by Ricky Fleet
“I’ll be fine,” Malachi started to argue until a glance from the doctor stilled the protest.
“Nonsense, in this day and age there is no reason a hero should suffer from such ailments. In a lot of cases, simply talking through past traumas can uncover a root cause which can then be dealt with,” he explained.
“You called me hero,” Malachi pointed out.
“Yes, well I did say I ignore idle gossip. I didn’t, however, say I ignore the evening news. My apologies for being so gruff with you when we first met, it was wrong of me,” said the doctor sincerely, offering a hand.
Expecting it to be freezing cold, Malachi was taken aback by the warmth and strength in the firm grip, “Not at all. Thanks for all you have done for me.”
“My pleasure.” He went to leave, then abruptly turned, “I almost forgot to mention, I would like to see you on a non-clinical basis after you have been discharged. I think if we can try and find the source of your exceptional gift, we could advance modern medicine by a century at least. I have also called in a few colleagues who would love to see your progress as well, would you mind?”
“I’m sure I can manage that,” Malachi agreed.
“Tremendous!”
As the doctor nearly skipped out of the room with childish exuberance, Malachi allowed himself a moment to process the new information. Although practically unique, the fact that others had displayed similar biological traits eased his anxiety. It could be a leap in natural evolution which would eventually bear the human race to a higher plane where disease and pain could be eradicated. Or he could be one of the first mutants and he would soon develop amphibian skin and a taste for insects. It was becoming clear the truth wouldn’t easily be uncovered, so he turned the TV on. With a remote this time, which actually worked, unlike his mind. An old episode of Columbo was playing and Malachi would have given anything to have the intrepid, fictional detective on his side.
“You’d find the truth, wouldn’t you?” Malachi asked the screen.
The dishevelled homicide detective turned to face the culprit, and uttered the infamous words which had doomed countless killers, “There’s just one more thing.”
Malachi smiled to himself and felt more at ease than he had for many months.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“You do know I’m perfectly able to walk,” Malachi said over his shoulder.
“I know that, I just wanted to take you for a ride,” Shannon giggled as she gained speed down the empty corridor.
He laughed at the double entendre and held his arms wide, imitating flying, “It’s like a reversal of Kate and Leo in Titanic.”
“You can paint me naked with a million-dollar necklace anytime,” she replied, half serious.
“What would Oliver have to say about that?”
“He would probably try and claw your eyes out,” Shannon admitted, slowing down at the disapproving glare of a duty doctor.
“He’s a protective little beast then?”
“A bit too much sometimes, besides, I would be the one with my eyes clawed out if Chloe could hear me flirting with you.”
“I’m sure she would understand, after all, I’m irresistible,” Malachi joked, pulling a model pose with a hand holding his chin in quiet contemplation.
“You’re into her though, aren’t you?” Shannon asked hesitantly.
Malachi didn’t want to hurt her feelings but leading her on would be just as spiteful, “Yeah, I really like her.”
“She’s a lucky girl to find her Prince Charming. I don’t think I will ever be so lucky,” she replied despondently.
“Hey, yes you will. Someone as great as you has an amazing guy waiting out there, I promise,” Malachi reached back and patted her hand.
“Maybe,” she sighed, coming to a stop outside a door with Dr K. Lloyd MRCPsych embossed on the frosted glass, “Here we are.”
“What, no plush reception with calming pictures and a harmonious Feng shui?” Malachi teased.
“This is the NHS, just be happy we even have a spare room for you,” she laughed, shaking off some of the depression.
“I’ll walk back once I am finished.”
“I won’t hear of it!” Shannon declared, “I will be back after my break.”
“Isn’t this a job for a hospital porter like your friend, Ben?”
She looked away and blushed, “Well, yes. But I wanted to do it so just shut up and enjoy the five-star transportation.”
“Thank you.” Malachi gave her a quick hug, “I’ll see you soon.”
She smiled and walked away, leaving the wheelchair in a storage alcove further down the corridor. Seeing he was still watching she called out, “Saves me pushing it all the way back again.”
With a final wave, Malachi knocked on the door and a friendly voice called out from within.
“Come on in!”
Pushing through, the room was typically hospital and bore no semblance to any of the elegant offices he had seen on TV. A single desk with a computer sat in the corner, the screen dark. An attempt had been made to brighten the walls with cheap, store bought pictures of winding rivers and countryside. To Malachi they just stuck out like a sore thumb and looked ridiculous. In place of leather sofas were two chairs which had been stolen from a nearby ward. Seeing the bemused look, Dr. Llyod stepped forward and held a hand out.
“You will have to forgive the surroundings; the director of the hospital doesn’t deem it necessary to provide much budget for ‘psychological issues’,” Dr. Llyod emphasised the last words with finger speech marks.
“It’s just not what I expected,” Malachi replied.
“Well at least you’re off to a good start.” The doctor indicated he should sit.
“Pardon me?” Malachi asked.
“You obviously have awareness of your surroundings and how pitiful they are, if you hadn’t paid attention I would be a little more concerned. Nobody truly sane would enjoy divulging their secrets in here.”
“I see,” Malachi smiled and sat down.
