The Phoenix Grail

by Helen Savore

  “Mr. Penderson?”

  Jamie stood and shook out his messy brown hair. “Sorry, found a loose glove.” He walked away from Dr. Howell and the other students to the nearest trash receptacle and pretended to shove something in.

  Dr. Howell grumbled, but did not bother him further. “Okay, Mr. Sampson, what can you discern about this patient’s condition?”

  Jamie put their babble out of mind and worked to calm down. He couldn't let his classmates or instructors see his panic. In addition to the anthropomorphic figures, he saw blurs, miasmas, things that did not belong. He’d spent a long time practicing ignoring them or hiding his reactions one way or another. He was a bit jumpy sometimes and reckless others, especially when the hallucinations covered up something about the world. But he tried to check all that at the door when he entered the hospital. He couldn’t afford to be startled when handling patients. While he hadn’t hurt anyone—yet—there was talk of keeping him for an additional foundation year for his outbursts.

  The phenomena weren’t limited to the hospital, but Jamie didn’t witness many deaths elsewhere, so the worst of the hallucinations happened here. His father had been in a hospital, too; not here, the one back home. He had been sick for some time, but took a sudden turn and passed faster than anyone imagined. When he studied at the Cardiff University School of Medicine it was easier, but now he spent more and more time at the university hospital itself, so sightings were inevitable.

  Over the years he tried to research his phantoms, making discreet and quiet inquiries. Nothing appeared on any scan he could sneak. It didn’t impact his cognitive functions. He simply saw things. They never interacted with him, and there was nothing there to touch. As long as he ignored them he was fine.

  He just needed to hold out a bit longer. The hospitals back home were smaller, enough to support a village in the foothills of Mount Snowdon. There would be less sudden appearances there, and the local townsfolk might accept his quirks once he settled in and started practicing.

  “Mr. Penderson, do you have anything to add? Or is there something fascinating about the trash?”

  Jamie gritted his teeth, but he rejoined the group in a few quick strides of his long legs. “I think Mr. Sampson covered it.”

  The patient, Mr. Pryce, snorted. “Even I know the little squirt didn’t say enough. Thanks for waking me up for useless prattle.” Little bugs danced down the twig fingers of the phantom and crawled up Mr. Pryce’s nose after the snort.

  Jamie narrowed an eye at Sampson. Sampson jumped, but didn’t otherwise say anything. Jaime suppressed the urge to sigh. It wasn’t his fault, but Sampson’s mistake was just going to make a hard day harder for Jamie now.

  The bugs migrated towards Mr. Pryce’s throat, causing him to sputter as he spoke. “At least the pimply one had the balls to look me in the face when he tried, boy. Your head too high in the sky to look down on us poor folk?”

  Jamie’s lip twitched. He wasn’t actually that tall, just had a lean frame. He typically wasn’t a very still person, but he couldn’t jog his way out of this one. Everyone looked his way.

  Dr. Howell tapped his foot. “Mr. Penderson?”

  He closed his eyes. “I would move on to the next patient. There isn’t anything else we can do here.”

  One classmate elbowed him. “That was callous.”

  “Terrible time to cop out, Jamie. Save excuses for assignments, not people.”

  Mr. Pryce’s coughing turned into a sputter, then a heave. His vitals jumped, and he shook.

  Dr. Howell yelled out for the orderlies, and students rushed to grab the man.

  Jamie stood still amid the chaos—reality had left him.

  The phantom tree’s twig hands stroked Mr. Pryce’s throat. A cavity in the tree morphed into an upward crescent moon and dropped pieces of bark, creating a toothy smile.

  Jamie’s eyes grew wide. Was it emoting?

  The phantom monster winked at him.

  It reacted. It knew he could see. It wasn’t some stupid vision to ignore. Jamie screamed and ran off the floor, he couldn’t face the smiling monster any longer.

  Jamie sat in his advisor’s office. Head and eyes down. His hands became fascinating. Simple, flexible, safe. A known quantity. He trusted his hands more than his eyes. Perhaps he should grasp something to keep his grip on reality.

