"You're only alive until you're dead."

Connors said that to me once. Well, to all of us, but he was looking at me. I think he was trying to sound deep and, if anyone else had spoken those words, they might have succeeded. Connors just sucked.

He wasn't particularly the philosophical sort, ol' Connors. He made many attempts and some, by the law of averages, I suppose, worked. The weighted phrase he uttered made us think. Well, they all made us think, it was just that most had us believing he was an idiot. Of course, there were multiple reasons for us to reach that conclusion.

But, anywho-be-do.

Being alive until you're dead. On the surface, and to a fair few of my fellow residents, it was an obvious statement. If you're alive, you're not dead. If you're not dead, you're alive. The likes of Bender and Mucous nodded and smiled when Connors said it, and tutted and shook those same heads when he left.

"Well, duh!" Mucous Mickey said between sniffs. "Even I know that!"

Bender Benny agreed. Both would admit they weren't the brightest bulbs in the basket, and both were completely aware of the difference between life and death. Breathing and being a pile of ash on someone's mantlepiece, hopefully in an urn.

I, on the other hand, was surprised at the doctor. It had been a while since he'd come up with a phrase with a meaning deeper than its initial appearance might imply. In his head, they would all be onions, with layers you could peel back to reveal the tasty morsel within. In our heads, they were onion shaped pieces of coal. Blackened, dirty and only good for setting fire to.

This most recent attempt gave me pause. I didn't like that. I didn't want him to affect me in any such way. He was an arrogant man who believed all should kneel before him. So many residents and staff did exactly that, spiritually. They were prone before his intellectual might, dwarfed by the selfless care for his fellow man.

Yeah, right. Though he was intelligent, there was a great deal more selfishness to his selflessness. Did he begin his career wanting to make a difference, in a good way? Had he wanted to help and cure? If so, when did it all change? When did he simply seek power? Adoration? They were all that was left of him. If he'd been anything more, that part of him was gone. Severed by his greed.

There are many ways to be alive that were more than simply taking breath followed by breath. It's possible to be surrounded by a loving family, have a great job and a wide circle of dedicated friends, yet feel dead. The death of a spirit is as tragic as the death of a life. Perhaps more so. You're still living, if not alive. You can still see and touch and taste, yet the essence of it all only eats away at you.

Was Connors capable of seeing the nuances of existence to those levels? If I said no, was I doing the man a disservice? Perhaps. My experience of him and his sensibilities had not extended to seeing how emotionally aware he was.

He'd looked at me when he said it. Though it was apparently aimed at the room, I was the one meant to receive it.

But, why?

I don't think he saw anything deeper in the sentence than was said. There was no subtle meaning or message. He was a literal man. Literally, he was telling me, I think, that I was on borrowed time.

But, was Connors a killer? Could he afford to be?

The answer to the first question was yes, though my proof was as insubstantial as his empathy. I did believe he was a killer. Not necessarily in person, though I wouldn't put it past him. He had staff. Orderlies who would carry out every instruction, no matter the seriousness or insanity. He employed, with only a few exceptions, a particular type of person. Ones who enjoyed the level of cruelty they could pass off as care. Ones who saw him as gifted. Infallible. Inevitable!

They may well have done the deed, but Dr Connors himself held tightly onto the puppet strings. Too many of my fellow residents had been for 'treatment' and not returned.

The second question's response was also yes.

Connors had potentially unlimited funds. He had powerful friends, through either political means or blackmail. I didn't know details, only what I'd pieced together from overheard conversations between orderlies and my own chats with my friend Jeremy. Even if he did 'do the do,' and was discovered, he would still manage to come out on top. He'd run his fingers through his hair, smooth down his tunic or suit and smile. All would be forgiven. All would be ignored.

So, should I be concerned? What did he have against me? OK, so I had the ear of the residents. They trusted me. I could rouse or rally them with a fair amount of success, if I so chose to. I didn't do so, generally, though. I'd incarcerated myself in the asylum, so was here voluntarily. At least at first. Something inventive might have to be conceived when I eventually want to leave, though.

When I arrived, I only knew Connors from his external reputation. He was a man to whom the care and rehabilitation of others was a subject close to his heart. He believed he was put on this Earth for the good of everyone else. Our unannounced Messiah. He would use his talents to help those who needed it. Those whose minds were broken.

Once inside, I realised his actual plans differed from the public version. He did, I assumed, do some good, but that was probably by accident. A by-product of his treatment. I had been under his intimidating stare whilst sitting opposite him in his office. I'd been the recipient of his therapy. I'd visited, for lengthy periods sometimes, Room 101.

I saw his empire build, and his image. I saw the population of the asylum grow. I saw the attitudes of the orderlies deteriorate. Instead of rousing the other patients, I could only be their ear, their shoulder, and their conscience. A cheerleader, too, when required.

So why did Connors need to threaten me?

I hadn't been entirely honest about my reasons for voluntarily incarcerating myself within these hallowed walls. If I'd told him about the deaths, he'd have thought me crazy. If I had mentioned being visited by my dead sister, he'd have had me measured for one of those jackets with the nice straps. If I'd blamed it all on that damned 2p coin, Room 101 would have been luxury compared to the room I'd be thrown into. I don't doubt it would have been dark, with scratchings in the walls at night. A mattressless bed. Food shoved through a tiny hatch at the bottom of the permanently locked door.

Being here by my own volition should have meant I could leave at any time, but I'd tried that before. It appeared that I couldn't.

For my own safety, no doubt, as they didn't know the truth. So, I was a prisoner, but less so than if they knew the real me.

Had Connors somehow found out? I wondered, but couldn't see how. I no longer had the coin. The catalyst. The Big Red Button. A 'BRB' where there was no coming back from. That was in my file, as far as I knew. It had stopped coming back to me, as it had done on all those occasions where I'd tried to dispose of it, when I entered the asylum. Perhaps its power had diminished, or failed completely. I could still hear the screams of the myriad dead, for which I was alternately horrified and thankful. I should remember them. I should feel their pain.

My intention, on coming here, was to remove the chance of it happening again. I think I succeeded in that, though I'm not entirely sure.

So, did Connors know?

He could have discovered my secret, and want to kill me to stop others dying.

It was a possibility, however remote. That would indicate he gave a shit about the world outside his ego. That would indicate he realised there was a world beyond him.

Maybe it wasn't a threat. It might not have even been aimed at me. Paranoia was your only friend in his world, and he encouraged its visits. Where other hospitals invited motivational speakers or external professionals with the aim of helping the patients, Connors was of the impression that no one knew more than he. It could well have simply been a lopsided attempt at metaphor, intended to enlighten us.

You're only alive until you're dead.

Live the best life you can. Be the best you. You're only here once, so make the most of it.

Possibly.

But...

No.

He aimed it at me. He wanted me to hear those words. To take them in. To be aware.

And I was.

And, if he didn't know about me, and if the threat was real, he'd soon find out the truth.

People die around me.

Flip and Catch.