by Rena Mason
“Kay, bye.” He leans in and kisses me again. “Love you, Grouchy.”
“What?”
“Just kidding.”
“Bye, then. Love you, too.”
Grouchy? He’s never called me that before. Maybe I have become a grouch, because on top of everything else, the constant background tones are really starting to get on my nerves. Now that I know they mean something, I find myself trying to decipher them. It’s worse than having a bad song stuck in my head. And who do I talk to about it, Dr. Swanson or Dr. Light?
I worry about how things are going with Dr. Light. For a while the new dreams were just that—new, but they’ve turned into nightmares now, too and with him in them. That can’t be good. At this rate, I’ll be in therapy for the rest of my life, but that’s only if Jon doesn’t test me to death first.
I’ve finished all the coffee and am rinsing out the pot when Patrick comes downstairs. He goes straight into the pantry without saying a word and rummages around for a few minutes.
“You want me to make you some eggs?”
He steps out with a box of cereal. “I hate eggs.”
“Oh, I forgot.”
“By the way, I’ve got practice at four-thirty.”
“Did you think I’d forget that, too?”
“Maybe.”
“We’re going out to dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Giordano tonight. Remind me to order you a pizza on the way home.”
“Pizza…again?”
“I never thought I’d hear you complain about pizza. Would you prefer baked chicken?”
“No, I’m good.”
* * *
I wouldn’t want to show up at Dr. Light’s office early again, even though somehow, I really wasn’t before. After dropping Patrick off, I head home and print up the invitations for the neighborhood holiday party. I fold the cards neatly into the envelopes and put on the stamps.
It’s exactly ten o’clock when I pull into the parking lot of the desolate office building. I picture Dr. Light standing on the strange marble as it changes underfoot. He knows I’m here, and he waits for me with the door open. I shake the vision from my head then make my way in.
“Good morning, Stacy.” He is in the doorway, just as I’d imagined him.
“Dr. Light.” I nod my head, step in then walk directly to his office in the back. The door is already open, so I enter and make myself comfortable on the lounger, then wait. There’s no point in wasting any time, especially the way it occurs here.
“You seem eager today.”
“Yes. I’ve got a lot to talk about. Do you mind if I start?”
“No, go ahead.” He drags one of the chairs over then sits next to me.
“It seems I always have a lot to tell you, but then when I get here, my mind goes blank. Do you know why that is?”
“No. Do you?”
“Possibly…maybe I’m just crazier than I thought. What if I told you I imagine you have something to do with what’s happening to me? Would you put me away?”
“No. There’ll be no putting anyone away. I promise you that.”
“I’ve been having these dreams lately.”
“Yes?” He scoots his chair in, and it sends a chill up my spine. He feels almost as close as he did last night in my dream, when he and the others tried to drown me.
“I’m not sure how to tell you something without sounding completely insane.”
He tenses up, looks frustrated. “Please do,” he insists. He’s on the edge of his seat, staring down at me with his jet black disks for eyes. “I’m here to listen, to help. Please, you must go on.”
I close my eyes to keep his appearance from distracting me. “In these dreams I hear music, unearthly tones. I think they were the ear-piercing sounds I used to hear—only now, they’ve tuned in.” I move my fingers around and pretend to turn knobs. “I’m sorry for the lack of a better description.”
“No. That’s fine. Continue.”
“At first, I couldn’t understand them, but then I could. It’s some kind of language, a message from these things.”
“What things? You only mentioned the tones.”
“No. The things…they communicate in the tones, along with waves of brilliant colors. There are shadows, too. Those are the things—dark auras in a glowing fog.”
I hear nothing above me except for the tones in my head. I don’t even hear Dr. Light breathing. He must be deep in thought about something.
“I told you this would sound crazy,” I say.
“It doesn’t. Please, go on. What were these things doing?”
“They kept telling me to See, but I couldn’t figure out what.”
“And have you now?”
“No, not really. All I’ve been able to make out is that it has something to do with the nightmares and the déjà vu past life experiences. Last night, they told me that I’d lived all the lives I’ve been hallucinating about. Then they turned into these monsters and smothered me.”
“That sounds awful.”
I open my eyes to look for sincerity in his expression. There isn’t any, so I close them again and continue.
“It was, but even worse than that…”
“What?”
“I always feel like there’s more they want to say. And they’re trying, but I can’t understand them.”
“What do you mean?”
“The musical tones, I told you about—they’ve been playing in my head ever since you hypnotized me. Is it possible something went wrong? That the hypnotherapy closed one crazy door and opened another, I mean?”
“Not likely. What you need to do is try harder to understand them. Your subconscious is trying to tell you something. Listen.”
“But I do. If I concentrate any harder my brain’s going to have a meltdown.”
“I assure you, that won’t happen.”
“And why do you think you’re always there, Dr. Light…in my dreams and nightmares? Your presence is felt, but you never help me.”
“I only wish I could, but I can’t interfere in your dreams.”
“I’m afraid, Dr. Light.”
“Of what?”
Of you... “Of what I told you before, about how everyone’s going to die.”
“I’m counting on you to solve your mind’s puzzles before that happens.”
