I’m led into a room with soft lighting, and big, comfortable chairs. There’s a very young woman with glasses sitting behind a big desk. She smiles as we walk in. “Hello. How can I help you?” she asks the closest guard.
“She’s hallucinating. Been doing it for two days now. She scratched up her arms pretty bad yesterday, so we took her to the doctor. She’s removed the bandages, and we found her yelling about being old just now. It looks like she tore half of her mirror off the wall with her hands.”
The woman looks down at my hands, takes one in her own, and frowns. “Please have a seat, and tell me what’s upsetting you so.”
“Upset? Look at me? Half of me is old, wrinkly, and ugly. I’ve never been ugly. I’ll never be ugly.”
“You do know that ugliness inside can sometimes manifest itself, making you feel ugly on the outside.”
“I don’t just feel it. I look like an ogre. Can’t you see it?”
“No.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” I ask, jumping out of the chair. “How do none of you see it? I have no scratch marks on my arms, and half of me looks like I belong in a retirement home.”
The woman looks at me curiously, and then pulls a hand mirror from one of the drawers in her desk. “There are scratch marks on your arms, and none of you looks old.”
I look at my arms and see the healing scabs that have all of a sudden reappeared. My hands look almost identical to each other, and when I force myself to look at my face, there are no wrinkles anywhere. “How? I don’t understand how this happened.”
“Being locked up all day, every day, can make people a little…”
“Crazy? You think I’m crazy?” I think I’m crazy, but shrinks aren’t supposed to say that.
“I think you’re disturbed. Troubled. Do you regret what you did to be confined here?”
“No. I don’t regret it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, only this time I wouldn’t get caught.” I smile at the thought of killing those two perfect people.
“I see,” the woman says, her eyes turning to steel. “I’ll need to place you on medication, to ensure that you don’t hurt yourself or others.”
“What others? I’m in lifetime solitary.”
“You go out into the yard with your guards for one hour per day. They are who I’m concerned for.”
She pulls a syringe out of a mini-fridge and sets it on the table. The contents are green and don’t look like something a person should have injected into their body. “I’ll pass, thanks.”
“I wasn’t asking you,” she says, pulling on latex gloves and smirking at me. “Is this going to be easy or hard for you? Either way is fine with me.”
I know I have no choice, so I hold out my other arm this time and hope for the best. I’d pray, but I doubt God is listening. I’ll never repent, and I’ll never stop laughing every time I think of what I did to him. Not the two I killed, but that stupid man I almost destroyed. I would’ve succeeded if she hadn’t come into his life, but at least I watched him fall before she caught him.
Chapter Three
I wake up feeling more like myself than I have in the past couple of days. My panic is at a low level, and I tell myself that today will be a good day. Today needs to be a good day. I’ll be me--the me of today. No more imagining that I’m old, or anything else.
That feeling lasts until I look at my wall. Only about half of my hash marks are there. I look down at my arms and see the new bandages that had been put on are gone. My arms are smooth, with no scabs or scratches. I should be happy, but I’m not. Especially when I look over and see that my mirror is intact. It looks just like it did before I tried to tear it off the wall. My nails are nice and tidy, filed down and not ripped to shreds.
I drop to my knees, covering my mouth with my hands to muffle my scream. I don’t want to see what guard will show up. If it’s not the ones I’ve seen for the past two years, I may lose my mind. Unless I’ve already completely lost it.
How is this happening? How am I moving in and out of time? It’s literally my worst fear come to life. I’ve kept my sanity in here by keeping those hash marks, by knowing what day it is. Now I don’t, and I feel the panic engulfing me.
It’s seeping into my bones, into my brain, willing me to succumb to the horror of what’s happening to me. I fight it, but it’s no use. My body starts to shake, and I can’t get the scream I now need out of my mouth. I need to scream for help, but I can’t.
I pull at my hair, yanking it hard enough for clumps to come out. I know my scalp is bleeding--I feel the hot liquid sliding down my face and back. I don’t stop, though. I keep pulling and pulling, until I know I have more hair on the floor in front of me than I do on my head. Seeing the physical manifestation of my inner turmoil finally allows me to release the scream from my throat.
“What the hell did you do?” I hear from above me.
I don’t recognize the voice, and I don’t want to look up, but I do. I was right to be afraid. Another guard I’ve never seen is standing above me. She looks like a brunette Barbie doll--without the big rack--and I can’t stop myself from laughing out loud.
“You’re a Barbie.”
“A Barbie with a gun, a big knife, and a Taser. You’d do well to remember that, bitch.”
I crawl backwards as she opens the door and walks in. Guards aren’t supposed to enter our cells alone, but this one doesn’t seem to care about the rules. The look in her eyes tells me she’s going to hurt me, and the smile on her face confirms it. I hold up my hands, but she just knocks them away. I don’t have a chance to see the knife before it slices my cheek, but I definitely feel it.
