Turn 1
October 25, 2009
6:38 P. M.
Doctor Matthew’s Office, Portland, Oregon
Twenty years. It’s been twenty years now since the young Seth Kaiba died, perishing along with his sister in the forgotten orphanage in another rainy sector of the ever growing capital of vice and sin in the ever so wonderful state of Oregon. A lot can and has happened in twenty years, some of it good and most of it bad.
Yet somehow, of all the things I could be doing on my thirtieth birthday, I found myself waiting in the small oven box that was my personal physician’s workplace. Sure, I’m somehow the head of a company that grosses so much money that the United States doesn’t feel the need to report my earnings, lest they offend their European allies, and I still have to get in queues for a simple checkup. Doesn’t matter if I offer to pay up front; Matthew, like the saint, can’t be bought off.
Well, not much difference between doctors and tax collectors. They both take and take, only rarely offering something in return. To be quite honest, I was beginning to wonder if I’d have better luck talking with my liaison in the IRS when I heard my name called, that great title that helped take a bit of the pain my chest away.
“A Mr. Seth Sears? Are you here?”
“Oh, no, only been here for forty-five freaking minutes, you bat.” I fired at the nurse come to collect, a rather stupid move considering she was responsible for my wellbeing. Well, if I had the right to be a jerk one day a year, might as well be the birthday, which was quickly being ruined by these complacent medical workers.
Least the mouse began to cover, the girl nearly ducking behind her clipboard as I approached, towering over her in both rank and stature… hmm. Seem to be borrowing from a certain other novel at this point. Let me try this again.
The nurse began to hide behind her clipboard, shrinking more and more as my dragon head cane tapped across the floor. She was no mere dwarf; I was simply a giant, little good that it did for me now. I almost wonder if being so tall was actually a bane; perhaps my weakening heart could be attributed to this stature.
Moving on. “Well? Where am I going? Is he in?”
“Ye- yes… we just need to-”
“Nurse. You are either new here or are completely oblivious. I’m Seth Sears. I come here every week. You don’t need to check anything, you idiot. Take me to the doctor NOW!”
So the girl obeyed, the orderly dashing down the hall as I moved on after her. No one said a word as I passed on by, all starring and mute with reverence at my wealth and power, or rather my inflated ego. Little good it did me now; a virus doesn’t respect a billionaire, a bacteria cell will never skip by an angry but suitable host. No amount of bad behavior would save me from my fate.
What’s it to me then if I let it all out. Motioned into Matthew’s office, the man busy chatting up a secretary I’m positive he was having an affair with, it only took one cruel sneer for the lady to yip and take off running like a mutt she was, fixing her unbuttoned blouse as the aging geezer within fixed his own collar.
Grunting, the man motioned me to take a seat as he announced “Seth! You’re early.”
“I’m exactly on time. No, scratch that; you’re late to my appointment Matthew! You’re making a bad argument to keep you around, thief.”
“Not like anyone else is going to be getting your money, anyway.”
I know that was supposed to be a whisper, but you don’t get this far in capitalistic society if you can’t read lips. Fuming, I tapped my cane against the carpet as I pushed hard, hoping to cause a tear as I gritted my teeth and asked
“Excuse me?”
“Err… Seth. You’re really going to want to take a seat. I have some bad news for you.”
I refused. Sighing, the doctor turned his screen around and showed that even if he had been engaging in some overtime type activities, he hadn’t completely forgotten about the guy who’d wind up fronting the bill for his divorce. Situated on the screen, as clear as money could get me at the time, was the most recent scan of my heart…
I’m no doctor, but I’m good at reading people. Matthew, with his shaggy beard and spectacles, had the look of a man starring at road kill, that sort of pitiful stare that I do so hate. Pushing even harder, my fingers clenching into the wood of my cane, all I could do was ask
“What the hell is this?”
“Severe coronary artery disease with an added case of acute coronary syndrome. In other words, your arteries are hardening and contracting more and more. That’s decreasing blood flow to your vital muscles, which is beginning to weaken them. With time, they’ll die altogether causing-”
“An effing heart attack. Fan, freaking, tastic.” I muttered, stomping in place as I turned about on my heel, throwing my hands into my hair and struggling to resist the urge to just pull it all out. I suppose other, normal people would be sad or unbelieving to such news, following the Kübler-Ross model of dealing with grief. I have already seen too much grief though; I have already lost too much. There is no acceptance, no denial, no depression or even bargain I can try to strike with the devil or god that’ll make me come alive.
No, all that remains is anger. Annoyance, anger, rage, bloodlust and last of all cursing. That is how I deal with my problems anymore.
“So. After everything, this is how I go out? A heart attack while I’m sipping on soup? I’m guessing you’re already trying to plan out my life style now, aren’t you.”
“Well… I mean that’s my job, Mr. Sears.” The insufferable doctor replied, scratching at his unkempt hair. Darn it man, how hard is it to shave your smug face every morning? Not like you don’t have money to buy a razor. Send that secretary you’re so busy smooching up to do it for you, man. “We can make you live at least a few more years or so with some dietary changes, physical and emotional therapy, a p-”
“Two things. One: Why not surgery. Two: Emotional therapy? Do you mean a psychologist?”
“Well, surgery is viable option for some… but not for you. You see, Mr. Sears, your body is already too weak from your previous conditions. It wouldn’t survive the surgery… and even if it did, you’d end up a nasty nosocomial infection. It’s a guaranteed death wish.
“As for the therapy, it would be a must Mr. Sears. Heart conditions are the most dangerous for those with uncontrollable tempers-”
Oh ho ho. That’s a good one. Swinging my cane through the air, I brought the tip right above the doctor’s ear before I stopped, the man nearly falling out of his seat as he choked and chortled on his own blasted spit. With eyes glinting and venom plain, I let my distaste known as I rubbed my thumb upon the fierce face of my dragon cane, explaining
“Doctor. My anger is the only thing keeping me alive… and don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I’m not in absolute control of it. Otherwise, I’m more than happy to waste my fortunes in court if it meant getting away with what I do to pigs.”
Tapping the yellow diamond eye closest to my thumb, a small blade popped out of my walking stick as it nearly sliced off the man’s ear, the doctor finally crashing down to his stained carpet floor with a cry as I drew my cane back and stabbed down into his expensive carpet. Spinning in place, making the hole wider as I just begged the man to sue me, I had the decency to tap the button again as I began to make my way out, throwing the door open with a bang as I heard
“But- but wait! Where are you going?”
“To get my affairs in order… and to find a doctor that I can actually trust. We’re through Matthew; make the bill big, because it’s the last time I’ll be giving you a cent!”
Matthew was right. No doctor would be getting a dime from me ever again.
Times of Peace: Volume 1 of the side adventures to The Mercenary's Salvation Page 34