“So you are…” he checked a few hastily scribbled notes on a pad, “Malachi. And I am Dr. Llyod, but please, call me Kenny.”
Malachi couldn’t get comfortable in the high backed leather chair, which was as much to do with the firm padding as the purpose of the meeting. He was fidgeting terribly and the knowing smile of the psychiatrist wasn’t helping.
“How do we do this then, Doc? Sorry, Kenny.” Malachi wanted to get right to it.
“This is just an initial evaluation, so don’t panic. We will just discuss a few details about your life and experiences, and from there I will formulate a treatment plan. Every case is different, so I can’t promise an immediate improvement, but what I will guarantee is that I am here to help.” Kenny smiled and Malachi felt more at ease.
Settling back and taking a deep breath, Malachi replied, “I hope you can, because I am close to breaking point.”
“Let’s start with some basic information, shall we?” Kenny turned to his jotter, “Dr. Franken has referred you to me for violent night terrors, is that correct?”
“Yes, but the physical side has only been the past few days, before that it was just…” Malachi paused. He had already shared his embarrassment to more people in the past week than his whole life, one more wouldn’t make a difference.
“It was just what?” the doctor pressed.
Letting out a pent up sigh, Malachi finished, “Wetting myself and vomiting.”
“Please, don’t be embarrassed. Nothing you share with me will ever leave the room, I can assure you of that. It is imperative that I know as much as possible about the physical symptoms as well as the dreams themselves. Now, the seizures have only happened recently?”
Malachi thought for a moment, “Actually I’m not quite sure. I live alone and sometimes wake to find my bed a warzone, perhaps it has happened before but this is the first time it has been observed.”
“It could well be. Can you remember the first time that you
awoke to the bed being in disarray?”
Memories of the orphanage and his scared roommate flashed through his mind, “It may have been when I was twelve. Some occasions are better than others.”
“So it is intermittent?” Kenny wondered.
“Yes, so is the peeing and being sick. It doesn’t happen every time I dream.”
“Interesting,” he smiled, “Well I think it will help you to know you are not alone. Studies show that about eight percent of the adult population suffer from night terrors, or chronic nightmares as they are sometimes called, at some point in their life.”
“So I’m not alone?” Malachi daren’t believe it.
“Not at all. There are thousands of people in a similar situation, and we are able to help in most cases.”
“And in those you can’t?” Malachi asked, praying he wasn’t one of the ‘other’ cases.
Kenny coughed and sat forward, “I don’t think it will be an issue with you. The majority of those cases involve a severely damaged mind, often as a result of years of psychological trauma or PTSD from service personnel. You aren’t in the armed forces are you?”
“No.”
“Good, I can cross that off the list, we will get to other possibilities in a moment. Before that, where do you think the dreams come from?”
“I don’t know. I assumed it was my hormones from puberty, but when it carried on into adulthood I just hid them away and tried to get on with my life.”
“And there was nothing else that might have triggered them?”
“Well my parents died in a car accident when I was eleven, and I was placed in an orphanage,” Malachi said quietly. Tears welled and threatened to overflow, a response so common that the doctor didn’t even acknowledge the show of weakness. Malachi was grateful for that and quickly composed himself with a rub of his eyes.
“Well that certainly constitutes an early trauma. Did you receive grief counselling?” Kenny was scribbling notes.
“No.”
Shaking his head, Kenny replied, “It’s disgusting how people are failed by the system in this country.”
“It wasn’t so bad, the staff were fantastic to me,” he conceded.
“But they can’t replace parents. Didn’t you have any relatives to take you in?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“I think this horrible event may have been a key trigger to the dreams that followed. Normally a bereavement will run its own course in time. The dreams can be a way of the mind coming to terms with situations that are too painful to face in the waking world.”
“Maybe,” Malachi countenanced, although the nightmares didn’t involve his parents in any way. He would bring that up when it seemed appropriate.
“I’m afraid I need to ask you some personal questions now, and they won’t be pleasant. I need absolute honesty if we are to be successful, do you understand?”
“You want to ask about sexual stuff?”
Kenny nodded.
“Ok,” Malachi prepared himself, “Shoot.”
“Did either of your parents ever touch you inappropriately? It doesn’t necessarily have to be your genitals; it could be a lingering hand or a kiss at bedtime which seemed wrong.”
“Never, we were a really happy family,” Malachi declared.
“You said there were no relatives around after your parents passed. Were any on the scene during your formative years who may have had the opportunity to be alone with you?”
“No, we were totally on our own.”
“Hmm,” Kenny wrote down some more details, “Ok, now we get to the orphanage. Did any member of staff or other child approach you sexually, male or female?”
“No,” he shrugged, “If I’m honest the carers were fantastic. It wasn’t like the film Oliver where we were mistreated and fed gruel. Even the other kids were supportive as we all had some bad shit in common.”
“Were they all orphans too?”
“In a manner of speaking. Some had been taken from parents who were so high and drunk all the time it was as if they didn’t exist. Most were like myself, both parents gone and no living relatives. Or relatives that were willing to take them in anyway.”
