Twisted All To Hell

by J E Moore

all-night binges. He smartly rejected the impulse to shake his head after remembering the last time how it had made him dizzy and then fell off the living room couch.

  "Just cool it, Dude," he moaned to himself. "It's best not to rush a hangover. I'll make some good, strong coffee, take some aspirins and in a little while I'll as good as new."

  Nick peered into the darkness, his eyes roamed up, down and side to side. He was trying to figure out why there was no daylight. Finally, he obtained his night-vision and became able to make out a dimly lit red and white 'exit' sign about fifty-feet away. Just then the door below the sign swung open and the room's overhead lights automatically switched on. In strolled a middle-aged, red-haired woman wearing some kind of a white uniform. She paid no attention to Nick who was coherent enough to realize he wasn't at home and had now become a bit curious as to where he really may be. The lady, instead of coming toward him, moved to his left and then stopped to don a pair of eyeglasses swinging from her neck. She seemed to be reviewing some papers on a clipboard and making random checkmarks.

  Nick, a gregarious fellow by nature mumbled, "Hello there," to draw her attention. But alas, she didn't respond. So he tried several more times, still to no avail. "Strange" he thought, "I can feel my mouth moving but no sound seems to be coming out. Damn! I must have developed laryngitis. I've never had that happen before, not even after a lot of cheering at an exciting football game."

  The woman moved further to his left beyond his view and Nick discovered he couldn't move his head to follow her or to turn in the other direction either for that matter. "What the hell?" he exclaimed. "I can't move my head! It feels like I'm wearing a blasted, neck brace."

  Next, he heard a distinct 'click' which sounded like a lamp's on and off switch and then sheets of paper being flipped on her clipboard. "At least I can hear, thank God," he thought. Nick assumed she would work her way over to him soon and then he could at least whisper to her even with laryngitis. "Hurry up, lady. I need some answers here. Big-time."

  He began inspecting the room as he waited. All sorts of stainless steel machines, portable and mobile pieces of test equipment lined the chart-laden walls. Scopes, VDT's, recorders and cables seemed to be everywhere. "Looks like a hospital laboratory," he reasoned. Concern creased his brow. "Uh, oh, this could be serious." Another 'click' is heard in the background.

  Unexpectedly, the attendant stepped in front of Nick's position and turned on his projection lamp. 'Click'. Pleased to have the company the young man forced a crooked grin.

  "Agggh!" she screamed. Taking a half-step backwards she lost her balance, stumbled and fell. Her clipboard and pen went flying. Sitting on the floor with her knees raised, she stared up at the surprised patient above her. "C'mon, lady, get up," Nick mouthed soundlessly. "I got a lotta questions."

  As the woman struggled to her feet her glasses fell off her face and down to her chest when she bent over to retrieve her materials. "Sorry," she stammered. "I've never seen one of you awake before."

  Nick read her nameplate, 'Amy'. He extended his right hand to her in a gesture of friendship. "Amy..." the words died on his lips. He couldn't see his arm or hand. Nick held both hands up to his face, at least that's what his brain said he was doing, but they weren't there. He kicked his feet, no movement. Oh no, I must be in a full body cast! Looking down he found his vision blocked by a small stain-less steel table or a platter of some sort. Worry set in. His pleading eyes bored into Amy. "What happened to me?" he whispered as loud as he could. Still, no sound came out.

  Unaware of his efforts to communicate, she reviewed his chart aloud. "Mister Nicholas Anderson... motorcycle accident... twenty-seven years old... pity."

  "Motorcycle accident?" He began remembering. "Yes, yes, of course! I was riding home from the concert. I hadn't been drinking hard, just a coupla beers. The truck!" A large shadowy image flashed in his mind. He cringed. The intersection... the red light. I can't stop!"

  Blackness.

  "I'll be back with you in just a minute, Mister Anderson," the attendant promised and she moved to his right.

  He heard another 'click', another lamp? "There must be other patients here," he reasoned. Looking about as best he could, "Yep, this is definitely a hospital ward of some type. It sure has an awful lot of lab equipment." He wondered, "Why would they need all this?" Nick struggled to move again, still no visual results. Panic rushed in and his thoughts began running amok. "I must have had a spinal injury! I ... I must be paralyzed!" Numbing shock and anguish washed over him.