  “Jamie, shame won’t help you solve this. The stress inevitably gets to everyone. It’s hard to see so many sick and suffering.”

  “Stress?” Jamie pounded a fist on the edge of Dr. Lloyd’s desk. “You think that was stress? I—” He paused. “I know what I did. I didn’t just make a fool of myself.” He laughed. “That I almost wouldn’t mind. I told a patient he would die, in the most awful way possible.”

  Dr. Lloyd tilted his head. He didn’t deny it, but didn’t go on about it, either. That was kind. He was trying to help.

  Jamie loosened his fist and gripped the desk edge with both hands, trying to generate comfort from the simple metal. Dr. Lloyd had been a great support when he joined the program, especially after he lost his first mentor, Doc Morgan. The Doc had done everything he could to nurture young Jamie’s growing interest in medicine, encouraging him when he got distracted, especially since the distraction was often Doc’s daughter, Alexandrea. Though he hadn’t started out with the best grades, the Doc had helped him focus enough to make it into school.

  It wasn’t as if the Doc had pushed him into something he didn’t want. The Doc helped him pursue what he wanted when he was being a jerk kid blowing off his future for a bit of sport. Jamie wanted this. The death of his father still haunted him, death from a disease they never identified. It grew into a need to help others, to fix them, to reduce their suffering, to allow them to go about their lives. He didn’t want others to suffer the pain he did.

  But could he do that if it drove him mad? He couldn’t save everyone. Death was inevitable, so if he couldn’t handle death…

  “Dr. Lloyd, maybe this isn’t for me.”

  “It’s a bump in the road, son. I know how much you want this. You have a good head for the theory, great patient interaction, and technique will come with time.”

  “When I'm not predicting their passing.”

  Neither spoke. That might be what disturbed the university more. It wasn’t only Jamie’s behavior, but that he was right. Nothing explained Mr. Pryce’s sudden decline. Jamie had had out-bursts in the past, but never close enough to the actual death to link it. Granted, he’d never said it aloud like that, either.

  Dr. Lloyd’s eyes flicked to the ancient monitor that dominated the desk corner to his right. “What is it that got to you in that moment? Maybe there’s something we could do.”

  Jamie massaged his temples, his hair falling over his hands. “No, not again. It’s not fair to the patients, my classmates, me.”

  “Give me something, Jamie. This has been brewing for a while, hasn’t it? I want to help you, but I only know what I can see. What’s going on in that head of yours? Share it with me so we can figure out the best course of action.”

  Jamie glanced to the ancient clock high on the wall. He couldn’t look Dr. Lloyd in the face. “I’m not sure I’m a simple problem to diagnose.”

  “Well, I have thoughts on treatment, but I don’t want to prescribe the wrong thing.”

  “Really?” Jamie couldn’t help but smile at how he put it. “What have you got in mind?”

  Dr. Lloyd leaned over his desk. “It depends on you. Since you won’t explain your issues, well, this could end up being worse.”

  Jamie raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

  Dr. Lloyd tapped his screen. “The National Health Services paramedic corps is a little short. There are several openings coming up, even one back in your old hometown.” He frowned. “I know you wanted to practice back there someday.”

  It was amazing how something that had happened years earlier could still grip you. Maybe it was another symptom of his madness. “Doc Morgan died years
ago. I don’t know who’s practicing there now. Want, yes.” Jamie had once seen it as an answer to his problems, but hadn’t considered returning this way. This was different. “This isn’t exactly how I envisioned going back.”

  With his poor mum forced into a home out west, and because of the fallout from the Morgans’ funeral, he hadn’t visited in some time. Still, he had chaps up there; it’d been too long since Rhys’s last visit. He could even join up with the local football club again.

  Could he handle a faster paced but more traumatic situation? If he handled things well enough the emergency room, hospital, and doctors would take care of the patients he delivered. If they died on the way, there wouldn’t be enough time for a phantom to materialize.

  Jamie smiled. He could make sure no one died quickly, give people immediate aid. “Dr. Lloyd, that sounds like a great idea.”

