the 15th.

So, on the 15th of the Month of July, Karl slipped into the laundry chute and slid down four stories smoothly and slowly into the laundry just a small distance from where the codeine would be delivered. There, with a security guard only six feet away sitting in the security booth, he waited in total silence awaiting the delivery truck from the manufacture. Though he knew there were guards working in the hospital, he did not know one sat in a console on the loading dock. Karl feared his plan was thwarted, and worried about being discovered in the unused laundry room.

He, also, was nervous that the staff on his ward might discover him missing if he didn’t hurry back. They would most assuredly find him missing and begin a search at 1:00 when lunch began for ward G. The time read 12:28pm, and the officer stood, pushed away his chair and headed toward the laundry room. Karl crouched down in the dark corner and was holding his breath when the officer opened the door took. a step in the laundry room, reached up to a shelf, took down a bag lunch and left closing the door behind him. Karl shed a tear or two.

At 12:35pm the driver delivering the drugs arrived with his delivery for the entire hospital. The driver took ten minutes to unload 40 cases 4 of which were codeine pain killers. When the driver left, Karl took a case. He put the pain killers up the laundry chute shaft and stuffed old discarded newspapers and magazines after it to prevent it from sliding back down. He noticed that one magazine was entitled, True Crime, and he was frustrated, as he was back in time to live down his past life’s crimes. Karl knew his friend Jerome would be able to locate the booty. Now to get to the cafeteria before trouble ensued was the kind of thinking Karl had going through his head. Karl took the tennis ball from his pocket and held it in his hand.

He quickly, with all his senses acute headed up the stairs where the chute he descended was affixed. A cafe volunteer looked out on the platform and uttered, “Karl, Karl are you here.” Karl threw the tennis ball against the wall above the platform as if he had been playing for awhile.

“Here I am; here I am playing catch with myself. No one will play with me, the King,” said Karl. “No one. God bless them all.”

The volunteer told him it was time for lunch, and he had better hurry before the head nurse found out he was throwing the ball against the wall. Karl hurried into the cafe, and all was status quo for a few days, but on the third day Karl had a visitor. The head nurse called into the restroom, “King Anacrackel, Kink Anacrackel please come out; there is a surprise here for you. You have a visitor. Karl, snickering to himself, came out to see his visitor, his drug thief, drug distributor, and especially his deliver of a gun and some amphetamine in a blotter, his old pal Jerome, who has done time for burglary.

“Hello, Jerome, how are you?” asked Karl, the King. Jerome, though an ex criminal, had been going straight for quite awhile. He was a small, lean wiry of a guy. His one unmistakably noticeable feature was, that he really hadn’t much of a neck. His head appeared to be resting on his shoulders.

“King Anacrackel, I am fine, and you?”

“Good,” said Karl, the King. “I am good, but broke; could you still use some money as I?”

Jerome answered, “Where is the best place to talk?”

“In hear,” said Karl, the King, “In the restroom.” They went into the restroom and struck a deal. Jerome was to pay $200, pick up the pain killers, and distribute them for what money he could. Jerome was to do this each month. The King asked for the $200, and Jerome handed it over and received the information where the hidden codeine was stuffed. Jerome bid farewell to the King and then to the Head Nurse, who escorted Jerome out the front door of the ward that’s bolt lock was only thrown during the night hours. Jerome lit a fire in the garbage bin around the corner from the loading dock where the laundry room was. The guard asked Jerome, “What may I do for you?”

Jerome answered, “I came to report a fire around the corner in the garbage bin.

“Thank you,” and the guard lugged the heavy extinguisher around the corner to the flaming garbage bin and commenced putting out the fire. Jerome rushed into the laundry room, pulled out the paper and magazines holding the case of pills in the chute, and the case of drugs fell out. Jerome ripped open the case and shoved the 12 bottles of the medicine codeine in his coat, shirt and pants pockets. There were 50 pills in each of the 12 plastic bottles making the haul for $200, 600 pills.

Jerome hollered, “Good by,” to the guard who was still spraying the fire with the large extinguisher.

“So long; thanks again, man-I’ll get an award for putting this fire out,” said the officer. Jerome got in his vehicle, and left the hospital grounds, so he might go and sell the codeine for, not $200, but for $1.00 dollar each pill giving him a $400 profit.

The clerk distributed the pharmacological products through out the hospital according to the order forms, but discovered the missing case of codeine. The clerk reported the missing case to the hospital director who telephoned Detective Eugene Philip Vibes to request help in discovering the whereabouts of the case of codeine pain killers. “Investigate within the mental hospital for a drug thief, are you sure I will be safe? My wife would never forgive me, if I made her a widow.

“You will be with the security personnel, if you need to visit the violent wards, so do not worry.”

“The security guards?” questioned the Detective, “Will I be able to use them as shields?”

“Detective, these guys will be at your disposal, what ever; just don’t strike them, because their union is getting stronger.”

“Security officers as escorts; well I may get permission to deputize them, so I can give them weapons. I’ve seen mental cases exude strength surpassing Charles Atlas” said Detective Vibes. “My fee is $200 per day, a meal from the staff’s cafe, and a free psychiatric examination thrown in.”

“All right,” said the hospital Director, and Vibes left his office to make his way to Rolling Hills Sanitarium.

On arriving at the hospital and after having lunch, the detective went to the loading dock and spoke with the security officer. Learning the guard takes his lunch at the precise time the delivery is scheduled to arrive, Vibes decided to be kind, he said, “The driver should wait for you to return before dropping off the goods he delivers.” Vibes looked around and found the torn up codeine carton in the unused laundry room that once held 12 bottles of the drug. “The thief probably isn’t a staff member, as they certainly have access to much better places to discard this evidence. A patient must be behind this crime; after all the staff wouldn‘t want to need to wipe their finger prints off this box.” were the thoughts Vibes pondered while lifting finger prints from the discarded carton.

While Vibes was filing away his finger print samples in his detective kit, a shot rang out, then another. Vibes decided to leave, so he got in his car and begain to drive home when a patient ripped opened the passenger door of Vibes’ Chevy, and got in. “I am the King of Norway, and I want you to head South on Highway, 101; we’re going to Mexico.” Karl pulled out a gun, “See this Mr.; this is the key to this car and Mexico is our goal. Let’s get going.”

When he looked over at the face of the patient, Vibes was horrified; evidently this individual was full of drugs, as his face looked as a sheet drying on a cloths line-the King wore a real Satanic expression. “I have already killed Jenny Wrench and the G Ward Orderly, and I wouldn’t mind driving to Mexico alone after killing you, let’s get on our way. Vibes pulled off the hospital grounds and raced speedily down the road to Highway 101, South.

“Boy,” yelled Vibes. “There’s no blood in your face, how do you feel; you look dead?” “Boy, boy,” shouted Vibes. Vibes stopped the car as the boy fell asleep. “Boy,” shouted Vibes, as he shook the boy. On checking the boy’s vital signs, Vibes realized that Karl Schwartz was dead. He called the police and asked for an ambulance that came in minutes.

The ambulance driver speedily had the boy on a stretcher and in the ambulance where vital signs were taken and blood test was administered. “The patient is dead, and died of an overdose of amphetamines and codeine.,” said the driver. “Our consolations; by, by.” The ambulance silently drove off as in a funeral.

Vibes remarked to the policeman, as they were pulling out, “Boys, after I attend any and all hearings or trials, I want to check into the Rolling Hills Sanitarium where this egomaniac that went bad stayed, I’m stressed out, boys.









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