by T. R. Briar
“Oh, well that’s good to hear. Gotta make sure everything’s in working order. I’m sure it’ll put you son’s mind at ease to know his father’s doing well.”
“Mr. Mercer? Dr. Orban will see you now,” the receptionist called over from her desk. “Miranda will take you to his office. I’ll let Dr. Seraf know where you are once he’s come back to fill out the paperwork.”
A puzzled look crossed Miranda’s soft features. “Dr. Orban? Ain’t he the neurologist? You sure this is just a checkup, then?”
“It’s nothing, really. David’s just worried that I’m having memory problems. Really, I remember a lot of stuff, it’s just, I suppose the car knocked some of them out of me,” Rayne laughed, trying to ease the tension, but Miranda still looked concerned.
“Well, all right. If anyone can fix you up, it’s Dr. Orban. He’s good at what he does.”
Miranda grabbed the back of Rayne’s wheelchair and pushed him down the hall to a smaller room. Inside, a short man in his mid-50s with balding, grey hair and spectacles stood rifling through a clipboard full of papers. He glanced up when the door opened.
“Thank you, Miranda,” he said as she pushed Rayne’s wheelchair into the room. “I’ll call if I need anything.”
Miranda smiled a grimmer smile this time. In that instant of concern she visibly showed towards Rayne, he saw past her friendly demeanor, and sensed something odd hiding behind her smile. There was no doubt in his mind she was a cheerful, kind soul, but a sadness dwelt there, a deep sorrow and pain that she masked in that chipper attitude. He wondered what he sensed in her, as he watched her leave.
“Now then, Mr. Mercer. Dr. Seraf explained on the phone you’ve been having memory problems?”
“Yes, doctor. It’s all been a bit foggy, but there’s—I suppose specific events in my life I just can’t seem to remember.”
“Can you give me an example?”
“Well, when I try to remember my childhood, it’s all a blur. I remember having a dog, and I remember living in a nice, happy home. But I can’t remember my parents at all. Even looking at a photograph of them, I just don’t recognize them at all.”
Dr. Orban nodded. “That does sound serious.” He rifled through the charts in his hand. “From what they’ve told me, the car accident put you in a state of temporary brain death, but according to your last tests, there were no indications of permanent brain damage. Is the memory loss recent? Or is this something you’ve experienced since the accident, and are only now telling us about?”
“The latter.”
“I see; you should have brought this to our attention sooner. Now, it’s possible that memory loss could occur in a situation like this, and it can be tricky to deal with. Have you forgotten other things, or is it just your parents?”
“I don’t rightly know, doctor. I didn’t recognize my childhood home in the photo either. When I remember my childhood, there’s no visual images. I can’t see anything clearly; I just feel things. Emotions. It’s hard to describe.”
“What about memories of school, of classmates? Other family members?”
“I don’t—” Rayne thought, trying to remember. He knew he’d gone to school, and he at least remembered David as one of his classmates.
“Anything?”
“Nothing really stands out. It’s hard to remember any details. I remember the people currently in my life, I remember my co-workers, and my neighbors, the people at Levi’s school, and of course, David and Levi. I remember all of them. But everything in the past it’s just, I see a few faces, and some names like—” Rayne scrunched up his face, thinking. “I remember one fellow. A long time ago, from my neighborhood. His name was—something with an A? I can’t recall, really. Sort of a bully.”
“So you do remember some parts of your childhood, but not your parents?”
“Well, I recollect this bully fellow, and there’s my dog of course. Can’t quite recall his name either.”
“Hrmm.” The doctor looked Rayne up and down. “It could be retrograde amnesia. In cases like this, the brain is able to form new memories after experiencing trauma, but select memories of a person’s past can be lost. ”
“Is it permanent?”
“It depends. Sometimes a memory can be jogged, so to speak, by showing the person things that they’d connect with those memories. Things from your past.”
“But it’s not anything really serious then?”