I try to hold onto time, and how many minutes are passing, but I can’t. After that first cut, the rest that follow are shallow, almost like whispers over my skin. None of what she’s doing will kill me, but I feel like I’m dying a slow death anyway. The cut to my cheek will scar. I know it will. I also know that when I wake up again, no matter what time in my life it is, I’ll have that cut. I should be thankful that she only uses the Taser to keep me from struggling, and doesn’t use the gun at all. I should be, but I’m not.
“My boyfriend taught me well, didn’t he?” I hear her ask before I pass out.
***
I’m curled in a ball with my hands in front of my face. It’s too late to protect myself. I know that now. Whatever is happening to me is not stopping, and I need to try and accept it. Try and wrap my head around it. I can’t, though. I did well in school, but there is nothing in my brain that could prepare me for this. For these time hops that steal a little bit more of my sanity with every passing day.
“Oh my God,” I hear from the side of me.
It’s my regular guard, and so I know I’m back in the “present.” I’ve already lost sense of the days, unable to mark them on the wall without getting confused, but I find some comfort in the guard’s voice.
The door opens, and I feel myself being pulled up. “Stand over there while we check your cell. What did you use on your cheek?”
“I didn’t do this to myself.”
“You’ve been alone in your cell all morning,” the other guard says.
They search my cell, but can’t find anything. There’s nothing to find. That Demonic Barbie hurt me, and took her knife with her when she left.
“The warden’s going to want to see this,” the first guard says, as they cuff me once again.
I stumble to the door, a guard on each side. They’re both holding onto one of my elbows. It’s not tight enough to help me walk, but they have just enough pressure on me to keep me moving. I don’t really need any encouragement. I had to get out of that cell before I succumbed any further to my madness.
We go up in the elevator, instead of down, and I’m led into a part of the prison I’ve only been in once. When I arrived here, I was taken to meet the warden. He’s a stern man who warned me that my years in solitary would pass by very slowly. I could feel the disgust for me rolling of off him, and was
surprised when he showed me a small bit of kindness. He gave me my first marker, and said that one would be available for me as long as I was here. He explained chronophobia, and how prisoners tend to panic when they can’t tell what day or time it is. He said that time throughout the day may still be hard for me, but at least I could count my days.
It’s not him I see when the door opens but it’s a woman around my age. She’s gorgeous, but also throws off a vibe that warns you to never mess with her. “Where’s the warden?” I ask.
“I’m the warden here now. As long as you behave, you can call me Reina. If you don’t, you’ll be calling me the Devil. Not to my face of course, because that would be a very bad idea.”
I get the feeling that she doesn’t want me to behave, and that scares me almost more than this crazy time thing. “Why did you want to see me?”
“You’ve been causing the guards some trouble these last few days. Scratching yourself, trying to destroy prison property, and now look at you today? You’re missing clumps of hair, and there’s a large cut on your cheek. Where did you hide the knife?”
“I-I didn’t.”
“You didn’t what?” she asks, her eyes narrowing.
“I didn’t cut myself.”
“You’re in solitary. No one but the guards see you. You’re not suggesting that one of my guards hurt you, are you?”
I know that if I tell the truth, she’s going to hurt me. I know it deep in my bones. “No. Of course not,” I say, swallowing hard. “I… I used the metal on the edge of my bed to do it.”
“Honesty is the best policy. Especially where I’m concerned,” she tells me, twirling her pen around her fingers. I relax a little. “I’m afraid, in your case, this little bout of honesty is going to make your life a lot harder.”
“Reina?” I ask, starting to tremble.
“If you’re able to hurt yourself on the bed, we’ll need to remove the bed. I also think allowing you to mark up your walls was a bad idea.”
No. I can handle sleeping on the floor, but she can’t take away my marker. “Please, no. I have chronophobia.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do. That’s really not my problem though, is it?”
“Please,” I beg again in a small voice.
“Did the two people you killed beg for their lives?”
“Yes,” I admit.
“That didn’t stop you, did it?”
“No.”
“Then why should your plea of mercy stop me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Take her down to Audrey and get her patched up. We’re done here.”
I’m taken back to the doctor, who injects me with something else before stitching up my cut, and treating my scalp with some ointment. After, I’m led to a new cell. There’s an iron door instead of bars, no bed, and just a thin blanket and pillow on the floor. The small light fixture is high on the ceiling--too high for me to use the blanket for anything other than warmth. The walls are bare, and I know they’ll stay that way for as long as I live. I pray to the God who won’t hear me that my death will come sooner, rather than later.
Chapter Four
I feel things as I slowly wake up. Crawly things. I swipe my hand across my face, and feel parts of it missing. I sit up, and see the bugs crawling all over me. Not just bugs, but maggots. Pieces of my pants and top are gone, along with pieces of my flesh. I start to open my mouth when I feel one start to crawl in there. I knock it away with a hand that’s devoured down to the bone.
I try to stand up, but what’s left of my legs can’t hold me. I look like half a skeleton already. I feel them crawling all over my scalp, and push as many as I can off, realizing that I have no hair left. None at all.
