The Wyrms of &alon

I envied Heggy’s ability to listen. I know that might sound strange, coming from somebody whose job was, in part, simply listening to people, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy her. Of course, I tried my hardest to be the best darn listener that I could be, but I always worried that my efforts were little more than a façade, and that with one penetrating gaze, my façade would come crumbling down. That was part of why I made such an effort to be a brightening presence wherever I went. It helped give me more peace of mind by upping my confidence in the peace of mind I brought to other people. Even with decades of practice under my belt, from time to time, I still worried that I wasn’t as good of a listener as I could have been, no matter what other people said to the contrary.

But Heggy… Heggy wasn’t like that. She was steadfast and stalwart. Talking to her was liberating. It felt like a weight was being lifted off your shoulders. She’d been an unofficial mentor for me in the last few years of my dual medical-psychiatric degree, not to mention a heck of a good guidance counselor. I’d told her everything. She’d been the one to console me after my disastrous first date with Pel. Without Dr. Marteneiss’ encouragement, I might not have persisted.

A chime announced our arrival on the ground floor, followed by a voice announcement for the visually impaired.

“Ward R, Ground Floor. Ku-Arru, Ikkai.” The announcement was bilingual, as with all automated announcements on DAISHU properties.

The elevator’s gleaming doors glided open with a soft hiss. We stepped out into the hall, into a tide of noise. Though patients and newcomers wouldn’t have noticed it, no two places in WeElMed’s sprawling complex sounded exactly alike. Each had its characteristic rhythms, harmonies, and leitmotifs. Next to the Quiet Ward and its arresting silences or the ER on a bad day, Ward R—the Mental Health Ward—was one the hardest to endure. Tortured voices echoed off the hallways like manic brass, only about half of which were recognizable as voices at all. Many were pure sound, their speech jabbered, stumbling, raving, and half-formed. But you could still hear the fear; fear and pain.

Acid sank into the pit of my stomach. A sour taste stung in the depths of my throat.

Ugh.

Even if it had been medically necessary, I hated the thought that I’d put Merritt in a place like this. I’d worked in Ward R long enough to know the aches of heart and soul these hallways had seen. You could even see it, if you knew where to look; fear and anguish writ large upon the floor and the walls. Scratches and dark smudges covered the linoleum flooring’s off-white tiles, vestiges of petulant soles scraping across the ground, or furniture being dragged or thrown about. White noise machines sprayed their effervescence, thickly layering it on the air, accompanied by the buzzing and insect-zapper twinges from the almost painfully bright fluorescent lights on the ceiling. It was so bright, there wasn’t even room for shadows to hide. Slovenly patients traipsed up and down the halls. A few weak smiles could be seen peeking out from the shambling figures, but most expressions were neutral or morose. For both the sake of safety and myriad legal technicalities, the standard protocol was to use only the strongest antipsychotic drugs for dealing with violently delusional patients. It kept them calm, yes, but it also made them into pet zombies.

I know I’m probably being overly harsh, but… that was how I felt. Maybe it was just because I couldn’t look at a psychiatric ward without thinking of my sister, the neglect she had never asked for, and the thought of what might have been had she lived to see the sunlight once more. Then again, the first rule of psychiatry was “never try to diagnose yourself.” (Yet, we also said, “Physician, heal thyself,” so there was definitely some mixed messaging going on.)

I wished there was a better way. I wished we could find the line in the human brain where the mind met the soul, and learn how to repair one of them without losing them both in the process.

Heggy arched her eyebrows as she processed our new coördinates. “Why are we in R Ward?” she asked.

I sighed and smiled sadly. “This way.”

“Where to?” she asked.

“Room R107.”

As we walked down the hallway, I wondered how Heggy would react once she realized how I’d conveniently failed to mention that the housewife patient of mine was Mrs. Elbock, or that her husband was on my tail for having put Merritt on suicide watch. I mean, yes, doctor-patient confidentiality was definitely a thing, but so was colleague-Heggy confidentiality. If you asked Dr. Marteneiss to keep something secret, she kept it secret. You could tell her the cure to cancer, and she wouldn’t spread it if it meant going back on her word.

Stopping in my tracks, I blinked and shook my head. I had to tell her now.

Better late than never, I guess.

“The patient we’re about to see is Merritt Elbock.”

Heggy placed her hand at her hip. “Mrs. Elbock from Across the Street?”

I nodded. “The one and only.” Staring down the hallway, I shook my head. My eyes focused on a watercolor painting of a tropical fish. “She came in yesterday, first thing in the morning, presenting with what a subsequent visit to the Psychiatric Library then informed me was a full-blown case of Nalfar’s Syndrome. And, not only that, but,” I leaned in close, quieting my words, “she asked me to kill her.”