  After what seemed to be an eternity he dared to look down again, this time beyond the metal edge. "Wait a minute. Where are my legs? Even if I were paralyzed, I should be able to see my legs. Unless... they're gone... ripped off under the wheels of the truck. Please, no! What else?" he sobbed. "What about my arms? My arms too! Am I a quadriplegic propped up in a wheelchair? Oh, God, no! What could be worse than this? Amy! Come back! I need you!"

  Nick frantically searched the room seeking for clues as to the real extent of his injuries. Perplexing, complex medical paraphernalia appeared everywhere. The closest and most prominent item was a rolling table in the middle of the room. It had a hole in the middle with a plastic neck brace fastened over it. It also had a half a dozen cylinders with rubber tubing mounted on the second shelf underneath. "Crap! I don't understand what any of this stuff is used for."

  'Click.' Amy returned and stood facing Nick, clipboard under her arm and cleaned her glasses. "Sorry about before, Mister Anderson. Rather unprofessional of me. As I said, I've never seen one of you awake. You're supposed to be asleep. I'll report this to Doctor Parmalee as soon as I finish with you. He'll get you back to being nice and comfy. Don't worry, young man."

  "Don't worry?" he silently screamed. "What's wrong with me, woman! I can't move!" His facial contortions seemed to unnerve her. "Why can't you hear me?" Nick's motions accentuated.

  "Oh, dear! I can see you're quite upset aren't you? Someone has made a terrible mistake with your anesthetics." Amy slipped her glasses back on and half-filled an eye-drop applicator. "Try to calm down, Mister Anderson. I'll give you these drops and then inform the doctor of your condition. Open wide, please."

  As Nick watched, Amy using great care, slowly leaned toward him. His eyes became wider and wider. Warm liquid poured over his eyeballs, he blinked away the excess. His vision had become even clearer now... to his horror. Her face was positioned very close as she examined him. Then she backed away ever so cautious. His eyes darted to the rolling table in the middle of the room - back to Amy, table, Amy. His table. Amy. "Oh, no!" She turned to leave.

  "Good boy," she called over her shoulder. "Doctor Parmalee will be here in a few minutes. I'll leave the light on for him."

  Full realization began to set in...

  The cafeteria

  "Amy, come over and join me," entreated Gail, a fellow, medical assistant. As soon as Amy had set her lunch tray down and taken a seat, Gail gushed, "Did you hear? I just bumped into nurse Bridgewater in the hallway and she told me one of your patients died of an aneurism a little while ago."

  "Really? I didn't know that. Which one was it?" returned a surprised Amy.

  "X241B," answered Gail.

  "Experimental, room 241, subject B? That would be Nick Anderson. Are you sure? When I left him two hours ago he seemed fine, except he was awake." stated Amy. "Cooperative too. He held his eyes open nice and wide while I put in the lubricating drops."

  "Aren't those experimental subjects supposed to be in an induced coma until after the operation?" questioned Gail.

  "Yes, that's true. I reported his condition to Doctor Parmalee."

  Gail continued, "Nurse Bridgewater," who was the doctor's assistant said, X241B had the most horrible expression she had ever seen. She described his face as being contorted into a mask of pure terror. Finishing with: "It looked as if all of the muscles in his face were frozen in a blood-curdling scream. Even Doctor Parmalee was shocked."

  "Pity," retur
ned Amy. "I heard the young man was scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning. The Parts Department said we received a compatible, donor body yesterday."

  She wanted to read 'today's lunch specials' from the menu and pulled out a pair of glasses from her purse.

  "What happened to your regular reading glasses, Amy?" asked Gail.

  "They're at the optometrist being repaired. Silly me, I sat on them and broke the frame. Thank goodness, I had another pair. I'll have to wear these for only a coupla days. My old glasses will be ready tomorrow. No harm done," she surmised as she cleaned and adjusted her over-sized, mirrored sunglasses, - in which Nick saw his own reflection.

  The end

  The Devil's Fog

  The Bermuda Triangle. I've been warned more than once not to tackle such old, over-worked themes. Thanks for the advice, but I felt I had to get it down on paper before it became lost. See if you agree with me this tale - a true story, has been worth saving.

  I first learned of it about a year ago at a July the fourth family picnic which my wife, Joyce, and I were attending. I remarked to her cousin John, the ocean was too warm during the summer for fishing here in south Florida. I asked what he thought was a better time, the spring or the fall.

  He answered, "Neither, to me. I don't fish out there anymore, not after you-know-what