I swat at the maggots, displacing as many as I can, but they just seem to multiply. I’m not dead, I know I’m not. Why are they eating my flesh? And why doesn’t it hurt? Maybe I am dead.
I watch in horror as another piece of my flesh is ripped from the bone on my arm, consumed by what seems to be hundreds of these insects. I swipe my hand across my mouth, and then scream. I swipe and scream, over and over again, making sure that none of them go into my mouth.
They go into every other part of me--my ears, nose, and other places I don’t care to mention. I watch in morbid fascination as my calls go unanswered, and what’s left of my body continues to disappear. I don’t have any sense of time as I watch, and while that panics me, knowing that I’m being eaten alive has taken precedence over my other fear. I watch, and watch, up until the moment that my chest is completely opened to me, and I see my heart beating too fast. It’s then that I succumb back into the darkness.
***
I don’t open my eyes right away when I wake up this time. I know without a doubt that at least some of the damage I felt from the maggots will still be evident. I don’t know how much, but there will be some. No matter what time it is.
I feel a coolness on my cheek where I was cut, and on my arms where I received my shots. Those areas are cooler than the other parts of my body, and I know I’m missing skin in those places. I know it. I move my tongue inside my mouth, and I feel it meet no resistance as it moves past where my cheek should be. I notice belatedly that my head is also cold, meaning my hair really is gone.
I try to move my arm, but I can’t. It won’t move. Neither will my legs when I try them. I don’t feel any bindings on me, but I’m stuck anyway. Paralyzed, I realize. I’m paralyzed.
“Hello, Amber,” I hear a voice from my past say to me, and then Maggie Griffin is standing over me.
“Wh-what are you doing here, old woman?”
“You didn’t really think I’d let you get away with killing my daughter and son-in-law did you? Or trying to destroy my son?”
“Erin wasn’t your daughter,” I say.
“In every way that matters, she was, and you took her from me. From us. Her daughter has had to grow up without parents. That’s can’t go unpunished.”
“How did you do this to me? What are you doing to me?”
She shrugs. “All that’s important right now is for you to understand that you will never again know what time it is. Never.”
“You can’t do this to me,” I cry, struggling to move.
“We already have,” Yasmin Griffin says, joining her mother-in-law to stand over me, a smug smile on her face.
“On behalf of me and my crew, I’d like to thank you for making this ride so entertaining. Don’t worry, you’ll be seeing some of us again. When you least expect it,” Reina tells me as she also looks down on me with a smile.
“Yes, it could be any time. Any time at all,” the doctor--Audrey--tells me with a laugh.
They’re all still laughing as I scream. I scream until I can’t scream any more, passing out once again.
When I wake up, they’re gone, but I’m not alone for long. Another doctor comes in and hooks me up to an I.V., telling me I’ll be receiving my nutrition from this from now on, since I’ve had to be restrained. She says she’s never seen a prisoner hurt herself the way I have, especially with nothing but a blanket and pillow in the room with me.
“It was them,” I tell her.
“Who? You’re alone in this cell.”
“Maggie Griffin, and someone named Reina. Please. You have to stop them.”
“Why on earth would someone like Maggie Griffin come here?”
“To do this to me. She’s torturing me. Her and the new warden.”
“New warden?” the man I’d met years ago asks, entering the room. “I’ve been here for twenty years, and I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.”
“But I saw them… I saw her… she told me!”
“I don’t know what you think you saw or heard, but I can assure you that no one who doesn’t belong here ever entered this prison. Maybe you should give her a sedative, Doctor. A little bit of sleep may do her some good.”
No. I can’t go to sleep again. I can’t ever sleep again. “I’m fine. I don’t need to sleep.”
“Oh, but I really think you do,” the doctor tells me with a scary smile on her face as she injects something orange into my I.V.
I feel myself going under, and I try to fight it, knowing I’ll wake up in yet another time. I’ll never regret what I did in my life, but I do regret not paying more attention to time as it flowed around me--and not realizing that it’s something to be afraid of. I might have been better prepared for what is happening to me if I had. Then again, you never fear something you’re not aware of--until the phobia overtakes you, and fear is all you have left.
18
Iatrophobia
Fear Of Doctors
Aidan Russell
November
The sunset was beautiful. It always was, but the weather was a bit colder than Jeff was used to. Had he remembered to grab a jacket on his way out of the house, he may have actually had to wear it. The news even called for rain the next day, and though San Diego wasn't doing so badly, California needed every drop of rain it could get, otherwise people were going to be really pissed about the increases in price to get avocado on their foot-longs.
There were downsides to living in San Diego, however. Sometimes traffic would back up for no reason other than that's how California traffic works. Sometimes the Padres would lose. The snow at Big Bear usually sucked, which meant twelve hours stuck in a car listening to whatever one-hit wonder band caught his daughter's attention at the moment for the annual family ski trip. Then they would finally make it to Park City and she would spend half the weekend in the lodge ogling all the penniless snowboard instructors who looked like they were one bong hit away from contracting dyspraxia.
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