Russell is concerned. His phone hasn’t rung for days. For most, this isn’t a problem and perhaps even desired. But Russell finds the sound of the phone ringing soothing. His nerves are practically shot. A crippling phobia of talking to, even being in the presence of, other people prevents him from asking someone to call. His only hope is to leave notes with his phone number strewn about.
The only time Russell can muster up the courage to leave his home to strategically place the notes is under cover of night. While most are preparing for bed, Russell is skulking around their houses leaving his calling card, quite literally. Unfortunately, a recent crime wave in town has caused his neighbors to increase their security diligence.
Upon his first step onto the property of a nearby house, motion sensor lights explode in bright white light. The door to the house flies open and Russell finds himself staring across the lawn at a vicious, barking Rottweiler on a very strained looking leash. Panicking immediately, Russell drops the rest of his notes where he stands and sprints home. He seeks solace beneath the kitchen sink, his normal calming location.
The next morning, the phone rings incessantly, much to Russell’s delight. He lies down on his couch with pleased expression knowing that the events of the night were well worth the torment. However, a few hours later there is a knock at the door. Russell’s blood pressure shoots up immediately. He sits rigidly on the couch as the knocking becomes more urgent. A muffled voice seeps through the door:
“Open up! It’s the police! We’d like a word with you!”
Russell knows he can’t ignore them, but also knows that he can’t see them due to the aforementioned social phobia. He slowly picks himself up off of the couch and makes his way to the door, using anything and everything he can find as a crutch. The last few steps are passed over in favor of a massive lurch toward the door. The considerable impact startles the cops outside, causing them to instinctually draw their firearms.
Unfortunately, Russell peaks through the peephole only to discover three guns pointed directly at the door and indirectly at him (what with the door being in the way and all). While the police remain cautious, they lower their guns and call to Russell:
“Are you OK in there? Please open the door. It is critical that we talk to you.”
But they were too late. Words are meaningless to Russell now. He is paralyzed with fear and dread. His mind reeled with confusion about what he could have done to warrant the police arriving at his home with guns drawn. He knew that sneaking around people’s property may be a bit uncouth, but not an offense that required bullets be present upon interrogation.
The cops are worried. Perhaps the sound was because Russell hanged himself and banged against the door. Their concern (and a bit of curiosity) takes control and they cautiously break the door in. Upon entry, they find Russell lying prone on the ground and immediately leap to his aid.
A look of utter terror is frozen on Russell’s face. Unable to fight back, his only defense is to become stiff as a board and wait for an ambulance to take him to the hospital for inspection. Tens of people wander around his living room trying to discern what exactly has been going on. A search team takes a look around. All Russell can do is scream with his eyes, not knowing why so many are interested in him or his house.
At the hospital and after a considerable amount of medication, a detective questions Russell about his whereabouts the night before and on the nights of other neighborhood crimes. Russell is useless. He is so drugged up he can only comment on the tiny leprechauns dancing on the detectives head and shoulders (“like the shampoo!”).
The detective tries to explain that after his calling cards were found scattered around a house last night, a neighborhood sweep was conducted to see if any were left at any other crime scenes, and lo and behold, there had been. Russell explains:
“The pink pony is my favorite because it’s pink.”
At this point, the detective realizes that the interrogation is useless. Russell is incapable of speaking when not drugged up and incapable of sense when drugged. The only course of action is to have Russell institutionalized. So he did.
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