Man of Ruin: Episode One (Extra Special Pre-Release Edition)

by Oliver Franks

  “God!”

  The doctor was stood behind me now. I turned and saw the horror in her eyes as she stared down to the car park through the messy hole of plaster I’d made.

  “Look what you’ve done to the wall.”

  “I know,” I said. “I told you to come outside!”

  *****

  It took her some time to get over the initial shock. She just stood there staring at it, a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said.

  Then she said it again for good measure.

  The door swung open and the receptionist skated in.

  “Dr York!” she said. “Are you alright? I heard a noise. What’s going on in here?”

  I saw a wave of suspicion flash across her face as she saw me standing there. Thank God I had zipped up.

  “Oh yes,” said Dr York, laughing to herself in a way that I found to be slightly unhinged. “I’m fine.”

  The receptionist approached us cautiously, staring in wonder at the untidy gap in the wall and at the scorched floor.

  “What on earth?” she said.

  “It’s alright Maureen,” said Dr York, turning to her. “Was anybody hurt?”

  “Not as far as I know, no. Lucky your office faces behind.”

  “Indeed,” said Dr York.

  The receptionist peered at me, still that suspicion in her eyes.

  “Lucy,” she said, facing the doctor again, almost as if she was talking to a child. “What happened?”

  “Please give me some time with my patient now Maureen,” said Dr York, springing out of her revery. “As long as no-one is hurt we can fix all this later, can’t we?”

  “Yes…” said Maureen. “I suppose. I’ll call the…” she paused, a blank look on her face. “Who should I call?”

  “Why don’t you call the managing agents? Get someone over to look at the damage. And David and I can use a different room, it’s getting chilly in here.”

  “Alright,” said Maureen, staying put.

  “Well run along Maureen would you dear,” said Dr York, fully recovering her air of authority.

  Maureen left, glancing over her shoulder at me.

  Dr York turned to face me.

  “I owe you an apology young man,” she said.

  “That’s alright,” I said. “I wouldn’t have believed me either.”

  She indicated for us to leave the room.

  “Sorry about the damage,” I said.

  “That’s OK. Walls and floors can be fixed…”

  *****

  She led me to a room further down the hallway, closing the door behind me and indicating for me to sit down. It was laid out the same as her office, and once again I found myself sitting facing her behind a desk, only this time she did not look so bored.

  “Well David,” she said, laughing again in that unnerving, hysterical way. “I am afraid we have a problem here. I have no idea what to do with you.”

  I nodded, hating the words but understanding completely.

  “As far as I am aware this has never occurred in the history of medicine.”

  “Right.”

  “And whatever it is, I must admit I can’t help being somewhat excited by it. You, young man, are an oddity, and a miracle. Quite how you are still alive is beyond me. As far as I can see, your internal organs should no longer be functioning. I don’t understand why you have not simply been dissolved from the inside, why your guts haven’t spewed out from your belly. And your penis, well—”

  This was not helpful at all.

  “Please doctor. I need to know what to—”

  “But these are only the unexplainable effects of what is happening to you,” she continued her speculations, ignoring me entirely. “As to how or why your body is generating such a corrosive substance… that is entirely beyond me. It’s as if your organs have undergone some kind of industrial transformation, as if you yourself have become a sort of… chemical works. As if—”

  “Please doctor!” I shouted, feeling sick.

  She stopped mid-sentence and looked at me with a smile, not fake like before and all the more unnerving for being genuine.

  “Yes of course,” she said. “Please forgive me. I am just… in awe. And completely flummoxed.”

  “So basically, I’m screwed.”

  She seemed to consider this comment seriously, again for longer than I found comfortable.

  “Let’s think things through together and we can decide on a suitable course of action,” she said.

  I nodded, hoping that might lead somewhere, yet doubting that more and more.

  “First things first, I am not qualified to deal with this.”

  “Neither am I…” I said.

  “No,” she said, frowning at me. “The question is, who is? Ordinarily anything related to urinary issues should be referred to a urologist. But I should think they would be just as perturbed as I. On the other hand, there aren’t any medical practitioners qualified to deal with this, since, as far as I am aware, it is an entirely new phenomenon. The job at hand, the role of a GP in such cases, is simply to diagnose what the patient needs, as far as it possible, and to refer you to the most appropriate specialist. So I simply need to decide who that might be and send you to them. Then it would be up to them to appraise and investigate further…”

  She went silent as her mind churned, clearly in a conversation with herself.

  “I don’t mind who you refer me to,” I said. “What I’d really like you to tell me is what I should do.”

