“Where are Arlen and my father?” I asked. “They know I’m being discharged today.”
The doctor glanced at me sideways and said, “I’m sure Dr. Muze will answer all your questions for you. Remember, your appointment is at three o’clock.”
“Yes. Thank you doctor.”
“You are welcome to stay in our waiting facilities until then.”
“Thank you doctor, I think I will,” I said. He pointed me to the lounge area and I took a seat in one of the plush brown armchairs.
Waiting for my meeting with Dr. Muze alone felt like torture. All I could think about was why Arlen and Pops hadn’t come to pick me up. Arlen heard the doctor tell me last night that I the hospital was discharging me. He had been there. I’d seen him. I held his hand.
Four and half hours later, I realized it was about time for my appointment with Dr. Muze. I asked the front desk and asked where his office was located in the building.
“Second floor, second door when you exit the elevator,” a nurse said.
Following these instructions, I rode the elevator for about 17 seconds and exited on the second floor. I found Dr. Muze’s office easily and signed in when I entered the room.
There was only one other patient in the office – a man I recognized. He lived in my apartment building. He didn’t look up from his magazine, though, and I didn’t want to disturb him.
“Sile N’Bhroin,” the psychiatrist said into the waiting room. “You’re up.” He smiled a great big, white smile and held his hand out to me.
I stood up and took his hand. The other man in the waiting room looked slightly miffed when I was called. Perhaps the doctor had double-booked us.
The next room I entered was much cozier and smelled a lot nicer than the waiting room.
“Have a sit, Sile. Make yourself comfortable.”
I sat on the end of a cream-colored loveseat. It was the most comfortable couch I’d ever sat on.
“My name is Dr. Bill Muze. But please call me Bill. Tell me a little about yourself.”
I looked at the doctor, but my mouth stayed shut.
“I understand that you had a little accident several months ago. It’s been a long recovery, hasn’t it? Would you like to start off with that?”
My eyes dropped to the floor.
“The nurses tell me that you have two frequent visitors. Your brother and your father, right? How about we talk about them for a while?”
I looked back up at the doctor and fought off a smile. “You mean, the nurses saw my family?”
“Not exactly. They said that you talk an awful lot about your family though. They seem to think that you think that your brother and father visited you in the hospital. Did they?”
“Almost everyday,” I replied.
“Right. Sile, tell me. Has anything weird ever happened when you were with them? Did anyone ever look at you strangely?”
I thought about Sister Marta, Christophe, and Spring, the runner from the forest. “I’ve gotten... a few confused glances.”
“That’s what I thought,” Bill said. “I think I’m starting to understand the problem. Tell me, is your brother here now? Your dad?”
“No, I haven’t seen them all day. I don’t know where they are.”
Bill chuckled and said, “That’s because you’re on medication. We injected a medicine called Acyngelitin into your IV last night. It’s an experimental drug for patients with Schizophrenia.”
“Schizo... Schizophrenia?”
“Yes. You were showing signs of Schizophrenia from the moment you entered the hospital – you have very severe dreams that we monitored on a brain scan.”
“You monitored me?”
“I’m afraid so. I was called into look at you as soon as you got here. A friend of yours, Mr. Moreau, told us that you might have some pre-existing mental issues,” Bill said. “Since you lacked a mental record, he thought it best to inform the clinic staff of your illness.”
“My illness?”“Yes, Sile. After completing several tests and treating your most pressing physical ailments – you did break several bones, you know – we discovered that you, my dear, suffer from Schizophrenia.”
He paused, hoping to let that sink in.
“You see people, Sile. You see your brother Arlen and your father. You hear them. You were spending almost everyday with them before you decided to jump off that building. And now, I’m here to help you. To tell you that they don’t exist. They’re not real.”
My mouth fell open and I shook my head. “That’s... that’s... can’t be...”
“It’s true. Please believe me. It’s the first step to a recovery.”
“No! It’s not true. They... they’re real...”
“Oh, Sile. I was afraid you would say that.” Bill shook his head and pointed a finger at me. “Did you know, Sile, that I’m considered a miracle worker at this crummy clinic. The nurses worship me. The doctors refer everyone to me! I’m that good!” Bill spat in my face with that last “good.”
“But you know, when I’m faced with difficult patients like you, I have to make difficult decisions,” he said. “Do I go through years of psychiatric help just to fail with you,” Bill stood up, “or do I fix you my way.”
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