The Wyrms of &alon

I got to the hospital in short order. On any other day, I would have had enough time to get in some clarinet practice, but this wasn’t any other day. My schedule was packed. I had two therapy sessions: one with an aging heiress who was convinced her pet tortoise was possessed by the ghost of Lassedite Verune and was talking to her; the other with a red-green colorblind paranoid schizophrenic who was convinced that his colorblindness was proof that DAISHU really was out to get him; I also had a consultation on a male patient who was convinced his foot was planning to murder him and his wife, I had to schedule Merritt’s MRI, and I had to follow up with a fudge-up from the pharmacy that had gotten put on hold due to yesterday’s national tragedy. Long story short: I was going to need to spend an inordinate amount of time on a videophone conference with the pharmacist to customize one of my patient’s prescription refills, having learned yesterday that the pharmacy was out of stock of the extended release version of the pill. That meant having to recalibrate the dosage times, and take into account the differential in the drug metabolism rate of the generic version compared to the extended release version. And then there was the chance of the patient drinking grapefruit juice and putting all of my careful neuropharmacological considerations to waste. And that was just what I had scheduled from morning to lunchtime.

And then, of course, there was Rayph’s play; I had to leave early for that, hence my schedule crunch.

First thing, though: I needed to check up on Kurt. I couldn’t imagine he was looking forward to staying at WeElMed any longer than he had to. I don’t mean that to impinge the quality, dedication, or professionalism of our staff—although, the patient meals could be a little more savory—it was just that, even more so than most hospitals, WeElMed had that somber, nervous air that hospitals had, and no amount of sterilization fluid and aromatic plug-ins could cover it up altogether. A hospital was a place of life and death, and lingering in one could be very draining on psyches that weren’t well-equipped to deal with it.

Kurt had been through a lot. I imagined he’d be happy to get home ASAP. I know I would.

Since the nurse from yesterday who’d treated his injuries had entered Kurt into the patient database with my name as his current supervising physician, I was the one who had to dot the Is (and Js) and cross the Ts on the paperless paperwork before Kurt could be discharged. Aside from the way it robbed people of their agency, there were few methods as effective at getting you stuck in a hospital on a psychiatric hold than getting a sedative jammed into your flank and your medical record.

Following the network notification on my console, I weaved my way through the hospital up to the room where Kurt had spent the night on the second floor of the old Central Wing. Along the way, I was struck by the number of people wandering about. It was like yesterday all over again, only someone had left the mood out to rot in the sun. Panic congealed into fretful gloom. People with sullen faces and tired gazes sat listlessly in the eggshell chairs in the reception area for Urgent Care, waiting for a physician to help figure out what ailed them. Eyes darted nervously from the news on the wall-mounted consoles to the portable personal models people held in their hands. Receptionists’ extended nails clacked like claws against touch screens as their hands flew from monitor to monitor. Ringing phone calls tones leapt through the air, above the soundscape of coughs that seemed to stretch as far as the ear could hear.

I guess flu season is starting early this year.

I made a mental note to check the schedule for when and where this season’s flu shots would be offered. When it came to infectious disease, there was no such thing as being too careful. Unfortunately, only about half the country (fifty-two percent, if I recalled correctly) had gotten their flu vaccine last year. I would have said I hoped this year’s numbers would be better, but the probably wouldn’t be, not to any statistically significant degree, at any rate.

I walked up to the receptionist as soon as I turned down the hallway after reaching the landing of the old Central Wing’s second floor.

“I’m Dr. Howle; I’m here for one Kurt Clawless,” I said.

The receptionist looked up from her console, an anachronism mounted on the lush, varnished sweep of an antique countertop in the shape of a horseshoe. Making an O with her mouth, she blew out air like a whale. She pointed to one of the doors further down the hall.

“Room 212.”

Nodding, I smiled. “Thanks.”

The receptionist leaned into the countertop and pitched herself forward. “No, thank you,” she said. “He’s been uppity all morning. He’s been waiting for you since the crack of dawn. Apparently, something happened last night.”

In hindsight, I should have read more into the receptionist’s words. But I didn’t. I was distracted by thoughts of other people’s miseries: Merritt’s Jules’, the cereal fortune heiress with a talking tortoise—to name a few.

And then I stepped into Kurt’s room.

Something was very wrong. I felt it as soon as I stepped into the room: a gut feeling hovering three nanometers above my subconscious with all the power of a shrill flute sounding a piercing high C.

Had Kurt not been there, in his bed, in the flesh, I would have thought the room was empty and dead. The complementary chocolate chip cookie on the tray with the orange juice sat on the swinging bedside table, pristine and untouched. Beneath the shining, softly buzzing fluorescent lights, not even a single fingerprint could be seen on the plastic cover of the bedside console. And, even with Kurt underneath them, the bedsheets and covers seemed to have hardly moved.

