by K Alexander
He spreads his hands towards her. "So that's what I'm saying."
Claire heaves a sigh and compresses her lips in thought. "Would they let me consult?"
"Hah. The esteemed doctor Walsch, come to reclaim the offer made first to her."
"The esteemed doctor Walsch, extremely unwilling and able." She grimaces at him. "I'd considered giving up coffee, but I think it would be a very bad idea at this point in time."
"I think you're right." He rises to his feet and forestalls her movement with a wave of his hand. "Sit. I'll get it. I'll get you anything you want."
"Can you bring me some reprieve from this whole business?"
"No. How about a muffin?"
"Next best thing."
------ The small elevator makes a strange clicking noise as it descends. Claire Walsch glances upwards in quiet trepidation, and when she drops her eyes both Vice-Admiral Banks and the short orderly are smiling knowingly at her. Clearing her throat in a somewhat embarrassed manner she shifts the file in her hands and turns to the Vice-Admiral.
"Her cell is the only one down here?"
He nods his silver-gray head. "We do prefer to call it a room, doctor. Captain Ryan isn't a prisoner. She is a very fine soldier, and it is a pity about her condition. We keep her in the most secure area, yes, because as a highly trained SEAL she has several skills at her command that would assist in an easy escape from the more basic rooms. The military obviously does not want any civilians to be harmed by her in any manner, doctor, so we have taken stringent measures to prevent that possibility."
"Does she still show signs of harmful behavior?"
The Vice-Admiral smiles and glances away. "A double-edged question with a double-edged answer, doctor Walsch. Yes, she does exhibit signs of harmful behavior, but wouldn't you, too, if you were being invaded both by the medical profession and by what you imagine to be the voice of God?"
Claire keeps her tone even. "Invaded by the medical profession in which manner?"
"Come now, doctor. Intrusion does not need to be physical to be intrusion nonetheless. She has individuals clamoring to get inside her head at all times of the day, and I imagine that must be very difficult for one as private as she is. Or used to be."
"You knew her personally, Vice-Admiral?"
"I was with her on the mission to Ruwanda in '91."
"Would you say there were ever precursors to the delusions?"
He meets her eyes stonily. "I am not qualified to answer that, doctor."
"Hmm." She holds his gaze without flinching. "Why is it that you are so reluctant to discuss her condition, Vice-Admiral?"
"Because that is all you people see her as!" He snaps his head to one side and attempts to calm his sudden outburst before he continues, his voice as smooth and toneless as before. "She is one of the finest people I have ever known, doctor Walsch. I find it atrocious and reprehensible that this place and that … condition … would strip away all of the good things that she's ever done, and replace them with a case study number."
She considers his observation without comment before she speaks again. "Would I be in any physical danger?"
"No." The soldier has swiftly replaced the previously distressed man. "She has been heavily tranquilized - another incident - so you should be quite safe. Nevertheless we would prefer that you don't actually go into the room."
"I don't see the need to. Thank you."
When the elevator doors slide open the orderly pushes his trolley out sharply, obviously discomfited by their conversation and eager to move on. He stops at the only door and lifts his clipboard from the back of the trolley, making a note before he returns it to the trolley and steps around towards the Plexiglas porthole. He remains a fair distance away from the door and glances through the porthole quickly before returning to his trolley and making a few more notes on the clipboard. When Vice-Admiral Banks approaches the orderly shifts his trolley a little to the left to allow the tall man access to the window. The Vice-Admiral glances through the clear porthole, his gray eyes inscrutable as he turns to doctor Walsch.
"She is all yours, doctor." He walks away, stiff-backed and elegant, to enter the elevator, and when he turns and presses the floor button his eyes meet Claire's. They seem to hold some sort of warning, but she cannot fathom it, and as the doors close she turns to the orderly.
"Do you have keys to open this door?"
"No." He shakes his head in the negative. "The standard rooms upstairs have keys. This one is opened from the security center upstairs. But you really shouldn't go in."
"I'm not planning to. But if I were, hypothetically, would you be able to get somebody to open the door for me?"
"Yes." The answer clearly makes him unhappy. "I'd get them on the radio, and if you had proper clearance and they could see you… " he points to the camera tucked into a corner, "they would open the door for you. But you really shouldn't go in there."
"So you said… " she reads his name tag, ".. Trevor. Thank you. Are you going back up?"
"No. I can't leave you here by yourself."
"All right." She approaches the porthole slowly and glances through it.
If she had not known this room to be the correct one, she would never have connected the person inside with the pres clippings she has been scrutinizing. She recalls the photo of Captain Ryan receiving her decoration, recalls the tall strong frame and healthy bronze face of an extremely attractive woman whose green eyes are compelling beneath her neatly plaited black hair with its high widow's peak. The woman inside the small stark room with its padded white walls is slumped with her back against the wall, her arms obviously bound behind her. Her shaven head hangs between the sharp angles of her shoulders, and her skin is unhealthily translucent against the bleakness around her. The paleness is emphasized by the austere white sleeveless vest and drawstring pants which drape loosely against her spare lean frame. When she shifts marginally and draws up her legs against her chest doctor Walsch catches a glimpse of the muscles in her arms rolling, and realizes that though there appears not to be a spare inch of fat on Ryan, her body is exceptionally finely toned. She turns to Trevor and finds his eyes fixed on her rear. When she clears her throat he glances up without much remorse. With a raised eyebrow she continues.