“Yeah, me too. I guess it’s a good thing that this is all just an imaginary circumstance.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, that it’s not really real.”
I open my eyes again. Dr. Light’s face hovers directly over mine. It’s jolting how his eyes are transfixed on me. Another chill runs down my spine, and I point my toes to ward off the shiver. He doesn’t move. Like he’s frozen, and his mind is someplace else. Those empty black eyes look like portals left open. I blink, and suddenly, I see my own face staring back at me from the lounger, as if I were looking through his eyes. I blink again, and it’s him I see. Crazy! He hasn’t blinked once since we’ve been in this staring match. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him blink, but who pays attention to shit like that? It isn’t until I notice he’s not breathing that I get uneasy.
I reach up and gently touch the side of his face. “Dr. Light?” Ooh! His skin is like ice. My hand jerks back, and there’s a slight sting at my fingertips.
He finally blinks then moves his head like he’s shaking off a thought. “Yes. Sorry, I got stuck in a daze.”
He’s completely oblivious to what just happened.
“I’m glad I’m not the only one who does that,” I tell him.
“Yes. That’s perfectly normal.”
Is he asking or telling? For the first time, I really want to leave. “Time’s up, I think.”
“You’re right. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He makes a contorted smile, like his face was still partially frozen.
“Not Thursday or Friday, though.” I sit up slow and get my bearings.
“Why?”
“Thanksgiving, Dr. Light, and Friday is consi
dered a holiday, too. My parents will be in town. You’ve got plans don’t you?”
“Oh, yes. I forgot.”
“Goodbye, Dr. Light.” I hop down from the lounger and head for the door.
“Goodbye…and Stacy?”
“Yes?” I turn around to face him.
“Please, don’t ever be afraid of me.” His expression looks sincere.
“I’ll try, Dr. Light.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I’m not exactly sure how I think that appointment went or any of the ones before it really, but I spoke my piece, and he didn’t overreact the way I thought. He hardly reacted at all, as if what I told him were trite. Dr. Light only seemed to get frustrated when I wasn’t able to tell him more. I wonder if he thinks I’m holding something back, and I honestly believe he means for me to work this out on my own, even though it’s his job to help.
“Try harder...” Really, that was the best he could do? I wonder how much that little bit of worthless advice cost. It doesn’t matter, I guess. It’s priceless just to have him listen and constantly assure me that I’m not psychotic. Overall, I think the visits with Dr. Light are helping, but I may be subconsciously thinking about him a little too much. I imagine him to be there when he’s not, and now, I even sense his presence in the abstract dreams. Although, I have a feeling it’s all about to change. I’ll have less time to think about him with Jon and his barrage of tests.
My phone rings as I’m turning off the exit for GenLabs. I swear Jon has ESP for these things.
“Hello.”
“Hey babe, you make it to GenLabs yet?”
“I’m on my way now.”
“’Kay, good. As soon as you’re finished, head over to Dr. Swanson’s office. He’s going to see you between his scheduled patients. You might have to wait a little.”
“Fine. I’ll be there, but if it starts getting late, I’m walking out.”
“Just show up.”
“Okay, bye.” There goes my darn thumb pressing the disconnect button again. It’s turning into one of those bad habits I’m starting to enjoy.
The parking isn’t so bad at GenLabs today, but Tuesdays are an off day for everything. It’s normally the day I do the grocery shopping, but it doesn’t look like I’ll get to any of that. I’ll have to go sometime tomorrow when it’s completely insane, the day before Thanksgiving.
Once more, I go to the counter inside and give the receptionist my name. She hands me one of those plastic cups in a clear bag with directions inside on how to give a urine sample.
“You can use the bathroom over there.” She points to a door hidden in a dark corner, behind the filthy chairs in the waiting area. Oh, great. I can just imagine…
No need for an imagination, the bathroom is absolutely disgusting. The same white tile used everywhere in GenLabs is in the ladies room, too, except it’s grimy, black, and sticky in here. As I enter one of the two stalls, I close the door behind me and try not to lean against anything. I hang my purse across my body and swing it around behind me. Still standing, I pull my jeans and underwear down together then push the cup between my legs. I fill it about halfway then stop. I grab a wad of toilet paper, slide the cup out and replace it with the paper. Fortunately, I didn’t make too much of a mess, just a couple drips. Easy to wipe up and most importantly—my pants are dry. It’s one thing to wet the bed and entirely another to pee your pants. I tighten the lid on the cup then set it down on top of the toilet paper holder while I finish cleaning up and get dressed.
I wash my hands twice then head back out to the receptionist counter carrying the still warm urine sample in my hand.
“There you are,” she says. “I was just about to send someone in to see if you needed any help.”
Was I gone that long? “No, I’m fine…here you go.” I hand her the sample. She takes it and places a label around it. Then she turns to the same young man that drew my blood the last time. “This is for you, Jack. Routine UA, looking for glucose.”
“Just keep it here,” he tells her. “I’ll come back for it when I’m done.” He steps out from the door on the left. His left hand is wrapped in white gauze. “Come on back, Mrs. Troy.”
“I have to go with you?”
