by Joe Derkacht
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I swam through a current of alternating light and darkness. Or maybe lights were swimming around me, and I was bobbing in a dark vortex. I heard something click, the nearer, spinning lights went out, and my vision strangely began to clear. A young woman in a green smock gradually materialized.
“And he got this way how?” She asked.
“Look, Doc,” the orderly spoke patiently, as if to a child. “He’s one of our criminally violent inmates. He was going after one of the nurses, probably wanted to rape her or something.”
The doctor tapped her lower lip meditatively with her ink pen. She shone her flashlight in my eyes for a moment, and clucked in disapproval.
“A bit overmedicated for raping anyone, isn’t he? What is your Dr. Laberly using on him? The standard Thorazine, I suppose? I’ve never seen anything in the literature about it causing aggressive behavior. Just the opposite, in fact.”
“I don’t know nothin’ about that, Doc,” the orderly answered sullenly. “All I know is he went after the nurse, ’cept he didn’t seem to realize a glass partition was between him and her.”
The doctor was silent for a moment, evidently unconvinced. “What about all these other injuries? It’s obvious he’s been beaten.”
The orderly folded his arms across his chest, carefully hiding skinned knuckles behind bulging biceps. The doctor eyed him closely and waited.
“We have our share of violent inmates. Some of those guys don’t like it when their favorite nurse turns into a target—ya know what I mean?”
“Uh-huh,” she answered insincerely, making a notation in her medical chart. “You know he’ll have to stay here for observation a few days, don’t you?”
“Uh, I don’t think they’ll like that. Him being criminally insane and all, I mean. These guys have to be watched all the time, kept in restraints, that sort of thing.”
“Oh, I think we can handle him here. We have an open bed on the psych ward and all the same drugs, if they’re really necessary.” She put down the medical chart. “Besides, his wounds have to be looked after, bandages changed regularly. I did put ninety stitches in his arm and would hate to see all that time and effort go to waste because you people can’t properly care for him.”
The orderly shrugged, and stood closer to her, towering over her. “I don’t know, Doc. You’d probably have a lot of paperwork to fill out.”
“Oh, I think Admitting can deal with any paperwork that might be involved,” she answered, turning and walking to the door, having settled the issue once for all.
“You talk out of turn and you’ll regret it, spazz,” the orderly said, leaning over to whisper in my ear.
The doctor reappeared at my bedside. Behind her loomed a tall, imposing figure of a woman. The orderly, one hand still on the bed, straightened up and instinctively held his breath.
The doctor’s warm smile swam across my field of view. She gently fingered my right temple.
“I’d swear these look like burns,” she remarked levelly.
“Uh, I d-don’t—” the orderly stuttered.
“Fresh ones and some not so fresh,” she said. A tube of ointment appeared in her hand. She unscrewed the cap and applied a dab of goop.
The orderly waited, hesitating.
“If you like, the nurse here can treat your scraped knuckles with an anesthetic spray on your way out,” she told him.
The orderly left, the vastly bigger nurse following in his wake.
“He’s a tough guy,” the doctor said. “I don’t suppose he’ll want the anesthetic.”
From the way she handled the orderly, I knew she had courage. More importantly, as she leaned over me for another look, I sensed her gentle spirit.
“I wonder what kind of torture chamber they’re running?” She murmured. “I wish you could tell me but I don’t suppose you can. Are you really insane? To look at you, I wouldn’t think it. Not that it’s always so easy telling—and who would know, after they’ve shot you up with lobotomizing drugs and run high voltage currents through your brain?”
Something about her stirred up vague memories from within the deep well of my consciousness. Did I know this woman? The face that came to mind revealed depths of loveliness and courage this one only hinted at, as if it were the seed for the infinitely more beautiful blossom. If I could just remember!
Answering my thoughts, she said, “The problem is, your memories, both good and bad, Mr. Raventhorst, may have been forever wiped out by them. Electrocution kills good brain cells along with the bad, and unfortunately drugs often aren’t any better.”
I think a tear dropped from one of her eyes. Something rippled across my fading consciousness. She gently pressed her thumb to my cheek, and everything went dark.