“Forgetting your parents and your entire early life isn’t something trivial. It is definitely a cause for concern and, frankly, we should have caught this sooner. But, you were responsive to your friends and family, there was no immediate sign you’d forgotten anything. They did test your memory, didn’t they?”
“I was asked things like my name, my birthday. I remember things like that: facts. I suppose it’s just everything before that. People I used to know. They’re just not there anymore.”
“I see.” The doctor put the chart down on the table beside him. “Well, let’s schedule some more tests to rule things out. In the mean time, there’s not much that can be done besides trying to trigger memories. I would advise you to take it slow, don’t try to force it. With time, they may return; you just have to be patient. You’re a very lucky man to have survived that accident.”
“I know. Thank you, doctor.”
“Are there any other concerns I should know about?”
“No, nothing.” Rayne stopped himself, and bit his lip. “Actually, have you ever had a patient suffering head trauma who had a problem with odd dreams?”
“Odd dreams?”
“Like a recurring dream. Like, every night when they go to bed, they experience the same thing, night after night. And the dream feels much more real than it should.”
“When you say recurring, does this relate to your accident? Are you reliving that moment when you go to sleep at night?”
“Nothing to do with the accident itself, no. Just a very vivid, I don’t know, it’s like I dream about the same strange place every night.”
The doctor pulled out a pad and started to scribble onto it with a pen. “While I can’t rule out a physical issue right now, it might not be so simple. Any sort of recurring dream you’re having could very easily be psychological. I’m going to write down the names of a few psychiatrists you may want to look into. They might be able to help you recover your memory. Even if the problem is physical, I would still recommend looking into therapy. Recovering from a near death experience, dealing with lifelong paralysis, it’s all very traumatic, and a professional will help you deal with it. It could also be good for your son to have someone to speak with about this.”
“I don’t know. I’m not certain I feel comfortable with that sort of thing.”
“You don’t have to do it if you really don’t want to.” Dr. Orban put the cap back on his pen and handed the paper to Rayne. “All I’m asking is that you think about it, and if you do decide, all of these people are quite skilled in their field. All right?”
Rayne reached up and took the paper from him. “I’ll think about it,” he said.
“That’s a good man.” The doctor stood up and opened the door for Rayne, who wheeled himself out into the hallway. A fidgeting David waited for him.
“Dr. Seraf, were you waiting out here this whole time?” asked the doctor.
“They told me that Rayne had been taken back to see you. I didn’t want to just walk in on you while you were talking. Is he all right?”
“I’m fine.” Rayne’s voice dripped with irritation.
“I’ve arranged for Mr. Mercer to have some tests, but I suspect it’s a minor case of amnesia,” Dr. Orban clarified. “His memories will likely come back on their own, but I feel he will recover faster if you’d help him out. Maybe take him down to where he grew up, and get him reacquainted with his past.”
David nodded, putting his hands on the grips behind Rayne’s chair.
“I also gave him the names of a few psychiatrists,” th
e doctor continued. “So if you want to help him out with that, I think he would greatly benefit from therapy once he’s more able. All right?”
“Therapy? Well, that does make sense. Thank you, doctor.”
“It’s no trouble. You two have a safe trip back home.”
David wheeled the chair back out to the waiting room, where Rayne started sulking.
“That was a waste of time,” he muttered.
“Now why would you say that?”
“There’s nothing seriously wrong with me. It’s not like my past matters much.”
David stopped short. “Your past doesn’t matter? Rayne, that’s not a proper outlook.”
“It’s not like I need to remember any time soon.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Nothing! It just doesn’t seem so important right now. Confusing, yes, but with everything else going on, it isn’t something to get so dramatic about.”
They exited the hospital back into the parking lot.
“Let’s have that list,” David murmured, not looking at his friend.
“Look, I don’t want to see a psychiatrist!”
“I know, I just want to look at it.”
Reluctant, Rayne handed him the paper. David paused to scrutinize the names, and after a length, he crumpled the note up.