“The fu—…?” Heggy cut the curse word off in the middle of its sound’s opening volley.

“Yeah.” I sighed. “So, I sedated her, and, well… now she’s here, on suicide watch.”

Heggy closed her eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of her nose. “It just keeps gettin’ better and better, doesn’t it?” she said, sardonically.

She gave me a concerned look, but then resumed walking in the direction I’d been traveling. I took the lead, guiding her toward the room Merritt had been placed in for the duration of her suicide watch.

As we walked, Heggy spoke up. “I can’t believe I need to tell this to a licensed psychiatrist, but… there’s no hiding from your choices, Dr. Howle. All you can do is try to be more open now than you were the day before, and make tomorrow a little better than today.”

“I know, I know…” I said. I stuck my hands in my coat pockets. “But I’m still afraid of screwing up. Of making things—”

“—You said R107, right?” she said.

I nodded.

“Well then, here we are.” Dr. Marteneiss pointed to Merritt’s door.

A nurse was there, waiting for us, with a cap so freshly cleaned, you could still smell the lavender scent of the detergent.

“Dr. Howle?” the nurse asked.

With a smile, I pointed to my ID badge. “The one and only. I”—I glanced back at Heggy—“we are here to supervise the MRI I requested for Merritt Elbock.”

Stepping forward, I swiped my hand over the console with Merritt’s name on its screen mounted beside the door. The status indicator changed, showing she was now being prepped for an MRI procedure.

“Alright,” the nurse said, “I’ll go prep her.”

I took a deep breath, and slowly opened the door. But this time, it wasn’t for fear of a squeaky hinge.

I waved at Dr. Marteneiss and the nurse. “After you.”

Following along after them, I stepped inside to Mrs. Elbock lying on a modern bed, clothed in the sickly pale aquamarines of the hospital’s patient gowns. The sight of her arms and legs bound to the bed by leather restraints made me clench my teeth and suck in breath. Freed from its bun, her meek, wavy, tawny blonde hair hugged her head like the pillow beneath her. It nearly broke my heart to see her like this. And then, when she looked at me—the way she looked at me—with red splashes beneath her eyes and cheeks still puffy from trails of tears… well, that broke the rest.

It became a struggle to keep my composure. Even more so, after I began to speak.

“Merritt,” I said, “I’ve been—”

—But she cut me off.

“How could you…?” Her voice was a glass harmonica, halfway between a whisper and a cry. But the accusation was there, in all its fire and fury.

My thoughts raced. I froze. But I couldn’t have anticipated the next swerve

“I begged you, Genneth,” Merritt continued. “I put myself at your mercy. After all the years we’ve known one another… do you still not trust me? I,” her voice broke, “I thought you were better than that.” She raised her head as much as she could, struggling against her restraints. Her neck visibly trembled. “Why didn’t you listen?”

I brought my fingers to my eyes, pretending to adjust my glasses as I wiped away my tears. I nearly turned away in shame, but then I saw the gleam in Heggy’s eyes, as stoic and dependable as ever. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind.

“It…” I took a breath, “It’s only for a little while, Merritt. I just needed some time to understand what was happening to you.” I gestured to my colleague. “This is Dr. Heggy Marteiness,” I said. “You remember her, right?”

“I never forget a face, Genneth,” Merritt replied, “especially one I’ve spoken too over the videophone. Your voice is daisy yellow whenever you talk about her. It’s daisy yellow, even now.”

“It’s good to finally meet you in person, Merritt,” Heggy said, “I just wish it were under better circumstances.”

“You and me, both,” Merritt said. She let out a sob that pretended to be a laugh.

Holy Angel, please forgive me this sin. I nearly began to make the Bond-sign, but I didn’t have the heart to go through with it.

“I brought Heggy along to help,” I said, steeling myself. “Together, we’re going to make sure you get exactly the treatment that you need.”

“I hope you really mean that,” Merritt said, looking at me briefly before averting her gaze.

“I do.” I stepped forward and nodded. “Yes.” With a gulp, I cleared my throat. “I found an answer, Merritt, hopefully the first of many. You aren’t dead, Merritt, and you don’t need to die. You have Nalfar’s Syndrome. It’s very rare, but it’s not a mystery, and it’s certainly not a curse. That’s one problem down.” I curled my arm and swung it in a chummy, eager gesture. “And, hopefully only one or two more to go.” I smiled, only to goof and show probably more teeth than was either necessary or appropriate.

Merritt stared at Heggy, the nurse, and I, not saying a word.

