by Scott Baron
That is until Dorothy, more pale than usual, suddenly doubled over in pain, nearly falling out of her chair.
Molly put her arm around her, showing a rare moment of concern.
“You all right?” she asked, then turned to Curtis. “Hey, she don’t look too good.”
At that moment, Dorothy folded even tighter into a ball, her fingers turning white from the pressure they exerted on the table as she grabbed it for all she was worth, fighting whatever was ailing her.
“Get the nurse!” Curtis called out, a little panicked, eyes darting around the room as he looked for help. For once he skipped his usual levity and banter and focused solely on his ailing friend as she writhed in pain.
“Take my hand, it’s going to be okay.”
He quickly regretted that offer.
“Holy shit, you’ve got a grip! Whoa, ease up, ease up!”
With an effort, she let his hand go, slapping hers back onto the table just as the nurse made her way to them. She gestured to the nearest orderly to come help her.
“Give me a hand. We’re taking her to the medical station.”
Carefully, they gathered Dorothy up to her feet, then lowered her into a wheelchair and rolled her off down the hall. Curtis tried to tag along, but his attempt to follow his friend was nipped in the bud.
“Nope, no way. Back to your seat, Curtis,” the orderly said, blocking his path.
Reluctantly, Curtis went back to his chair to worry about his friend over a cup of pudding. Fortunately for him, pudding seemed to make everything right in the world, at least for a moment or two.
“At your age, you should be prepared for these things,” the nurse said to Dorothy as she lay on the cold, paper-covered examining table. “Cramps happen to all of us. Making such a big deal of it won’t win you any new friends, you know.”
Dorothy had been looking over one of the old, detailed posters of female anatomy desperately clinging to the aged wall by even more ancient tape that seemed ready to peel off at the slightest breeze. What she saw fascinated her.
“I’ve never had them before,” she said, turning her attention back to the nurse.
“Uh-huh,” the woman replied with an incredulous look. “All right,” she said, “I’ll let you rest here for a bit. The Midol should kick in soon, but I don’t want any more of this foolishness from you, are we clear? You’re making more paperwork for me, and I do not enjoy that one bit. More importantly, Doctor Vaughan really doesn’t like it, and you do not want to piss him off any more than you already have.”
“I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.”
“Well, intentions and results aren’t exactly always the same thing, now are they? I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. You have until then to rest here.”
The nurse walked out of the room, leaving Dorothy to recover on her own. A look of disgust grew on her face as she read the instructions on the small packet of pads left for her.
You’ve got to be kidding me. No way I’m walking around with one of those things… She paused to think about the alternative.
This is going to suck.
“So, I think that scabby freak gets put back in with the rest of us loons in five days. Think you can wait that long to grill him for details?” Curtis asked Dorothy with a mischievous grin. “I know how anxious you are to torture the information out of the poor guy with a dull spork.”
“Is there any other kind of spork?” Molly asked from her seat across the table as she finished her pudding. “I mean it seems kinda redundant, is all.”
“Yes, thank you, Molly, very astute of you. The point I was trying to make is that perhaps there are better ways to get what you want. Maybe even a little bribery, because who here doesn’t love pudding cups?”
Dorothy couldn’t help but crack a faint smile at her friend. The cramps had finally gone, and she managed to get a fair amount of the sandwich Curtis had put aside for her into her belly without incident.
“Okay,” she playfully agreed. “Maybe not a spork.”
“Ah, listening to reason at last!” Curtis laughed, but his smile faltered as he noticed a shadow at the door.
Doctor Vaughn was in a fit of pique as he stormed into the room, scanning his psych ward fiefdom for the poor individual who had raised his ire.
“Shit, looks like Vaughan’s on a rampage again,” he said, hunching lower in his seat.
No sooner had the words left his mouth than Doctor Vaughan’s eyes locked on Dorothy from across the room. Red in the face, he made his way toward her, frightened patients parting like the Red Sea for Moses as Big Stan followed in the doctor’s wake.
“What the hell is this I hear about you faking cramps to get drugs?” he tore into her. “These behaviors reflect poorly on us in board reviews. We do not allow this sort of behavior at Camview. I thought we were clear about you not making waves, Dorothy.”
“I didn’t fake anything,” she replied calmly. The lack of any fear in her voice once again touched a nerve, and Doctor Vaughan was not so blind as to miss the other patients taking notice of her standing up to him, if only in tone of voice.
Time to take it up a notch.
He raised his voice, getting into character for a good show of force to establish for everyone in the room just who exactly was boss in this place.
“Don’t you mouth off to me,” he said, building steam to what he felt would be an impressive browbeating that would surely keep the others from daring to follow her lead. “You are powerless here, and you will not mouth off!” he said, volume increasing even further. “In my hospital, what I say is the law, you get me? Scofflaws and disruptions will not be tolerated!”
He was really starting to get into his spiel when Dorothy unexpectedly threw him for a loop.
With the calmest of expressions on her face, she uttered the one thing that could actually push him over the edge for real.
“Oh, stop already,” she said. “Just because you’re insecure about your life, your career choice, and your manhood doesn’t mean you have to go and yell in front of everyone.” She paused for effect, then continued.