“Curious,” he jotted down a couple of bullet points. “Ok, that leads me onto the next line of questioning. Were you victimised at school? As an orphan you would have been a prime target for the less understanding pupil.”
“I had a bit of trouble but I dealt with it early. After that, school was just school, sitting still and learning.”
“You mean you fought back?”
Malachi nodded.
“Good for you,” Kenny replied with a grin.
“I didn’t feel too good about it, I still don’t. I have always tried to avoid confrontations if I can.”
“That’s noble of you, a lot of people enjoy inflicting pain,” Kenny replied with a faint smirk.
“Not this guy.”
“I can see you are going to give me trouble,” Kenny pointed accusingly, “Whatever is going on will need a lot more digging to uncover. Tell me about the dreams, does it always involve the death of your parents?”
“None of my nightmares have been about my parents,” Malachi said.
“Excuse me?” Kenny said with surprise, turning to his notes, “Apologies, I just assumed. What are the dreams about? It may give a clue to the underlying issue.”
This was it. A time to unload all of the fear and distress that followed Malachi into the depths of his sleeping imagination. A decade of dread every time the pillow moulded to the contours of his head and eyelids closed, delivering him to the realm of untold horrors. If anyone could help it was surely this affable psychiatrist. A man who had dedicated his life to exploring the vast abyss that was the human mind.
“I see death, blood, and suffering. I dream of evil,” Malachi whispered.
“Go on.” Kenny had sat up straight and was more intent on the conversation. Malachi didn’t notice as a thousand nightmares converged into a show reel of genocide.
“I watch villages put to the torch, with men, women, and children butchered in the hundreds. I watch creatures that can’t exist tearing worlds apart, the people unable to die, only suffer in agony forever,” Malachi was pouring the terror out, laughing and crying at the same time, “And do you know the latest? I have seen things that I couldn’t possibly see, witnessed massacres from the past committed by people that actually existed! How can I see these things and be sane?”
The doctor’s eyes were wide with astonishment and he was writing so fast the words were illegible. As Malachi finally slumped backwards and waited for Kenny to section him, the doctor merely sat back himself and smiled knowingly. Chewing on the pen tip, he stared for long moments until Malachi felt increasingly uncomfortable. The cheerful shrink had taken on the look of a predator, surveying the meal on offer.
“Are you ok?” Malachi asked warily.
Shaking himself, the look was gone and the smile returned, “Of course, I was just processing what you told me.”
“Do you think I am insane?” Malachi had to know.
“Not at all, you are one of the sanest people I have ever seen.”
Sighing with relief, a weight lifted from his shoulders; the road to recovery could now begin.
“That being said,” Kenny continued, the sting in the tail now coming, “I think we need to see each other a great deal more. We can help you come to terms with this affliction.”
“We?”
“I mean the NHS,” Kenny recovered quickly, “I will prescribe you a course of Prazosin to begin tonight. It was originally found to be a good way of treating high blood pressure. One of the side effects has been to drastically reduce the impact of nightmares in those who take it.”
“I’m not keen on drugs.”
“It’s only a stopgap until I find a better alternative. We can then try image reversal therapy when I have more time with you. It’s a way of controlling the dreams instead of letting them control you.�
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Malachi submitted to the expert opinion, “I will give them a chance, ok? I am happy to try anything right now.”
“Good man.” Kenny smiled, before writing on the green pad, “The dosage is noted down too.”
Pointing to the amount to take, he ripped the prescription off and handed it over.
“I can’t believe I may be able to get past this and have my life back. Thank you so much, Kenny.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he said, shaking Malachi’s hand again. “Soon this will all feel like a distant memory.”
With a spring in his step, he left the room to find Shannon wasn’t back yet. The doctor gave a final wave and closed the door firmly and locked it. Reaching into his trouser pocket he withdrew a phone and flicked it open before dialling a memorised number. After exactly four rings, a connection was made and a female voice spoke.
“How may I direct your call?”
“Can I speak with Mr. Creighton?” Kenny asked nervously.
“I’m sorry, there is no one here by that name,” she replied, but kept the line open.
“Vie kulas sephiras,” Kenny replied with the phrase he was given at the start of his ascension.
“Thank you, I will connect you immediately,” she replied without emotion and the line changed.
A deep voice answered, “Yes?”
“Sir, it’s Dr. Llyod,” Kenny said respectfully, his stomach fluttering in fear. No matter how many times he spoke to the man he was always terrified. Mr. Creighton liked that.
“What is it?” he asked abruptly.
“I have a seer, sir.”
“Are you sure?”
“One hundred percent, sir.” Kenny knew that mistakes were dealt with swiftly and severely.
“Good. If you can arrange the removal of his eyes and tongue, I will send a team to deliver him to the Clerics of Kylous.”
“That won’t be a problem, sir. I will arrange to see him in two days and he will be prepared by the weekend.”
“Excellent. Call me when it is done, my team will be on standby,” he said and hung up.
With a shuddering breath, Kenny closed the phone and sat down before he collapsed. Although never doubting his decision, the path laid out before him was fraught with uncertainty. Once he had proven himself he would be untouchable, but until that time it wasn’t only his life that could be forfeit.
