Outward Eyes

Trigger Warning-Mental Health

Clinging to the metal bars, Mars is enjoying his stay in prison; clearly, an insane man the officers in the precinct are eager to avoid him and his little games.

“Ooh, toss a biscuit to this poor soul, would you?” He grins unnervingly, drawing his lips wide, exposing his yellowing whites. He spits a little bit when his request is ignored, still smiling in overexposed hubris like Boxer.

Catrin, a novice detective dares to glance at him, an action Mars thoroughly enjoys, his nose flaring in self-indulgent glee as he jumps hurriedly in the air.

“Don’t look at him.” Detective Samson wraps an arm around Catrin’s shoulders pulling her away from the scene. 

Out of earshot, Detective Samson reassures Catrin of Mars’ imprisonment. “He can’t break through steel or concrete. He won’t be able to get out.”

“He’s insane. Should he really be here?” Catrin asks.

“The hospital won’t take him. Too full they say, but if you ask me I think they’re too scared to touch him.” 

Catrin nods, unwilling to trust her voice. Samson pats her shoulders and leaves. 

Catrin returns to her desk after lingering in the kitchen far too long for tea or coffee and despite Mars’ unhinged giggles she doesn’t stray her eyes from a rogue leaflet she found in the kitchen; the benefits of organ donation, enquire today! As Catrin sits at her desk, her back safely facing the figure, Mars’ gargled giggles become strangled hops of sounds, clearly disappointed.

Throughout the day, Mars makes several attempts for attention from different people, somehow managing to make strange hybrids of sounds and grunts. Each new game makes Catrin shiver and tense; she welcomes every opportunity to escape, even intern tasks like coffee runs. 

The following day, Catrin returns to work to find Mars still there, just as hyper and chaotic as the day before. She feels a pang of guilt that no one has come to collect him, although she sincerely doubts his capacity to appreciate the gesture at the moment. Today, he’s decided to make popping sounds with his mouth, even creating ‘bubbles’ with his dribble-this is definitely not the place he needs to be.

Catrin pours herself over Mars’ documents or lack thereof; the police report doesn’t have a last name, only a vague estimate of age. He has no ID, no criminal record or fingerprints that match anyone in the system. It’s sad really, Catrin thinks and hopes to find a matching missing person’s report. 

“It’s pointless,” Samson speaks, the interruption making Catrin spasm in shock. “Oh sorry, Red.” Samson’s body shakes in hysterics. “Didn’t mean to make you jump.”

“No worries” Catrin haphazardly laughs as she feels fresh heat flush her cheeks. “It’s good to be kept on your toes at times.” 

Samson slowly regains himself. his grin falling a curling line. “It’s pointless. There’s nothing on ‘Mars’. I’ve sent a request to the international database for missing persons, but they’re taking their time.”

“What do we do then? He can’t stay here.” Catrin asks, eyes wide.

“Well, he can’t leave-he’s safer here than out there. Who knows what would happen to him or someone else.” Samson deflates, glancing over at the now sleeping man. 

“Should we go to the press? Maybe release a photograph and see if anyone recognises him?” 

Samson slumps and sighs resignedly, “Might as well, but I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Yes sir.” Catrin nods. 

The local newspaper is more than eager to assist, Catrin finds; the lead reporter practically deafened her when she called and arrived at the station no later than 20 minutes after. 

“So he’s…” Mr Skinner draws a circle with his finger beside his head, the universal signal for insanity.

“Unwell.” Catrin cuts, beginning to think that going to the press was a bad idea. 

Skinner, the pimple-faced reporter stirs under Catrin's angry undertone, “Umm~ can I talk to him?” He asks, his voice wobbling over the words on squeaks, and Catrin wonders why they sent a child.

“I apologise Mr Skinner, but as you can see the individual is not in the right mental capacity to speak to anyone.” She states, peering over at Mars whose now engaged with stacking invisible bricks and knocking them down again. And the reporter nods, wringing his hands in a tight knot at the sight. “But I do hope you use this photograph.” Catrin slides a photo of Mars, a frazzled man with

gnawing brown eyes- a photo the reporter quickly tucks away in his jeans pocket.

“Oh-Yes, thank you, detective.” Mr Skinner scrambles, realising it’s time to leave, drops his notebook and snorts an apology in the process. Catrin rests her head in her hands, bites back a curse.

Catrin is not surprised when she reads the next day's headline: UNIDENTIFIED CRAZY MAN IN JAIL!

Clearly, Mr Skinner likes an element of the theatrics Catrin observes. Her heart leaps to her throat at the words, psycho, demented and kook alongside the blown-up photograph Mars; it’s not the sympathetic story she had hoped for.

“REDFORD!” Samson bellows loudly like a foghorn. The sudden vocalisation spurs Catrin to stand to attention, her nails painfully biting into her palm.

“Yes, sir,” Catrin responds, looking downwards before forcing her eyes upwards to Samson’s whose hovers above. She’s certain that her nails will leave marks. 

“What is THIS!” Samson spits, slapping the newspaper onto her desk, an action that topples pens and paperwork onto the floor. Catrin shrinks away from the attention as the room falls stiffly silent, only broken by Mars’ hyperactive claps and squeals. 

“I’ll see you in my office later.” Samson bites slightly less vicious than before, and leaves the room in a state of deflating shock.

The article’s sour taste continues to stain the following few days as bored teenagers attempt to gander at the lunatic, the mad man, the freak. Some even dare to shout taunts through the windows while Samson is inundated with calls from worried residents. Mars is fortunately unaffected by the recent happenings it seems, thoroughly distracted by objects of his own imagination.

Catrin sighs, relegated to desk duties for the foreseeable future after earning Samson’s grudging ire. Out of shame she’s avoided talking about it, and avoided Samson, not very eager to poke the bear; she’s never been in trouble before, let alone berated. 

Yawning, Catrin examines a datasheet, its long lines of numbers following onto the back, and onto two mirroring sheets. The overhanging office lights create little yellow shadows of light that disguise the numbers on the page, and much to Catrin’s chagrin she starts the data entry. So when a voice pipes up, Catrin quickly banishes the task.

“Excuse me, Are you Detective Redford by any chance?” A tall figure enquires.

“Oh, yes- that’s me. How can I help you?” She replies so overenthusiastically, the man pulls back a little.

“I’ve come for my brother. Uh-that man, over there.” He points towards Mars’ sleeping form.

A smile falls across Catrin’s face, “Oh, you’re Mars’ brother? Oh, that’s wonderful!” She says, careful to keep her voice low. 

“Yes, yes. He likes to call himself Mars sometimes. His real name is Cameron Agnello. I would like to bring him home.”

“Oh, yes of course. Please sit down, do you have any identification or any official documents for yourself or your brother?” 

The conversation moves swiftly, the brother Casper Agnello providing a plethora of documents and polite apologies for Mars-Cameron, although no clear explanation, it’s clear this is a somewhat common occurrence. 

“Well done.” Samson appeases. “Seems that article did some good after all.” He pats her shoulder. Catrin isn’t as inclined to agree.