Hoping not to lose any more face, I nodded and continued. “Nalfar’s sets something off-kilter in your proprioception; that’s the aspect of your nervous systems that allows your body to perceive itself. That’s why you feel your body is dead. It’s not a demon, it’s just nerve signals that your brain isn’t properly processing.”

“Explaining it doesn’t change it, Genneth,” Merritt said. “We’re all doomed.” She shivered, locking eyes with the nurse. “This is how the world ends. This—”

“—Worries about doom and damnation are all tell-tale signs of Nalfar’s,” I said, cutting her off. I tried to smile, but failed miserably. My face and body language were open books. The way I held my head, the tensions bunched up in my shoulders, my words’ urgent pace. All of it spoke to my desperation.

“Dr. Howle, shouldn’t I begin prepping her?” the nurse asked.

“Just hold on a minute,” I said. I gently chided the woman with a dismissive wave of my hand, only to sigh and turn back to face the poor nurse. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” I shook my head. “Mrs. Elbock isn’t just a patient. She lives across the street from me. I’ve known her and her family for decades.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I don’t want Merritt to be frightened or worried, so I want to fully explain the situation to her before you begin prepping her, okay?”

“Bless your heart, Dr. Howle.” The nurse nodded vigorously. “I understand.”

“What is it now, Genneth?” Merritt moaned tiredly.

I turned back to face her.

“I’ve been doing research,” I said, “and I think it might be your migraines. You might have had a minor stroke and not noticed it. A confluence of factors is probably to blame: blood deprivation from migraine vasoconstriction, or from a transient ischemic attack; extreme stress… that sort of thing.”

It was a lie. It was all lies.

God, I’m all over the place.

I thought this would be a straight-forward in-and-out thing. I’d even brought Heggy along to bolster my confidence and share her wisdom, and I was flailing like a fish out of water.

Maybe Merritt was right. Maybe I really didn’t trust her.

Slowly, Mrs. Elbock smiled back at me—but not from joy. It was a broad smile. She held her mouth slightly ajar as her breaths became shallow pants and her lips began to tremble.

“Oh… Genneth… so… that’s what you think it is?”

Her smile came undone. She gazed at me and something like pity flashed in her eyes for a moment before she looked away.

Clearing my throat, I clenched my fists and took a deep breath, but it came out ragged and shaky.

“Yes,” I nodded.

I was the very image of confidence.

“And you too, Dr. Marteneiss?” Merritt asked.

I nodded again, and we both said, “Yes.”

“That’s why I’ve scheduled an MRI for you. I want to see what’s happening inside your head. I know it might sound frightening, but it really would be the best if we do find something, because that will give us something concrete to work with. We’ll have a goal, a battle plan”—I glanced back at Heggy and smiled—“and then, with a bit of luck and a heck of a lot of know-how, you’ll be back to your old self in no time at all.”

She didn’t look back at me. I felt like I was drowning.

“Everything is going to be fine, Merritt,” I said. A shiver ran down my back. “We’ll both be here to help you however I can—I promise.”

I wasn’t telling her my real worries. I wasn’t telling her I was afraid doom and madness had jumped the shark and turned contagious. Depending on the ultimate nature of Merritt’s condition, it might very well be the end of the world. Not literally, of course, but, pandemics were never pleasant, and society generally didn’t come out the other end unchanged.

Yet again, I cleared my throat. “If it’s okay with you, the nurse will start prepping you for the scan now.”

“And I’ll help out,” Heggy said, stepping forward, “if you don’t mind.” She nodded and smiled.

“If you insist, Dr. Marteneiss,” Merritt said. She rolled her head to the side, turning to face the wall.

I stepped out of the room as the two of them got to work, turning away, closing my eyes, holding my breath. For a moment, everything was pure sound.

“So, Merritt,” Heggy said, “we just need to do a few things to get you ready for the Magnetic Resonance Imaging.”

“I’ve had it done before,” Merritt replied. “I know how it goes.”

“Good, that will make this go more quickly, then.”

The nurse began by hooking a bag of contrast dye onto Merritt’s IV line. “Now, try to keep still,” he said.

She complied.

I sighed with relief; things hadn’t fallen apart—not yet, anyway. Now, I could focus my worries on what would come of the MRI. The pre-scan preparations were the longest part of the MRI. I suppose one benefit of having Merritt on suicide watch was that there was no need to fuss over making sure there was no metal on her body; that detail had already been taken care of yesterday. It wasn’t long before the nurse injected the Noxtifell into the IV line and sent Mrs. Elbock off to a dreamless slumber.

“Everything ready?” I asked.

“Yes, Dr. Howle,” said the nurse. “We can head over to the imaging room now.”