  He gave a slow nod. “Well, let’s get your paperwork going. I bet the service will be grateful to have a mostly trained doctor running through the training course.” He grabbed Jamie’s hand and shook it. “Do this as long as you need to. But don’t forget, you’re always welcome to return. You’re a good man, Jamie.”

  Jamie squashed his smile. Mad people weren’t good, but they could cope.

  2

  Rhys hadn’t showed yet, so Jamie wandered towards the shop himself. Despite being back several weeks, he still got a twinge as he passed Trefor’s Teashop. It wasn’t the shop’s fault. It was what stood next door, or used to. The one wooden building in the village center, surrounded by a sea of stone, held a tea shop and a doctor’s practice. Jamie had spent many an afternoon shadowing Doc Morgan, and although it had changed, he couldn’t shake the familiarity.

  Now it was a bookstore, run by the Doc’s daughter Alexandrea. The same Drea who stopped talking to him when he went to the university. The same one that refused to let him mourn with her after her parents’ funeral. Doc wasn’t his father, but he was his mentor, and he missed Auntie Addie, too. He grew up with Drea because their mothers were close.

  After their deaths, Drea wouldn’t acknowledge anyone, acted like she alone could mourn. She wouldn’t even accept people’s happiness that she had survived the crash. He recalled talking to her after the service, trying to get her to open up, let others help her remember them. He didn’t believe she truly wanted to be alone. He certainly didn’t when his dad died, and he couldn’t stand the thought of being alone in that moment, either. Then… well, he couldn’t recall the words, but he distinctly remembered the image of the front door to her scary old house, closed in his face.

  He shouldn’t hold it against her, she was grieving. Still, she hadn’t said a thing afterward. He didn’t like being shut down and shut out. He couldn’t help but remember when they were younger; they were such friends as kids. Romping around the countryside, tumbling into brooks, fighting imaginary trolls. This was before he realized his vision was so different. While most friends thought he made things up and tried to outdo him, Drea always played along.

  A thud brought him out of his trip down memory lane.

  The door came rushing at him and someone dashed past, out of the shop.

  “Excuse me, coming through!” The girl was gone before he could react.

  Jamie stood dumbfounded, frozen. He caught the door and let the cool, brisk breeze of early autumn in.

  “Drea?”

  But she had already dashed next door to Bardic Tomes, either having not heard him, or ignoring him altogether.

  He missed her. He’d forgotten how attractive she was. Multi-hued brown hair fell to her hips now. It twirled as she spun round, something he didn’t recall from childhood, although the boots might have altered her stride. The belt that hugged her hips was strange—metallic glints between the leather strips. Why couldn’t her brown eyes behind those thick-rimmed glasses meet his?

  “Earth to Jamie.” Rhys waved a hand in front of his eyes.

  “Oh, hey, you’re here.”

  “You don’t seem to be. Or are you taking on a second job as a door man?” Rhys winked. “Tell me all about it after we order.”

  Jamie followed him into the teashop. It wasn’t anything special, just comfortable. Lounge chairs took up the front with smaller tables for two towards the back. The counter ran along the walled shared with the bookstore. Faded chalk boards described the drinks, sides, and specials, but they were the same from before he left for school.

  They were in and out in a matter of moments, though the barista, Gwen, gave him a lingering wave as they left.

  Rhys nudged him, luckily not in the side holding the hot tea. “So, first contact after how many weeks now? When is she going to join us at the pub or the pitch?”

  Jamie fiddled with his cup top, trying to cool down the drink a bit. “I’ve talked to Gwen plenty since I got back. She’s on shift more than half the time.”

  “Not Gwen. Alexandrea.” Rhys waved his hand with each syllable of the name.

  Jamie lifted the cup high for a sip, putting it between him and Rhys. “Actually, we didn’t say anything.”

  Rhys stopped. “Wait, that was Alexandrea coming out of the shop, right? I don’t think another woman in town wears that combination of sweater, shirt, and skirts.”

  Jamie laughed. “And you know every outfit?”

  “Anything worn by a male, female, and anything in between.” He snorted. “So, how did you pass each other without saying anything?”