“I respect Dr. Orban’s position, but he doesn’t know you like I know you. I don’t think therapy is the best idea for you. But you do need to open up. I have to know if anything is wrong, all right? Better me than a complete stranger.”
Rayne didn’t answer. David had a point, but he still didn’t like the idea of opening up about his nighttime excursions. He didn’t want to deal with his friend’s pity once David learned he’d completely lost his mind.
* * *
Rayne’s foot pressed down into the purple colored mud, mixed in with falling rain from an unseen sky. Black water ran down in rivulets, filling the new indentation as he lifted his foot back up to take another step forward. It annoyed him that here, in this world, he could walk. No numbness, no wheelchair rolling him from place to place. In the real world he was restricted, trapped. Here, there was freedom.
He had been walking for hours, this time in a narrow canyon, with only two directions to go. The dusky colored walls of rock extended far up to the sky, riddled with bones, and he’d wondered if was even possible to reach the tops of those walls, or if they actually did go up forever.
He had lost track of how many different places he’d been now. Weeks had passed since his release from the hospital. Without fail, every single night he came to this place. He had told no one about it. For all it mattered, it was just a permanent mental state he could only escape from for a few hours at a time, a conjuration of a mind gone mad.
David had continued to press the memory issue, but Rayne was still reluctant. The pain from his broken ribs, and the clumsiness of using a wheelchair made it awkward to move around, and he used this as an excuse to stave off any discussion. As long as he still needed healing, he was best off just focusing on getting better. It was awkward enough going back to the hospital for more scans, where the doctors found nothing out of the ordinary. As far as they cared, Rayne had a healthy brain. It certainly didn’t feel healthy.
He still hadn’t seen any sign of Gabriel, not since that last night with the ruined house. There were many other things in this place. Creatures Rayne had trouble believing were right there before his eyes. Beings that went far beyond anything he could imagine. Twisted forms, lacking all but the barest awareness, many of them human at one point in their appearance and mannerisms, now shades of their former selves, mindless damned. If this was a dream, Rayne could not understand why his mind would envision such tormented souls. And if it was real, that disturbed him even more. Would he become like them some day? The thought crossed his mind every time he encountered them.
But tonight it was just him and the bones. Past travelers, perhaps? Or just another part of the landscape? Some of the bones didn’t even seem human. Human-like, maybe. The skulls were elongated, with unusual shaped jaws, and some even had sharpened teeth. There were even bones that came from wings, tails, other strange body parts that people normally didn’t have. He pulled at one bone sticking a ways out from the wall. To his surprise, it came free in his hand, and he hefted it up and down. It was light, but solid. He smashed it against the wall, where it hit the side with a resounding thunk, but stayed intact.
“Perhaps I can use this as a weapon,” he murmured. He hated the thought of being so savage. It went against everything he believed; the way he lived his life was one of proper decorum, not primal brutality. But out here, what choice did he have? He could at least defend himself against an onslaught if he had a tool to work with.
There was nothing living in this place, or even un-living. It was barren, and quite boring, Rayne realized. But boring couldn’t be all bad. At least nothing here was trying to kill him. Still, Rayne wondered if there was someplace more interesting he could be. He thought about all the strange places he’d seen in his nightly travels. None of them seemed like a pleasant alternative. He paused to lean back against the wall, then glanced upwards at the falling black rain. There was no sky, no clouds, and he wondered where it fell from. Feeling there wasn’t much danger in it, he closed his eyes for the briefest moment, enjoying the cold water hitting his face. It almost felt normal, like ordinary rainwater, cold and wet, just splashing against his skin. He welcomed the sensation, almost forgetting where he was for the faintest moment.