“Really, Doctor Vaughan. Francis. The way you treat people, it’s no wonder your wife killed herself.”
He froze. Coming from the girl who had reminded him of his dead wife, the knife dug especially deep. For one painful, conflicted moment, all he could do was stare at her, blinking in wide-eyed disbelief.
Then he lost his shit.
Doctor Vaughan’s face flushed crimson-red, his body shaking with rage. All acting and showmanship was gone, and what remained was pure, unbridled fury.
“How did you—” he started. “You couldn’t possibly—” The vein on the side of his temple was throbbing a staccato beat, and his eyes seemed ready to pop from his head.
“I’ve had enough of your constant attitude and badgering, Katie!” he growled.
Katie? Wow, he really has lost it.
The staff looked at one another as a wave of discomfort passed over his worried minions. Even Stan, his most loyal lackey, seemed uneasy. Nevertheless, every last one of them knew better than to ask why he called his most vexing patient by his dead wife’s name.
Doctor Vaughan surveyed the room, noting the concerned looks of his staff. He forced himself to take a deep breath as he pulled himself together, compressing his anger inward into a rumbling ball held tight in his belly.
“Stan,” he finally said with frightening calm in his voice, “take her to room forty-two.”
Big deal, a few days of isolation is nothing, and besides, Pestilence should be back when I get out, she mused with a little grin.
Then she noticed the shocked looks on the faces of even the most hardened of his staff.
What’s that all about?
The duty nurse timidly approached Doctor Vaughan as Stan grabbed Dorothy by the arm.
“But Doctor Vaughan, the board decommissioned—” she began. Vaughan spun on her, face red, and damn near foaming at the mouth, which was all the
scarier because of the dead-cold tone in which he replied to her.
“Do I have to repeat myself?” he questioned. Something in his eyes told her, and everyone else in the room, that it’d be best to keep very, very quiet.
Everyone but Curtis.
“Doc, you don’t need to do that. I’ll keep her in line,” he offered.
Vaughan turned to Curtis, fixing him with an icy gaze as he sized him up.
“I don’t know what you’ve been telling your little friend about my personal life, Curtis, but you’d better watch your step very carefully, or you’ll join her.”
Confused by Curtis’s concern, Dorothy gave her friend a little smile as she was dragged from the room.
Don’t worry, it’s no big deal, she thought. Oh shit, but Randy…
An hour later, her throat was raw from screaming, her hair plastered to her head with sweat, neck veins distended from effort. Dorothy tried to focus her blurry, watering eyes, but found she didn’t have the energy even for that.
“Again,” said Doctor Vaughan, his eyes as cold and emotionless as a shark’s.
Stan turned the dial to the right, once more sending thousands of volts of electricity through her body as her back arched in pain and spasm, her mouth frothing as she bit down on the airway bite plate lashed firmly between her teeth.
Dorothy was strapped firmly to an older medical table. It looked like it had once been used for exams, or perhaps childbirth, but now it was used solely for restraint. Her arms, legs, and torso were held down by thick, padded leather straps. Though the room and its equipment may have been decommissioned by the board many years prior, Doctor Vaughan had always demanded it necessary to keep things in place and in working order.
Today was the day he felt his foresight had paid off.
Stan turned the dial down to zero, and Dorothy flopped, limp, back to the table, her breath coming in gasps as tears flowed from her bloodshot eyes.
“Again?” he asked.
Doctor Vaughan approached his helpless patient and firmly took her face in his hand, roughly twisting her head to one side then the next as if examining a piece of meat or animal for the slaughter.
“No,” he replied. “I think that’s enough.” He got close to her face, her eyes trying to focus on him as best she could. “For now,” he sneered, then let her head loll to the side.
“Take her back to her room. No dinner tonight, not that she’d have the energy to eat it.”
Vaughan seemed markedly more relaxed as he strolled from the room. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed these sessions. Feeling the rush once more had reminded him of just what the board had taken from him when they shut the program down.
No matter, he’d keep it off the books, and they’d never be the wiser. Best of all, no one would dare question him now.
Down the sterile corridors, Stan opened Dorothy’s room and unceremoniously dumped her barely conscious form onto her bed. She landed askew but didn’t even have the energy to adjust herself. She just lay there with her clothing sticking to her in a sweaty pile until sweet unconsciousness wrapped her in its soothing embrace.
Late that night, in his apartment across town, Randy headed for the door, an old chessboard tucked under his arm. He paused in front of the small, silver-framed picture of his deceased wife and gave it a long look.
After several moments of thought, he finally made a decision. He took a deep breath, then picked it up from its resting place and carefully tucked it into a drawer. He then headed out for his first real date in years, a spring in his step, totally unaware the object of his affection would be standing him up.
CHAPTER 23
Randy sat in their usual booth, trying to get comfortable, but found himself fidgety and nervous no matter what he did. He felt like a schoolboy on his first date, he realized, amused at himself, which did at least seem to take the edge off a tiny bit.
The door swung open, and he looked up expectantly, happily anticipating his date’s arrival.
It was Curtis.
They gave each other a familiar nod as Curtis headed straight to the booth. Randy did his best to hide both his confusion and his disappointment.