  “Do?” she said, suddenly with me again.

  “Yes,” I said. “How can I live like this? You saw what happened. This wasn’t the first time. A man’s got to pee after all. I’ve already had a few… accidents… in my flat, last night in the pub, and in the park today——”

  “I see,” she said.

  Then she went off in thought again. This was getting frustrating.

  “So what do you advise?”

  She looked at me, no longer smiling. I could see she was calculating her next words very carefully, the professional mask returning as it had been there when I first stepped into her office.

  “I wish there was more I could do for you,” she said. “Being totally honest I am sorry to say your case has me completely in shock. Now, if as you say there has been damage to property, my advice would be to get in touch with the police immediately. In fact, I will go one step further and say that if you do not, it is my duty to inform the authorities. Perhaps actually we can do that now? Call the authorities, together?”

  My mouth dropped. I wanted nothing to do with the police. Doctors were one thing, I had expected she would at least try and figure out what was wrong, try and help me. But the police? Who was to say what they would do with me?

  “I’m not sure I want to do that.”

  “Perhaps at the same time we can also see if there is an institute that will take you today?” she said, ignoring my comment and giving me that concerned look again. “I am not sure that your situation really fits the bill for any I am aware of, but you certainly do require… help. Certainly not psychiatric care, nor palliative care… A hospital would certainly be useful, but on the other hand your particular problem is rather difficult to accommodate—”

  “Please doctor,” I said, learning forward. “I don’t want to go to any of those places. I’m scared what will happen.”

  “I do sympathise,” she smiled at me. “But the more that I think of it, the more it is clear to me. You simply have no choice. You said yourself, you have caused damage already several times. The safest course of action would be to inform the authorities so that they are aware the damage is accidental, and to place you in the proper care. If we don’t at least inform them, they might assume more malicious intentions, and will probably be wasting resources on pointless investigations. In the mean time, I will also arrange for you to see a urologist. That seems like the obvious first step.”

  I took a
deep breath and stared at the carpet. This was going to be a terrible time for me, I just knew.

  “I think I’ll just go and find a safe place, wait for that appointment,” I said. “I have an uncle in the country where I might stay.”

  I didn’t have any such uncle of course but I just felt the urgent need to get out of her office, away from her anatomical fascinations and the very real danger that she would have me incarcerated. I suddenly hated myself for ever thinking a doctor was a good idea. Plus I could feel my stomach rumbling, all this stress was making me hungrier than ever.

  “I really don’t think you should be going,” she said, frowning now. “We can work this out together.”

  “Nah…” I said, standing up.

  She sighed, biting her lip, a worried expression on her face.

  “OK, well if you insist on leaving I don’t suppose I can stop you. I must insist on informing the authorities though. I will give you one day to talk to them, since it will be much better coming from you I believe. But if you have not done so in that time, I will have to give them a call myself. I really think it’s in your best interests to do it straight away.”

  Christ, I thought. Yeah sure, MY best interests. Of course.

  “I will also write you a sick note for work, if you would like.”

  “Alright, thanks doc,” I said, moving towards the door.

  “You’re welcome,” she said, still looking at me with concern. “Well do be careful. Don’t do anything rash. Go and talk to your partner, or your family, your parents, they should be there for you at a time like this. I will be in touch very soon.”

  “Yeah, sure, my parents,” I muttered to myself as I left her office.

  What a useless waste of a half hour. My nerves were shot to hell, not to mention my faith in the health services and society in general. Not that I ever had any real faith in either. The receptionist gave me my sick note and I left that place none the wiser, yet fearing that I could soon be carted off to some ‘institution’ or arrested by the police, or both.

  And what of the rest of the day? What should I do before anything else happened that would doubtless descend me further into an abyss of chaos? For once, I had a clear answer. I was hungry, and in times of trouble, there was only one answer. Down the pub, get some proper eats, maybe even a bevvie.

  Chapter 7

  The day thereafter sprawled itself down further and further into a quagmire of indecision, indulgence and idiocy. I was paralysed by my predicament, and so did the only thing I really knew how to do. I carried on as if nothing had happened. I didn’t want to call the police, it would be days until the urologist appointment which I felt certain would be a complete waste of time, and I was ever fearful of hearing from the doc with a summons to check myself into some institution, or hearing from my landlord, or hearing news about Martin, or indeed from any one of my mates who had doubtless now spoken to James.

  So, what did I do? Well, I took myself down to the Duke of Marlborough and got settled in for lunch and an afternoon of eating, self-pity and televised sports. I had a vague idea that I would take it easy on the drink, so as to avoid the need for too many toilet visits, but that was a silly thing to expect when spending more than ten seconds in a pub.