"Does she do some sort of physical therapy?"
"What - do you mean with the doctors?" He shakes his head. "Not like that, no. But she's constantly working out in there, doing all sorts of exercises, basic and otherwise. Almost obsessively, if you ask me. I don't know what it's all about - maybe it's just the only thing to do in there. It would make me crazy, I can tell you."
Turning away from the talkative orderly, Claire peers through the porthole again. The woman is sitting in the same position, her head drooping towards her chest apathetically. Leaning towards the hatch in the door Claire lifts it slightly and speaks through it as she has been instructed to by Vice-Admiral Banks.
"Good afternoon, Captain Ryan. I am Doctor Claire Walsch." There is no response, and when she crouches down to glance through the hatch the soldier has not moved, not given any sign of acknowledging her presence. Clearing her throat, Claire speaks through the hatch again. "Captain Ryan? May I speak with you?" Once again there is no response, and the figure does not move. Turning her head slightly Claire once again catches the orderly admiring her backside.
"Stop doing that, Trevor." When he lifts his shoulders in a minute shrug she shakes her head. "Can she hear me?"
"No reason why not." He peers through the glass himself. "Maybe she's talking to somebody more important right now."
"Ever seen her do that?"
"Sure." He nods. "She'll be her charming self one moment…" he pulls a face to emphasize his sarcasm, "and the next she's snarling like an animal and smacking her head against things. That's why they decided to pad the walls. They were worried that she'd hurt herself."
"And like this?" She points a thumb in the direction of the door.
"Docile as a lamb. She jus
t sits there until she wakes up - or God does, whichever comes first."
"Her hands are bound?"
"Yes and no. There are handcuffs set into the wall."
Claire raises her eyebrows coolly. "Isn't that a little unethical? Surely they must be uncomfortable. How long will she be cuffed for?"
"They are lined, doc, and they only stay on until you leave. Then we take them off and let her sleep it off." The story sounds slightly rehearsed, but Claire feels less and less interested in consulting for Arthur on this case, and wants to get it over with as soon as possible. Turning away from Trevor she approaches the door again.
"Ryan."
There is no movement from the helpless woman inside the room. Clenching the file in her hand Claire bites her lip for a moment and then speaks to Trevor over her shoulder.
"Ask them to open the door."
"But that's not a … "
"Yes." She cuts him short impatiently. "I know. Everybody keeps saying that. Can you just ask them?"
"Okay." He's hesitant as he lifts the two-way radio clipped to his waist and speaks into it. There is quite a bit of conversation, muted and clipped, before he moves the radio away from his mouth and speaks to Claire. "Please step back a little so that the camera can see you." When she complies he rattles into the two-way radio again before switching it off. "They're opening it for you now."
As if in emphasis the door clicks loudly and shifts back from its lock. They both keep a vigilant eye on the figure inside the room, but there is no change in its incapable position. Stepping closer warily Trevor braces both arms against the bar on the heavy door and pushes it backwards, allowing doctor Walsch access to the room.
"Please stay out of her reach, doctor."
"How far is her reach with her arms tied behind her, Trevor?"
He glares at her reproachfully. "Don't underestimate her, doc. She's trained to do troublesome things. Stay away from her feet."
Smothering a smile Claire nods solemnly and steps into the room. The door remains open behind her; ostensibly so that Trevor can come to her rescue should the patient attempt to kick her into submission. When she is inside the small room she cannot help but feel a moment of claustrophobia - the walls are close and stark. In here it is easy to understand why Captain Ryan would give herself over compulsively to something as draining as physical exercise. Heeding the orderly's warning Claire does not approach the woman, but stays close to the exit, her clipboard held in front of her in what she is very aware is a defensive position.
"Captain Ryan?"
The woman does not respond, though her head drops closer to her chest helplessly and comes to rest on her raised knees. In this position her head pulls away from her arms and her shoulders stand out in lean sinewy relief.
"Ryan?"
Still there is nothing. Frowning, Claire attempts to inspect the figure's physical state from a distance, but it is hard to gauge. She is so thin - they did warn her, the woman does not eat well - and seems so drained at this point that it would be difficult to endeavor any sort of verdict. Clutching her clipboard Claire lowers herself onto the ground and sits down with her back against the wall, as far away as the small room allows her. The movement seems to attract the soldier's attention: the shaven head lifts slightly before fiercely green eyes ringed with long dark lashes and equally dark circles fixes on her intensely. The force of the stare is uncomfortable and Claire falters for a moment before speaking.