“Dr. Troy ordered another blood draw. Seems he’s focusing on your glucose levels now.”
“Christ,” I mumble, as I walk through the doorway.
He takes me to the same little desk. I sit down. He puts the ball in my hand then wraps the tourniquet around my arm. “Wow, is this the same arm I drew from yesterday?”
“Yeah, why?”
“There’s no bruising. No sign I was there at all. I’ve never seen that before.”
“Hmm…guess I’m a good healer.”
“Or maybe I’m just getting pretty good at this.”
“I’m sure that’s what it is. What happened to your hand?”
“Oh, I was being stupid and took a specimen out of the freezer without gloves on—burned it.”
“Freezer burn?”
“Yeah, from the dry ice. That’s how we have to store certain specimens.”
“Oh. I never knew you could burn from something cold.”
“Oh yeah, for sure. That ice is like minus a hundred degrees Fahrenheit.”
“Did it burn when you touched it, or did it feel cold?”
“Both. It’s like frostbite.”
“Well, I hope it heals quickly.”
“Me, too.” He releases the tourniquet around my arm with his good hand. “Here’s a copy of your paperwork. Just take it up front like before.” Then he’s off again with his little basket of clinking tubes.
“Thanks,” I call out, as the tail end of his lab coat disappears around the corner.
“No problem,” echoes in from the hallway.
Everything went much quicker today at GenLabs, but maybe, that’s because I’m becoming a routine patient, which is not something I care to be.
I get in the car then head for Dr. Swanson’s office, making a quick, necessary stop for drive-thru coffee and a muffin. I finish them both before I’m anywhere close to finding a parking spot. Tuesdays must be the patient seeing days for all the doctors. Maybe that’s why everyplace else is sparse of crowds. Finally, a couple of seniors put their big Caddy in reverse. They pull out of a sweet spot and almost clip my bumper.
Nearly every seat is taken in the same office that seemed empty yesterday. I walk up to the reception desk, instantly glad when I see Betty. Her hair is wound tight in a bun. No stragglers hanging down, yet. That has to be the sign of a good day, so far.
“Hello again, Mrs. Troy. Come on back,” she says in a cheery tone.
I walk around and notice several people glaring at me, while they have to keep waiting. This cutting in line is what Jon means by professional courtesy—and today—I’m all for taking advantage of it.
Betty leads me down the hall to a different exam room, set up exactly like the one I was in the other day.
“The doctor will be here shortly, he’s finishing up with another patient.”
“Thanks, Betty.”
She closes the door on her way out.
A few minutes later, a young man with short, spiky, blonde hair whips into the room wearing a lab coat. Right away, he reminds me of the Iceman character from the movie Top Gun. His appearance fits the asshole persona Jon told me about. He grabs a folder from a rack behind the door. “Hello, Mrs. Troy. I’m Terry Swanson.” He reaches his hand out, and I shake it. His grip is rudely tight.
“Please. Call me, Stacy.”
He lets go then takes a seat on the rolling metal stool, opens up the folder and starts to read. He clicks the end of a pen in his hand while he talks. “Jon thinks there might be something going on…he told me you had a bad nosebleed this past weekend.”
“Yes.”
“Have you had any since?”
“No.”
“And prior to this weekend?”
“One other time, but it wasn’t as bad.
Other than that, I’ve never had a bloody nose.”
He makes checks here and there in the folder and continues nervously clicking the ballpoint pen. Then he grabs a small flashlight from his pocket and turns the top until a light comes on. He pinches and pulls the skin around my eyes as he shines the light in and tells me to follow his finger, look this way and that. He pushes back the cartilage at the tip of my nose and directs the light up there. Then he practically jumps up from the stool, reaches over to the wall and grabs a different kind of medical flashlight. He puts on a funnel-like attachment then looks into my ears and up my nose again.
“How’s your hearing?”
“Good…uh, sometimes though, I hear a ringing in my ears.”
“When did it start?”
“A couple days ago.”
“Same time as the nosebleeds?”
“No. Later.”
“Hmm…” He clicks a different attachment onto the flashlight, one with a lens. Then he examines my eyes again. His movements are quick and radical, he’s making me dizzy. His bedside manner is awful, so he must be good at what he does to have an office full of patients waiting to see him.
“Everything looks perfectly normal,” he says. “Have you felt dizzy at all?”
Only since I’ve been watching you jerk around like a crack fiend. “No.”
“I don’t think it’s allergies, none of your mucous membranes look irritated. It’s possible it was a random incident.” He snaps the attachment off the flashlight then puts everything back in its place and sits down on the stool.
“I’m sure that’s exactly what it was, and Jon’s just being paranoid.”
He snorts and nods his head. Then he puts his nose right back down into the folder, and he’s clicking that goddamned pen again. “As for your blood work, clotting factors, CAT scan…they’re all normal, too. He told me he sent you in for some blood sugar tests. Something about your urine,” he mumbles.
Oh God, now I’m mortified. Jon must have told him I wet the bed. “Uh, I went to GenLabs before I came here.”
“Good. Then I’ll have the results by the end of the day, but Jon will know what to do if they’re positive for spilled sugar.”
“What?”