  The Marlborough was a nice, largish establishment with a proper kitchen. Located just out of the centre of town, it was still lively but thankfully free of the usual hot headed young idiots and alcoholic old men who always seemed to be drawn to the watering holes of the nasty middle of the city. The Marlborough was more of a vaguely civilised, country gentrified sort of a place, full of fake book shelves, old fashioned beer mugs, bed pans and nick-nacks hanging from the ceiling and all that. A place for culture wannabes and families who liked to drink with their kids around. Not really for me, but the food was what I went for.

  I ordered a cheese burger, large fries, onion rings and Greek salad from the bored looking, tall, spindly, floppy haired student serving at the bar. I was thinking to forego the drink, as mentioned, but as soon as I entered the place and saw the hive of activity that was the bar, smelled the fruity, warm beer smells, that was a lost cause. I ordered a pint of Guinness and watched with envy as he poured me my pint, a lack of fat on his lean frame that I had never and would never know.

  I didn’t want to think, not about anything, so I found a little table in a window with a view of the TV, settling in to relax, hoping that the food and the general Saturday ambience would chill me out and that I might feel myself again. If I could only just get some inner peace and a full belly, I entertained the vague hope that things would somehow become clear and I would know exactly what to do. Or at least, have the courage to figure out some viable course of action for myself that didn’t involve madness, mayhem or being locked up.

  The food came, accompanied by a wonderful grilled charcoal aroma, and I devoured it greedily. It seemed as if I hadn’t eat for days.

  You’re going through one of life’s big trials, I told myself, thinking of my long dead Granddad who used to say the same words every time I was denied a lollipop or a trip to the swimming pool by my parents. It’s no surprise you’re all of a bother. Anyone in your position would be nothing but tizz and wizz.

  Whenever I eat it is a grand experience, as if I am the only person in the universe. It’s just me and my plate and silence all around until that lovely plate is clean empty and I can feel the magic glow and satisfaction of a well-eaten meal. I polished that beauty of a cheeseburger off and it was no different this time, allowing me to gently ease myself back into the real world and all the bothersome people in it. I was pleased to find those around me were safely ignoring me, blabbing away to each other loudly as I sat there feeling invisible among them all, just chilling and sipping my Guinness.

  I glanced at the TV hanging up on the wall, the commentators gabbing for their lives, getting all excited about twenty-two men scampering about on a field showing off their latest hairstyles.

  Well Dave, I said to myself. What’s a guy to do when he can’t even go to the loo?

  I chuckled to myself. It amused me that I had unwittingly made light of my troubles. I found myself launching into more silly rhymes to pass the time.

  Where’s a bloke to pee when his wee brings down trees?

  There’s a wrinkle in my crinkle cos’ I can’t even go for a tinkle.

  Dave’s bladder is madder and badder than the giant adder who… I struggled with this one, but settled on “had-her”.

  Please may I be excused, I know it sounds funny but—

  Just then my phone started ringing. A jolly good thing too since the utter crapness of my limericks was starting to have the opposite intended effect and depress me.

  *****

  “Hello?” I said cautiously, recognising the number and dreading what was coming.

  “What do you think you’re playing at?” said a low, rumbling voice. My father. A voice I’d not heard for at least a year and which would cause me shudders till my dying day.

  “Hi Dad, how are you?”

  “I’m fine thanks and so’s your mother.”

  He always said that, as if I wouldn’t ask after her given half the chance.

  “Well,” he laughed to himself, “we were fine, until all this nonsense started.”

  “Nonsense?”

  I was genuinely in the dark. He couldn’t possibly know anything that had been happening, could he?

  “Yes nonsense. Your bloody landlord’s been at me for money. Says you ruined your toilet, and the ones for several floors beneath. What you been doing, dropping bombs?”

  This was most unwelcome. Why had the landlord called my father? Why not me? Why were they suddenly now accusing me? Yes of course it was my fault, but how could he be so sure?

  “I can practically hear your little mind working,” said Dad, again with that little laugh. “You said you were in Guildford or some place, but someone saw you leaving this morning. And you haven’t been back since. My David is guilty as hell fo
r sure, I said. And now your bloody landlord wants to hit poor muggins here for the money!”

  “Oh, dear,” I said.

  “Yeah too right! Not that you’d give a toss, but you’re mother and I’ve been saving up for a nice little cruise. This’ll put quite some dent into that sweet dream I can tell you.”