Did he not sleep last night?

If he hadn’t, a nurse would have noted it in his chart.

Pulling out my console, I tapped the screen back awake, accessed the WeElMed app and went to Kurt’s case file.

A chill ran down my spine as my eyes read down the page.

Galloping gushwads!

Kurt didn’t just not sleep. He’d had a grand mal seizure! And what was even odder, he had no history of epilepsy or any other seizure disorders.

Mr. Kurt Clawless sat up in bed at a nearly perfect right angle. His arm trembled slightly as he held his fingers by his lips. The curtains on the window on the wall opposite the door were open, granting a view of the far side of Elpeck Polytechnic’s fabled botanical gardens where they dappled the distant, gentle slope of Crusader’s Hill.

“You’re Dr. Howle, right?” Kurt asked. He swallowed. The motion rippled down his neck like a snake.

I glanced down, giving myself a good look-over before stepping forward and nodding. “Well, unless there’s something that I don’t know about that has changed since yesterday, I certainly seem to be.” I pointed at my lucky bow-tie. “Besides, Genneth Howle is the only person dedicated and desperate enough to wear a red-dotted yellow bow-tie like this.”

I smiled, but Kurt did not reciprocate.

My shoulders slunk as I sighed, and shook my head. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry about that. I was just trying to lighten the mood.

Kurt pursed his lips. “I—”

I raised my palm to face him. “—No, no. It was my mistake. I had a bit of a kerfuffle with my eldest this morning while driving her to school, and I guess I had more residual Dad Mode left in me than I might have thought. The receptionist says you’ve been uppity all morning. I can’t blame you for that, and I can’t begin to tell you how awful I feel about… yesterday. I’m not in charge of the orderlies. They’re a lot like nuclear weapons; watching them deploying for combat is never pleasant. I hope you don’t think all mental health professionals are like that. Even the orderlies are usually better than that. Yesterday…” I blew air out through my mouth, rumbling my lips, “Yesterday was a tribulation. As hectic as things can get here, it’s rare for them to be that bad.”

I’d been planning on bringing the discharge forms up on my console, but, knowing he’d had a seizure, I was suddenly having second thoughts. I needed to get some confirmation before I did something I might regret, like releasing a patient who wasn’t in good health.

Kurt turned to face me.

“Doc… could you come a little closer?” he asked. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

I sighed in relief. I was glad he was bringing up his seizure on his own initiative. People could really hurt themselves by refusing to speak up about their aches and pains; by the time they finally mentioned something, it was often too late. I wished more folks understood the adage “better safe than sorry”.

Kurt glanced at the door. “And… could you close the door?”

I did as he asked, though it was unusual. “Is something the matter?” I asked.

Kurt flicked his eyes back and forth between me, the door, and the consoles in the room. “I’m worried someone might be listening,” he said.

I didn’t see that coming.

Kurt cleared his throat. “Last night… they…” he turned to face me, “they did something to me. Or maybe it was something in the sedative they gave me. I…” He breathed so deeply, his tough, muscled frame quivered like jelly. “They…” his voice cracked.

Unconsciously, I’d stepped forward.

“What? What is it?” I asked, in a hushed voice.

Kurt tensed. He wrapped an arm around the top of his head, tucking his forehead into the crook of his elbow and worming his fingers through his dark hair.

“I don’t know how,” he said, “I don’t know how, or why, or when or frick knows what else, but…”

With one eye, he looked up at me from beneath his elbow, slowly unwinding his arm. His head vibrated from side to side.

“They killed me Dr. Howle,” Kurt whispered. “I’m dead now, and they killed me.”

I staggered back. “What…?” My thighs trembled. I started to sink, expecting a chair behind me, but then I reached back and grasped thin air and realized that there wasn’t, and tightened my legs and stumbled back as I righted myself and walked over to the nearest chair. I rolled it over to the bed and planted my behind on the seat.

I whispered back at him. “What do you mean, they killed you?”

“I’m dead. I’m a corpse.” Kurt held his hand near his face, staring at it in abject horror. He couldn’t keep it from trembling. “This hand isn’t mine anymore. It’s not what my hand feels like. It’s not me, it’s this thing. Dead tissue. My lungs are rusty tinfoil. I don’t need to breathe anymore, but they’re still there. Crinkle crinkle crinkle.” He shook his head. “Every moment. It doesn’t stop.” He flung his arms in my direction, dangling them over the edge of his bed with his lips curled back in disgust. “These damn sticks sticking out of me. I don’t know if it’s because they’re not mine, or they’ve rotted on the inside, or because someone came in and took them out and replaced them with robot parts, but… I’m just not connected anymore. It’s like I’m one big scab, inside and out. My blood is made of scabs. My eyes are made of scabs.”

