by Karl Tutt
Chapter 5
He sat on the sofa, his legs crossed at the knee and an electronic notebook across his lap. His glasses were propped up on his forehead, his beard was trimmed neatly, and white as new fallen snow. He wore a tweed sports jacket, the shirt open at the collar. His face was kind, and his deep blue eyes almost seemed to flow over me like a slow tide coming into the beach.
“Dr. Camdon, I didn’t expect you. How did you get in?”
“Come now, Mark. You know I am always aware of your needs. I come when I must.”
“Did Suzy call?”
“She didn’t need to. We read your meds report. The only thing that matters is that I am here . . . here for you when you are troubled . . . when you need someone to talk to . . . to trust . . . to make any recommendations or adjustments that guarantee your emersion in this Nirvana. I’ve checked your levels from the scales in the recliner. You haven’t been honest. They are low. That could certainly account for you discomfort.”
He’d been here before. After each visit, I was invited –- that’s what T.H.E.I. called it --- to Camp for a few weeks. The first time it was only two . . . the last time six. I still can’t remember much. The Doctor didn’t hurt me. Or at least if he did, I didn’t know it. He simply appeared with his compassionate smile and his colorless suit, his voice soothing and flowing with concern. Each time I felt better when I returned. Thank God, Suzy had waited patiently . . . was there to stroke me when I was back in the unit. My faithful and loyal confederate, guardian, and, of course . . . my lover . . . had not deserted me.
But I didn’t want to go again. I wanted to remember, to experience, to deal with . . . even feel the pain of the things T.H.E.I. say “troubled me”. I wanted to be human in all its glory and its ultimate failure. My mind drifted back to that room at Camp, or perhaps I should say the cell.
Dr. Calmdon was here. I wanted to ask him, but I was afraid. God forbid . . . no more Camp. I wanted him to go away . . . to leave me with just a shred of what I was . . . or at least what I may have been.
God . . . a curious word. An omnipotent being or merely a concept . . . a creation of man who is desperate for meaning? Perhaps only a philosophy . . . a way to control. And what of human? What did it mean? Did it mean perfect, flawed, or something in between. It was a thing neither I, nor anyone else, could know while we existed in their version of ultimate peace and love. The Dwarf had almost shouted at me, “It’s not real.” But what did that mean? Is real what you know through those stimuli that assault you, what you absorb, and interpret through your senses? Or is it some sort of idea you are forced to embrace, a thing that dictates responses and attitudes? Or perhaps even an independent state that man might never hope to influence, much less control? I remained silent. The Doctor was motionless. I stared at him for a moment and drifted.
I didn’t want it, but my mind questioned places and things. Had Suzy and I been to Paris? Had we walked the streets of Florence and drank the rich red wine of Tuscany? Was that an independent reality or had I only experienced some sort of dream? If so, what was the source? Was it T.H.E.I.? Were they somehow the creators of my universe and was Suzy a sorceress who could conjure any fantasy that would make me function on their terms, keep me from being a threat until my body and my mind were totally incapable of any revolt?
Dr. Calmdon sat before me, his eyes focused on my every expression, any physical reaction or quirk that might reveal something. From time to time he tapped a few words on his laptop. His skin was smooth and wax-like. No trace of hair on the top of his head beyond the full sideburns. Even his lashes seemed to shrink into the eyelids. A quiet smile never left his face, the lips pale and pinkish. The whole visage was molded to be epitome of compassion and understanding. The entire image said, “Talk. You can trust me. I can help.” Perhaps he had.
I blurted, “I’m fine, Doctor. Suzy and I have the perfect life. It is our paradise. I thank you for coming, but I have no need of your services at this time. I will follow your recommendations . . . increase my fluids. I don’t need Camp. As long as I have Suzy, I have everything.”
He nodded, pressed a button and the notebook went blank. Then he stood and glanced at something invisible on the back wall. I turned my head and looked toward the kitchen. When I looked back, he had vanished. I checked the unit. It was empty except for the damned blinking eye in the corner of the Vid. I limped into the bedroom, retrieved my night shade and the yardstick. I eyed the pocket knife and the book behind the boards in the closet. I covered myself and put the measuring device to my left arm. I had lost another inch. I found my water jug and started to lift, my attempts at exercise feeble, perhaps even fruitless. The jug felt heavier even though I knew the weight had not changed. My right arm was getting weaker. The designation, popped into my mind. TC in capital letters. Terminally Challenged. Did it mean what the phrase implied? Did T.H.E.I. terminate the inmate when he was powerless, when the challenges reached an unmanageable point? Was I that inmate, in some ways willing, but inextricably housed here in my unit with constant access to a drug and some sort of spectral caretaker?
I crawled out from under the night shade and went to the mirror. The face wasn’t mine. It was contorted and compressed like an image from a funhouse mirror. I shuddered. Was I becoming another incarnation of the Dwarf? A tear crept into the corner of my eye. The liquid grew until it burst. Then it slid quickly down my cheek with tiny chill.
I put my treasures away and stumbled to the sofa. I put my head back on the pillow and shook for a moment. Then I began to dissolve into some sort of nether world.