"Captain Ryan, my name is doctor Walsch…"
"I know." The voice is hollow and gritty, drifting into hoarseness from disuse or abuse. Claire is still only beginning to scowl, puzzled by the unexpected retort, when the soldier moves. The motion is so unexpected, so controlled and swift that there is no time to respond. Ryan hauls Claire up and wraps one arm around her throat from behind, holding the metal pin which her handcuffs have been attached to, its pointed end still encrusted in cement where she has worked it from the wall, against Claire's throat with the other hand. The doctor's first instinct is to raise her arms and clamp her hands around the forearm pressed so tightly against her throat, but as she shifts the woman behind her yanks her head back. A small sharp gasp escapes Claire's throat involuntarily and she swallows with rising panic.
"Keep you hands down. Tell Trevor to open the door."
The orderly has been keeping an eye on the good doctor as ordered, but has been taken by surprise as much as she was. He has, in fact, already placed his hands on the bar in order to push the door further open, but now that the prisoner orders the very same thing he is not so sure that it is the right thing to do any more. He pauses, and somehow she seems to know. Tightening her arm around the doctor's throat to an uncomfortable degree she prompts her with the metal pin.
"She's going to get hurt, Trevor. Open the door." To illustrate her point she shifts her arm and twists Claire's head slightly, causing an uneven moan to escape from the doctor's throat. "Hear that, Trevor? Open the door."
Helplessly he lifts the two-way radio, which is now jabbering uncontrollably, to his mouth and speaks into it.
"I'm going to kill her, Trevor." In her firm arms the doctor's shuddering breath is barely discernible. After a very short discussion with the security room Trevor hooks the radio back on his belt and grasps the bar, his hands trembling badly. When he pushes the door open Ryan steps out, keeping the doctor between them. Claire's eyes are wide and terrified as she stares at Trevor, but he can do nothing but look at the ground, away from her naked fear.
"Get in."
He complies and Ryan hauls the doctor towards the door, momentarily moving the pin from her throat to push at the door. When the doctor shifts involuntarily the arm around her throat twitches, almost making her gag.
"Don't. I'll break it."
She tries to nod her acquiescence, but the restraining arm makes it impossible. When she reaches up to put her hands on the forearm in an attempt to ease the pressure again, the woman behind her yanks her roughly. "Don't." Pushing the door closed Ryan reapplies the pin to the juncture between Claire's jaw and neck, just below her ear. "Move." She drags the shorter woman towards the elevator, making a point of keeping the doctor's face toward the camera as they move away from it. Though Claire has, long ago, completed a self-defense course, she understands that the woman behind her is overpoweringly strong and exceedingly dangerous, and so she concludes that she has no choice but to comply. She does not think that she can move on her own at this point in any case - it is just the sinewy forearm around her neck that keeps her upright. They move towards the elevator backwards, and when they step into it the soldier marches Claire roughly towards the control box. Her breath is warm on the doctor's ear when she speaks into it.
2.
Captain Lewis is not having a great day. Pompous authority - other than in the military - is not something he deals with well, and when he is told without preamble by doctor Tilley-Clapham that he is to keep his security cameras firmly pointed at some visiting lah-di-dah today, his first instinct is to drive the man's artificially perfect teeth into his artificially square jaw. It is not something he can do, however, and not because of a high moralistic streak (his is mediocre at best) or the physical inability (he has decked men larger than this overstuffed turkey), but simply because he needs the job. Ever since he has taken a bullet in his leg and been honorably discharged, he knows what it means to be a worthless hero. Men shake his hand ardently and declare their pride in his actions, women simper and bat their eyelashes, but nobody wants to have an ageing wounded soldier hanging about. Perhaps it reminds them of their own lack of worth. Either way, his job is the one thing he needs to hang onto with both hands, which means that he cannot afford even to knock one syllable off the honorable doctor's irritating double-barrel surname. And so he has spent the last hour watching the attending lah-di-dah mincing about in her neat little suit, her blue eyes serious as she asks questions which seem to be delivered in a tone barely this side of civil. At least she is something to look at
. All of this combines to make the moment when the idiotic orderly doesn't accompany her into the room as ordered, and when the foolish doctor goes in and sits down, rendering herself a nice little parcel, the worst moment of Captain Lewis's day, his week, his year, and perhaps even his life.
"Christ!" He turns around and starts shouting orders. "Wallace, Taylor, Greer, get down there!" The men suit up hurriedly and grasp their weapons, moving out of the doorway and down the hallway in trained unison. He turns to watch on the small screen as Captain Ryan drags the small doctor out of the room and closes the hopelessly petrified orderly inside. She begins to drag the doctor backwards into the elevator, and her eyes fix on the camera. They are luminous and menacing. With another throaty oath Lewis turns around again, wincing as his leg twists uncomfortably beneath him. "Johnston, Smith, to the elevator on this level. Bulley, Simon, one level up. Johnston, check where it's stopping." He watches in exasperation as the men run down the corridors, following them on the monitors as they move quickly towards their destinations. Johnston's broad serious face tilts towards the camera as he glances up at the elevator lights blinking above him. "Stops at two… four… six… roof…"