  Jamie kicked at a pebble down the sidewalk. “I don’t think she recognized me.”

  “What? Impossible.” Rhys spread his arms wide, losing tea to the ground. “That girl’s memory is freaky. You know, last time I went in there she told me the number of times we’d spoken since secondary school, and I think she was right. Spooky.”

  Jamie raised a brow. “Why were you in the store?”

  Rhys coughed. “Been trying to convince her to sell me her dad’s Jaguar. What?” Rhys shrugged. “She’s not driving it. A classic like that is just wasting away on her property.”

  “Would you mind saying hello again sooner?” Jamie asked.

  “Figured I’d give it a few more months before asking again.” Rhys halted again and spun to face Jamie. “Wait, you want me to go in there and, well, I’m not sure, do something for you?”

  Jamie glanced behind at Drea’s shop's bay window. She was settling into a chair and children joined her on a green rug, a stark contrast to the rows of brown shelves.

  “Well, I guess not now. But yeah. She remembers you if she’s been counting. Maybe invite her somewhere, so you can make a reintroduction—”

  "Master Jamie Penderson, scared of a librarian." Rhys leaned against the next column and smirked.

  Jamie clenched his fists. "I’m not scared. I just don’t want to startle her." Was he taking her rushing past too much to heart? Maybe he was a little nervous. Jamie wasn’t sure that if he walked in if he’d see the childhood friend he grew up with or the girl who’d rejected him twice before.

  “Fine, I’ll do it. But I'm going to ask if she would take in a tenant because I want my couch back."

  Jamie glared at Rhys. “I’m not on your couch.”

  A dwarf appeared in the distance over Rhy’s shoulder.

  Jamie blinked and jumped back. No, he hadn’t seen any phantoms since he left the hospital. But that short figure at the end of the square was no child, not with its long beard and thick stout body. He was too far away to see its clothing clearly.

  He shoved Rhys aside just as the dwarf’s head turned to him. It smiled and nodded.

  Jamie paused.

  The dwarf stepped into the bank.

  Jamie hung his head. He was such an ignorant, prejudiced idiot. It was just a person. He was in the medical field; he knew all sorts of conditions could account for height-challenged individuals.

  Rhys tapped him, interrupting his moping. “What’re you staring at?”

  Jamie waved a hand dismissively. “Nothing.” He’d debated so many tim
es over the years sharing with Rhys, but he had always landed on no. Rhys was his buddy and would support him, but probably he’d support him in getting some sort of treatment.

  Rhys sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry about the couch joke. But are you sure you want me to bother her?” Rhys motioned back towards the shop. “How about you wander in during story time, take a seat with all those kids. Maybe she’ll recognize you more as a child?”

  Jamie jerked away. "Come on, Rhys, don’t be like that."

  Rhys shook his head. “You really want to pick on your mate who’s just trying to help you?”

  Jamie sighed and smiled. “You’re right, of course.” He gave Rhys a gentle clout across the back. “Thanks, I owe you one.”

  Rhys nodded to the shop once before walking pointedly away. “Great, so you’ll cover groceries for the week? We can pick a few things up and be back before she’s done.”

  3

  “I thought Bedivere threw Excalibur, not Galahad.”

  Alexandrea cleared her throat to give herself a moment to recover. She itched to tell the story true, but it was not the story the world accepted, so she must tell the one they knew. All the tales she told were fictional, so why did she trip over this fictionalized account of real events?

  “You’re correct,” she said.

  Despite her challenges with the Arthurian legend, it was one of Alexandrea’s favorite times of the week: story time at her store, Bardic Tomes. The long lines of shelves, each one a different shade of bark brown, stopped short on either side of her to create this circle in the store. A clearing amongst a forest of books where she now sat surrounded by children, all leaning forward in anticipation.

  Perhaps she captured too much of their attention if the children were finding mistakes. But Rhian was older than the others, going through a growth spurt that put her close to Alexandrea’s short stature. She leaned against a bookcase, towering over Alexandrea and the other children sitting on the moss green rug.