“Hey, man, how’ve ya been?” Curtis queried.
“Good, good,” Randy replied. “Didn’t know you’d be joining us this evening,” he continued. “Where’s Dorothy?”
“Yeah, about that. Well, the thing is, Dorothy isn’t feeling well. I came to tell you. She’s really sorry, but she won’t be able to make it tonight.”
“Oh, okay,” he said. “No big deal.” Randy did his best to hide his emotions, but Curtis still saw him deflate at the news, crestfallen.
“She likes you man, she really does. Just be patient with her. She’s got some issues at home bringing her down,” Curtis said, resting his hand on his friend’s arm.
“But you’re her roommate, Curtis. What’s going on?”
Curtis faltered momentarily, then caught his footing. “Um, yeah. You see, our, um, landlord, the two of them don’t really get along and, well, he went kinda nuts on her earlier. Really went to town on her.” He gauged Randy’s reactions, then continued. “She was shocked. I mean, it really took the wind out of her sails.”
“Yeah, I guess I can see how that sort of thing could catch you by surprise.”
“Exactly. Look, just be patient with her. She’s a good kid.”
“I’ll do my best.” Randy sighed.
The two sat quietly for a moment, then Curtis noticed the old chessboard sitting beside Randy on the seat.
“Since it’s just you and me, you up for a game?” Curtis asked.
“You know, she said she’s never played.”
“Are you serious?” Curtis raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Oh, the irony.” He shook his head in disbelief.
“I know, right? Apparently not a Bergman fan.”
“Well, we might as well make the best of the evening.”
With the mood lightened, Randy flagged down Angela and ordered two thick slices of apple pie and resolved himself to enjoy a different evening than he’d planned, as the pair started setting up pieces on the old board.
The following morning Dorothy exited her room looking understandably haggard, with dark bags under her eyes, and a particular slowness to her step as she made her way to breakfast.
Once there, she found she could barely manage to carry her tray of food. Fortunately Curtis spied her from across the room, and flagged her down to come join him at the table he was sharing with Warren, taking the tray from her shaky hands before she dropped it as she slid into her seat.
Warren didn’t register any of this, but was thrilled, in his simpleminded way, to see the pretty new girl again.
“Knock-knock!” he chirped.
Curtis could see Dorothy flinch and almost visibly wilt even further, if that was actually possible.
Today was not the day for this.
“Hey, Warren,” he said, “you know, Stein told me he wanted to tell you a new knock-knock joke. Why don’t you go find him?”
With a silly grin, Warren popped to his feet and scampered off to find the poor hypochondriac. It may have been a mean thing to do, but Stein was far better equipped on this day to handle the incessant chatter than Dorothy.
With the coast now clear of sweet but annoying giants, Curtis was able to turn his attention fully to his friend.
“So, you okay?” he asked as he sized her up, his concern evident in his tone.
“I’ve had better days,” she managed. “Is this what being human is like? ’Cause if so, this really sucks.”
“Nah, only what it’s like for people on Doctor Vaughan’s shit list. And, oh man, you really pissed him off. Like, we’re talking epic pissage. For a minute there, I thought he was gonna blow a gasket. I’m almost surprised he didn’t have an aneurysm.”
He handed her a container of orange juice, but she pushed it away. Ignoring her, he slid the container right back toward her.
“Y
ou need to get your blood sugar up. Drink it.”
Relenting, she picked it up, slowly sipping at the sweet and tangy liquid. After a few moments, when the sugars began to absorb into her system, she actually did start to feel a little better.
“Why are you so good to me, Curtis?”
“I told ya, I’m your guardian angel. Someone has to look out for you. Besides, I figure being on Death’s good side can’t hurt, right?”
She flashed a weak smile as she absentmindedly arranged the utensils near her by size and type.
“Wait, what day is today? Shit!”
She abruptly stopped fidgeting with silverware, a flush quickly rose to her cheeks and slight panic tightened her voice.
“Oh no! Randy… I—”
“Don’t worry, I met up with him and told him you were under the weather and would see him on Friday instead,” Curtis told her, soothing her panic.
“You really do look out for me.” She gazed warmly at him, taking his hands in hers and looking deep in his eyes. “You’re the only friend I’ve ever had, Curtis. Thank you.”
Though a bit uncomfortable with the mushy stuff, he squeezed her hands and flashed his brightest smile.
“Glad to help. Now, as your most-bestest and only friend, it is my official duty to make sure your tapioca isn’t poisoned.” With a wicked little grin, he swiped a spoonful of her dessert.
Dorothy, somehow, actually managed a weak chuckle and a smile.
Later that day, the yellow afternoon light filtered through the small window high on the wall of Dorothy’s room, adding a degree of warmth to the bare fluorescent light. It couldn’t open to let in a breeze, of course, or even admit just a few molecules of fresh air, but the light still brought her a calming feeling as she sat on the floor.
Her bed was pulled away from the wall, exposing her chalk-lined handiwork. The rune circle was now filled with a great deal more symbols, both large and small, in what appeared to be increasingly intricate patterns, interconnecting with one another in ways only one versed in the arts would recognize.