Archangel

by Mich Moore

on earth are you talking about?"

  Ben Kramer ever so slightly shifted away from Harold Thomas. "Nobody here is living 'happily ever after.'"

  Kenny Riley snorted. "Dude, I haven't slept in three days. I'm having hallucinations that I can't control. What if I'd wrecked my car? Or hit someone? If this is 'happily ever after,' then I obviously don't know the meaning."

  Dr. Larry was growing concerned. "Kenny, would you like for me to prescribe a sedative for you?"

  Kenny Riley rubbed his already red eyes. "A sleeping pill? No. An amnesia pill? Let's talk."

  "Meaning," Harold Thomas continued, "you suffered no injury or death. Your plane landed, and you went home to your family and eventually picked up where you left off. Many of us weren't so fortunate." Harold Thomas had been a war correspondent on vacation in Prince George, Maryland, with his parents when the explosion occurred. They had been trapped in the conflagration along with three thousand other people on that horrific night. Harold Thomas had watched his parents burn to death right before his eyes. He himself had sustained third-degree burns over fifty-percent of his body. "When I was finally released from hospital seven months later, I went home with the smell of my parents' burning flesh still stuck in my head, and the reality that I would never work again."

  Kenny Riley softened his tone. "Harold, I'm sorry about your folks. That must have been tough. But people burn up every day. What I saw ... a man isn't supposed to witness something that unnatural—"

  Dr. Larry intervened. "Okay, folks, let's not make this a peeing contest to see whose extraordinary event was the worst. I believe that we can all agree that all of you believe that the EE that you experienced was the most terrible ordeal that you've ever gone through. And so every extraordinary event is equally important in that sense."

  Mara Cooper was gently rocking her torso from side to side. "Dr. Larry, I took your advice."

  "About what, Mara?" the doctor asked, happy to have the subject changed.

  "About the acupuncture. I've already had two sessions."

  Dr. Larry clapped his hands together. "Wonderful! And?"

  "I think it's helping some. Last night I slept all the way through, and I haven't done that since right before I joined the service."

  Dr. Larry was obviously pleased. "I would like for everyone here to avail themselves of Dr. Woo's services. It's free, and most importantly it's pain free. For those of you who are squeamish at the thought of all of those needles."

  Manny Kreshenko piped up. "I made an appointment for next week, Doctor Larry."

  "Excellent, Manny." Dr. Larry beamed. "You will not regret it."

  "I already do, doc," Kreshenko replied happily. "But I'm going anyway!"

  "That a-boy!" Dr. Larry turned to the newest member of his Managing the Extraordinary Event therapy group. The man was an employee of some magnitude at the Redstone facility located on the outskirts of town. Dr. Larry's practice rarely saw military patients, although the area was now practically bristling with government and quasi-military encampments since the advent of the war. As his medical records were sealed, the psychiatrist was still a bit clueless as to why the man was there. From his demeanor and injuries, it was obvious that he had undergone an EE, but Dr. Larry could only guess as to which EE (tidal wave, the Los Angeles fire, the Super Quake, the Maryland explosion, the war itself, the prison massacres, the UFO sightings, the flying giants, the complete breakdown of society in many cities, the bubonic plague in eastern Mexico, and on and on) was at the root of his malaise. For all he knew, the guy might have been recovering from something as mundane as a nasty divorce. Dr. Larry simply did not know, and as the new client had not uttered more than five words since his arrival, he suspected that he might never know. And that was more than just a little bothersome. The doctor wanted to help. Because when he could pull a breakthrough out of a tortured mind and set that mind back on the course towards normalcy, then Dr. Lawrence Spaulding III himself could imagine a time when he no longer climbed into bed at night with a quart of vodka in one hand and a loaded revolver in the other. In other words, it gave him hope for that longed for return to normal. Something in his gut told him that it would not be the case with this one. But Redstone was willing to pay him his full rate in cash, and that was incentive enough for him to do his best.

  The new client wore his right arm in a sling. There were heavy circles beneath his eyes and a fresh dressing on his left wrist.

  This was the man's third session.

  "Neal, I had the thought that Dr. Woo might be able to help you with that arm."

  The man smiled shyly, and when he spoke, it was barely above a whisper. "Maybe."

  "Sure," Dr. Larry said encouragingly. "And you'll really like him. And he's got this fancy-shmancy office with a koi pond and geisha girls running around all over the place—"

  The man looked at him with ruffled eyes.