Kurt’s eyes began to water.

“I… I asked about you, Dr. Howle. They said you’re a neuropsychiatrist—a mind-specialist. Please… you gotta fix this. I’m losing my… my…” Craning his neck back, Kurt shuddered. He gathered his hair in his hands, scraping his fingernails against his scalp. “There’s this thing inside my skull. It’s not supposed to be in there. I’m not supposed to be in there and—”

“Kurt! Stop!” I lunged out of my seat. “Kurt!”

Trembling, he wept, wrapping his arms around his torso. He moaned. “What’s wrong with me?”

I didn’t know which was crazier: his condition, or the fact that I already knew what it was. Years of therapy (both the giving end, and receiving end) made themselves known as I kept myself from biting at my fingernails’ cuticles. Instead, I exerted self-control. Besides, my hand was busy gripping the footboard of Kurt’s bed, to keep me from, well… falling apart.

I took a very deep breath. I felt lightheaded.

Or maybe I’m just hyperventilating.

“You have Nalfar’s Syndrome,” I said, slow and measured.

Kurt blinked in disbelief. “What?”

As I answered him, I tried my best to keep an even tone of voice. I needed to sound calm and in control, without making him feel like I was patronizing him or taking his fears with anything other than the utmost concern. I pulled the chair under me and sat back down.

“It’s like this. Our brains devote massive amounts of their processing power to keeping track of each of our body parts’ positions, both relative to each other, and to our surroundings. This is called proprioception.” I tapped the side of my head with my fingertip. “For example, When you use hand-eye coordination—catching a ball, playing a video game—the visual cortex in our brain communicates with the proprioception nerves in our muscles to ensure that our limbs work together with what we’re seeing. That’s where Nalfar’s comes into play. Although we still don’t know what causes it, we know that Nalfar’s Syndrome occurs when there are certain malfunctions in our proprioception. I know it’s mysterious and terrifying, but it’s not without precedent. Nalfar’s is one of a handful of freaky delusions that can happen when the body fails to properly perceive itself. Sometimes, people think their limbs don’t belong to them, or that they are being controlled by a mind other than their own. There’s a lot—”

“—What do you mean, you don’t know what causes it?” Kurt snapped

“I’m sorry.” Briefly, I closed my eyes and sighed. “Nalfar’s…” I sighed again, “…it’s extremely rare. There have been only a couple hundred confirmed cases in recorded history.”

Kurt sniffled and cleared his throat. I fetched him some tissues and a cup of water, but he just shook his head when I offered them to him.

I set them down on the tray beside the untouched orange juice and cookie.

Kurt looked at me warily. “Are you some kind of genius? If it’s so rare, how would you know about it so quickly?”

I lowered my gaze. “It’s only on my mind because you’re not the first patient I’ve seen with the condition. I had one just the other day.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” Kurt asked. “Am I going to be like this forever?”

Suddenly, my PortaCon rang, buzzing atop Kurt’s bed. I grabbed it and tapped the accept call button.

“This is Dr. H—”

“—Genneth, you need to come to the Quiet Ward. Now.” It was Nurse Costran. She was breathless.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Letty. She’s awake.”

I jolted up from my seat.

“What!?”

“Doc?” Kurt asked.

A marching band might as well have been playing in my ears. All my focus and concerns for Kurt’s condition suddenly got put on indefinite hold.

Letty, awake?!

The news smacked me upside the head. I knew what she meant, I just couldn’t believe it.

What’s next? Lassedite Verune returns, claiming abduction by the mole people?

My free hand fiddled with my bow-tie, adjusting it this way and that.

I had to be sure.

“Letty? Letty K—”

“—Letty Kathaldri. She’s awake.”

“Doc?” Kurt asked.

“Awake?” I asked. “What kind of awake?”

“Sitting upright in bed, asking questions. That kind. Genneth, please, we—”

“—I’m coming as fast as I can.”

“Doc? What’s going on?” Kurt’s face was still puffy from his tears.

“A fairy tale just got its happily-ever-after, only sixty years too late.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I need to take this.”

“What about me?”

Frowning, I rubbed my fingers on my forehead in small circles.

“I’ll be back to discuss your options as soon as I’m done with this,” I said, “I promise.” I looked him in the eyes. “It’s not your fault. It’s just more of the world being the world.” I sighed yet again. “Try your best to stay calm. Watch a show. We’ve got all the seasons of Guardians of Time; just go to the TV app on the bedside console.” I shook my head. “Again, I’m sorry about this.”

I grabbed my PortoCon and left the room in enough of a hurry to make the frosted glass window pane rattle in place as I closed the door behind me.

A passing nurse turned to me in concern.

“Dr. Howle?”

“There’s no time!”