Title lacking

First off, I know this isn't very good, its for English and I couldn't really make it fit into the limit we had. Can't ass much right now, but still leave comments on it, I'm rewriting it for fun after I turn it in. Mostly looking for mistakes I made though.

“Can you at least try Danny?” Mr. Vern asked. Like all the other days he was issuing me an impossible task. Call Jack out; get him to take control, and let him talk to him. There were a few reasons I couldn’t.

A. Jack never listened to my calls, he would come out when he felt he was needed, or wanted to.

B. He never took control of me, he only whispered commands and I followed in a hypnotic trance. At least I believe I did, the memories for his adventures were black.

C. If Jack did come out, he wouldn’t talk he would leave the room and do one of many things I hated. He would probably land me in jail for underage drinking, or some e other sort of thing he thought I would have fun doing. Or maybe end me up killing someone…again.

“I’ve told you no, a million times, I’m not going to let you talk to him. It’s too dangerous, and not to mention impossible to do,” This is when I started to feel his hand on my shoulder, Jack had come out, and by his first whisper I knew he wasn’t here to talk.

“Punch him,” he hissed, and played with my subconscious, I remember getting up and gripping Mr. Vern’s shirt, and raising my fist. Then it went black. A familiar ink colored fog drifts over my mind when I try and remember, only a sound can be heard over it. The fearful squeak and moan of an old man, who had just tried to help me. I should feel bad for him, but he knew what could happen if he helped me, I was unstable, simple as that. And asking jack to come out was asking for the punch. He might not have deserved it, but he ordered it any way.

“Come on you idiot!” came a sharp bark. My mind was foggy, my head was pounding. It seemed like Jack had decided to go to a party, he loved beer, but he also never had to deal with the morning after effect. My left check rested on something cold, it was sore and had when I tried to move my head it hurt a bit. My arm hung off the side of something, numb and limp. I swung my legs down, and hit the ground unevenly. My feet went down under me, not ready to hold my weight that suddenly. The jolt of pain caused my eyes to flicker open, and I scanned the room around me. I was in a small jail cell, right behind me was a bunk bed, and a pack of ice rested at the edge of it, though it wasn’t much ice anymore.

On the other side of the bars was man, he was short and plump, with stains on his tie. A huge bald spot was surrounded by a horseshoe shaped strip of graying, brown hair. He huffed a as he ate a Subway foot long, as if the feat of chewing was too much for him. He wouldn’t seem to be the commanding police man type, but his eyes were hard, they told you he was a dirty, ruthless, fighter. Someone you never want to get caught in a dark alley alone with and someone who had seen almost as much as a veteran. I already knew this before I looked at him; he had left me bruised quite a few times when Jack had made me do things.

Mr. Carmichael didn’t care about Jack being the one is control; he treated me like a thug, saying I should be strong enough to control myself, and Jack was me. In a way he was right, but he had no idea what someone who is your subconscious, and can play on your deepest insecurities, fears, and desires can do to you. While I know he is right, it’s hard to agree.

I limped sleepily over to the bars, and pressed my weight against them, and stomped my feet in an attempt to get blood flowing.

“You know, I’d be happy to keep you here, happier to send you to Juvenile hall, or a real jail,” he told me, with a grin that said “I’d rather just beat you till I can make Danny juice.”

“Try if you want man, but you and I both know the law says it’s not gonna happen today,” I told him a grin, and patted him on his bald spot. He narrowed his eyes at me, and shoved his own hand through the bars.

He lifted me up into the air with one hand, and pulled me against the bars. “Now listen kid, I got no problem chewing your head off and going to jail for it if it means keeping you’re sadistic ‘other half’ off the street. So shut you’re snarky mouth before I get a chance,” he said in clenched teeth and threw me across the cell.

As I fell I heard one word come into my mind “punch him.” Jack as trying to get in, and I knew I would die if I went fist to fist with this cop. “Punch him!” hissed Jack in my mind. For some reason Jack wanted me to attack this dude, even though it would land me dead, or in a white room, with my hand bound in a stray jacket.

I knew so well what would happen, but the next word the guy said just got to me. “You’re just like you’re father, a lucky bas-“I don’t know how I did it, probably adrenaline helped a lot, somehow though, I lifted the pudgy little man by his shirt, grabbed the key to my cell from his grip, and chucked him across the room. Then the fog washed over again. The black of evil, the color of death.

First thing I remembered when I woke up was that I was warm. Not like under a fire warm, but…well nothing to describe it but what it was. Like I was in a puddle of Officer Carmichael’s warm blood, with his body on mine. His hands were attached to my neck weakly, as if he died trying to choke me. His face was pale, slowly the blood draining onto me, and the floor. His chest was ripped open, about as long as my hand, and an inch wide.

A chill ran up my side, and I remembered my father lying limply on the ground. My hands covered in blood. I had gotten out with the insanity plea then, but this time they would never let me off. It was a miracle to get out of that, and miracles are too rare to hope on. I pushed the body off me, and ran out of the station.

Lights flashed blue and red as I left the building, another police car pulled in. I panicked, and ran. By the time he got inside, and saw it, I would be safe in someone’s backyard, and only a short way to my house. I was right as well. Because by the time I heard sirens a short block away, I was in the bushes of some stranger’s house. In about five minutes I was in my own backyard, and I saw my mom’ car leave the driveway. I wouldn’t have much time to get my things and get out.

Using the spare kept under a potted plant; I let myself in, and ran to my bedroom. I snuck upstairs, hoping my brother was not home. Why I hoped, I don’t know, because when I hope things always go wrong. My brother was waiting at the top of the stairs, his eyes staring at my bloodied and torn clothes. “Danny, what happened?” he spewed out after what felt like an eternity.

“I had a food fight, lot of ketchup,” I said told him, hoping he would buy it.

“What do I look like, five? You’re covered in blood, this is serious,” He said in a high pitched, worried voice.

“Hurry up, take him out,” bounced around my head, in normal situations I would have tried to resist, but this time I let Jack out. I allowed him to tell me what to do fully. “Grab him,” chimed Jack as I picked my brother up and dragged him into the nearest room. “Use the window, throw him out, we have no time to wait.” I did as told and threw my brother against the glass. He broke it with a loud bang and shatter, and fell to the ground, I watched him hit the fence, and scream in pain. Time was wearing thin.

Back in control I can out of the bathroom, and to my own room, I quickly changed out of my sullied clothing, and stuffed some extras into a bag pack. I ran downstairs and added in provisions. By the time I had gotten to the door though, I was trapped. Three policemen stood at the doorway, guns raised at me. I was done for.

After what had happened, with a killing of a cop, and near killing of my brother, I was sent to an asylum. I was left alone in a room not unlike a jail cell. I didn’t have a stray jacket, or fluffy white walls, I just had a cell. In a way I was happy I was there, I couldn’t hurt anyone again. I couldn’t get meds to do it, all would cause hazard to my health, at least at my current age. So Jack still came out sometimes, he would hurt a doctor, or ransack my room. I didn’t mind much, he never got too far before he was knocked out. So I was happy. It was all fine.

It’s been a year since I was placed in this place. Of late Jack has been whispering escape plans to me, they are violent, father than that probably. The doctors told me that it would be fine, he won’t be able to do it, but they don’t know him like me. I know he can, and will do it all. So as I write this it is to give you a reason why I did what I did. I snuck some pills during my appointment, and I only hope they do what I hope they will. I hope someone cares what I did, after all the wrong I have done, I hope some still care.