  Dr. Larry laughed. "I'm kidding. About the geishas. But honestly, he's got the fattest koi I've ever seen. If this town's cupboards ever run dry, the man will not starve."

  "You aren't supposed to eat them, Dr. Larry," Kenny Riley said with mild chastisement. "They're for good luck."

  "I know that, Kenny. It was a joke."

  Lisette Fuchs was staring at the newest member of the group.

  "Neal," she asked, "how did you break your arm?"

  "It's not broken," he answered. "It was burned. But it's getting better all the time." He hesitated. "I have physical therapy five days a week."

  Dr. Larry's smile was spontaneous. It was the most the man had said since he had arrived at his office three weeks ago. "Neal," he ventured. "I'm curious about your arm, too. Do you feel comfortable sharing your story with us?"

  The Redstone employee mumbled something.

  Dr. Larry tapped his hearing aid again. "I'm sorry, Neal. Can you speak up some?"

  "Maybe later."

  The other patients expressed disappointment in various subtle ways.

  "But," he continued. "I'm glad that it's finally starting to heal."

  Lisette Fuchs scooted her chair closer to hear him better.

  "I'm a mechanical engineer, and so I use my hands a lot. For a while I thought that I wasn't going to be able to work again."

  "It's painful, isn't it?" Harold Thomas asked. "The prospect of losing your way of life. Of not being able to take care of yourself."

  The man slowly nodded.

  "But you're seeing a positive change now?" Dr. Larry asked.

  "Every day."

  "I'm glad to hear that." Dr. Larry held up inclusive arms. "All of you. I'm very proud of you. You are continuing to take back control of your lives and taking large steps towards returning it to normalcy."

  "To the new normal," Mara Cooper corrected him.

  Dr. Larry was contrite. "To the new normal. Which, by the way, can be the better of the two. Take it from a man who's been bankrupted twice, divorced thrice, and homeless for nearly ten years. Just remember: What doesn't kill you makes you crazy, but only for a little while. After that you become stronger. And faster. And smarter. And wiser."

  Mara Cooper teased him. "And sassier?"

  "Definitely sassier!"

  Kenny Riley brightened. "Dr. Larry, are you saying that we're gonna become superheroes now?"

  "Something like that, but hopefully without the silly costumes. Now ... " He stood up and shook the numbness from his legs. " ... let's take a ten-minute break. In the kitchen we've got coffee and juice and just about every sinful confection that you can think of."

  Kenny Riley rustled through his pockets. "Hey, doc. Can I bum a smoke off you?"

  "I've got some in my office if you can wait a minute." His voice rose. "For my smokers, please do your business in the parking lot and not outside the front door. I've received complaints from some of the other tenants."

  Kenny Riley proffered some friendly advice. "Fuck 'em."

  "In the parking lot, please!" Dr. Larry made his way to where the Redstone engineer was stil
l seated and engaged with a decidedly one-way conversation with Lisette Fuchs.

  "Lisette, may I speak to Mr. Broussard in private?"

  "Not now," she replied firmly. "We're talking."

  "Thanks." Dr. Larry stepped in between their chairs. "Neal, I'd like to set up a private session with you as soon as possible. I've spoken to a Mr. Chang about this, and he's okayed it."

  The engineer shrugged noncommittally. "Why not."

  Dr. Larry smiled. "Great. Let me check my calendar and I'll get back to you after the break."

  Broussard gazed up at him with hollowed eyes and intoned. "Doctor, we can't be superheroes. It's too hard."

  Dr. Larry lightly patted the wounded man's good shoulder. "You're right, Neal. It is very difficult. But we still must fight the good fight."

  Lisette Fuchs's posture was now openly hostile.

  Dr. Larry acknowledged her impatience. "Okay, Lisette, I'm leaving now."

  She shot the psychiatrist a flinty look. When he had left the room, she turned her attention back to the new patient.

  "Do you want to know why I'm here?" she asked.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his loose clothes, and just that small effort seemed to exhaust him. "I apologize, but no."

  Her face turned to stone. "I'm sure that you do," she replied. "My fiancé and I are supposed to be married next month after we leave America. We're going to live in the south of France to raise our babies. He is the most gifted man I've ever met. And the most complex." She crossed her long muscular legs. She wore tights and a short mini-skirt. "He designs robots," she continued. "Robots that can think and speak and feel. He