A brief sense of numbness washed over him, but feeling returned. Alarmed, Rayne’s eyes snapped open, and his body toppled over. The first thought he had as he hit the ground wasn’t one of pain, but of surprise, as the ground felt solid, not wet and muddy. On top of that it was warm. Very warm. He felt the dry, grainy dirt beneath his hands as he started to stand up, like candle flames licking against his fingertips. Dread washed over him then, and he clenched his teeth as rage stirred inside his gut, but the reason for these feelings evaded him.
He raised his head and looked around. There was no canyon. Rain no longer fell from the sky. This was a bright place, with red and orange earth, and a pale yellow air seemed to hang over this place like a fog. He could feel what surrounded him even before he saw it: fire, blazing with an unreal intensity. He heard crackling flames, and felt a heat that melted the air around him. His eyes adjusted, and he witnessed the very ground burning in a dancing inferno.
The heavy heat in the air choked him, and Rayne had to struggle to compose himself. He couldn’t even stand up, so instead he inched forward, crawling through the burning dirt. Though the rippling air made seeing difficult, he could make out where the ground dipped into the haze, and wondered if he was up on a ledge somewhere. Curious, he crawled towards it, and peered past it down into the depths.
Below him stretched a vast ocean of molten magma, swirling and churning in an infinite whirlpool that stretched on into infinity. There were dark shapes, millions of them, writhing and screaming in the lava as it swirled them around and around. The sea of fire swirled far below him, the height of two mountains at least, yet the screams were as clear to him as bells, ringing in his ears as he gazed. Edging out over the ledge a little further, the sea seemed to go underneath the ground, as if he wasn’t so much on a cliff, but rather a rocky platform suspended in the air. He scrambled back away from the ledge.
“I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here!” he rambled over and over.
He wasn’t sure if his mind was clouded by heat, or if something else, some madness in the air affected him, but the longer he stayed here, the more he felt a rising sense of pure wrath, the very notion of fire and flames like a poison that needed to be eradicated. He clenched at the dirt beside him, crushing it in his fingers. Terrible thoughts entered his head unwanted, the sensation of being buried alive in boiling magma, tormented forever as fire flayed his skin while unbearable heat and pressure crushed his body.
He felt himself dying over and over only to be revived to experience the pain anew. He heard an agonizing tortured scream, only to find the sound came from his own mouth, with such force it threatened to tear his throat apart. He clutched at himself, but felt no burns. It was just a delusion. The heat here was painful, but he wasn’t being burned alive or crushed to death. All of that was in his head. And yet as he lay there, hallucinations plagued him, no matter how many times he reminded himself he was all right.
Rayne clenched his eyes shut, trying to recreate whatever circumstances had brought him here. The intense burning killed his concentration, and when he opened his eyes, nothing had changed, and he was still trapped in a world of fire. He closed his eyes again, trying to imagine some other landscape he could escape to, attempting to imitate the feeling of numbness from before. But nothing happened.
He heard another sound, different from the screams. It sounded like sobbing, and very close by. Rayne peered through the fiery haze. At first he saw nothing, but then the slightest movement caught his attention, movement that was not dancing flames. He crawled away, unsure if this was a person, or just another monster, and backed up close to a small rock. He couldn’t see very well, but he kept his gaze on the distant form amidst the flames. It seemed short, and its motion bounced up and down. The sound of weeping came from that direction.
Nearby, Rayne found the bone from the canyon still lying on the ground. Not content to cower behind a rock, he scooped it up in his left hand, and used his right to force himself upright, though the heavy air made that a painful task. The pressure on his back drove him back down, and his legs felt like they would snap at any moment. He wedged the bone against the ground, using it like a cane to stand on his feet. He couldn’t stand up straight no matter how hard he tried, forced to stay hunched over. But at least he was upright, not crawling on his belly like a worm. He lifted the bone and shifted it to his other hand, and staggered towards the sobbing.
Once he got close, he could make out a bent-over figure. The slight up and down movements kept in rhythm with its weeping, the motions of a crying person. Rayne brandished his weapon in one hand, narrowing his eyes to see through the haze. The kneeling figure suddenly froze.
