was, could wait. I hadn’t realized how attached I was to him until he wasn’t there.
Doctor Chance took my account of what had happened to me, what I’d seen, what I’d done. It seemed odd to me that she wasn’t wearing...oh, I dunno. Scrubs. A lab coat. But then again, neither had Doctor Morganstern.
Chance questioned me for nearly an hour, writing notes even as she spoke. I wondered if that was something like being ambidextrous, the ability to speak and write at the same time. I’m lucky I can walk and breathe simultaneously without choking.
Chance shuffled some papers. “Your intake sheet says you vomited and then partially lost consciousness. What have you eaten today?”
“A Polish sausage, a curly fry, some coffee.”
“And earlier?”
I felt like a lecture would be coming, but there was nothing I could do to avoid it. Then again, I had no reason to think Doctor Chance was the lecturing type. I sighed. “Coffee. And coffee the day before. A donut yesterday morning. That’s all.”
“Is it common for you to skip meals?”
“No. I don’t know. Yeah, I guess.” She wrote some notes. “It’s a cop thing,” I added lamely.
“I’m scheduling an upper G.I. for you first thing in the morning. Eat bland foods as your appetite allows, then no food after midnight, no water after two a.m., and no more coffee today. Got it?”
“You think I have an ulcer, don’t you?”
“It’s too early to say. But given your medical background, we have to take more precautions than we do with the general public.”
Right. It was more likely that the force wanted to keep me alive so they didn’t have to go through the trouble of finding and training another Psych.
“Drugs?” she asked.
Shit. I wanted to lie about how much Auracel I’d taken the day before. I always lied. But they were testing my blood as we spoke, and lying wouldn’t get me anywhere.
“Auracel, ninety milligrams about twenty-four hours ago.” Chance recorded the number without making me repeat myself, or mentioning that it was triple the highest recommended dosage, or doing a spit-take. I probably should’ve told her about the Seconal, but Seconal’s been discontinued for some time and I hadn’t exactly gotten it through a reputable connection. If it showed up in the tests and they called me on it, I could just say I’d forgotten.
“Would you be able to sleep if you stopped your medications until tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah. Of course. I mean, I’m not dependent or anything. I don’t take them every day.” Just on a bad day. Like a day in which I’ve seen a bush full of scalped heads.
Just thinking about it made me crave an Auracel with a Seconal chaser.
I made an appointment to return at seven a.m., an ungodly hour, but since I wasn’t likely to sleep and couldn’t eat, it was probably for the best.
“About the sleeping,” I said, wondering if I could get my hands on some barbiturates legally. “If you knew of something that could take the edge off -- maybe you could write....”
“We’ll see after your blood work comes back. Good night, detective.”
Was it night? I checked my watch. Quarter past seven. I wanted to be home. I wished I’d been born with the ability to teleport instead of hearing the dead. And I wondered if Roger’d bought another cup of coffee for me while he was waiting.
I opened the door to the lobby and nearly bought the idea that my desire to teleport had made it happen; Jacob stared at me from a seat directly across from the door. He had on a pair of jeans, one of his incredibly form-fitting black T-shirts, and a plain leather jacket. He was on his feet and halfway across the room before I even cleared the doorway. “What happened?” he asked me.
I blinked and looked around. A yellow streetlight shone through the thick safety glass on the door. The receptionist’s window was dark and he
Doctor Chance took my account of what had happened to me, what I’d seen, what I’d done. It seemed odd to me that she wasn’t wearing...oh, I dunno. Scrubs. A lab coat. But then again, neither had Doctor Morganstern.
Chance questioned me for nearly an hour, writing notes even as she spoke. I wondered if that was something like being ambidextrous, the ability to speak and write at the same time. I’m lucky I can walk and breathe simultaneously without choking.
Chance shuffled some papers. “Your intake sheet says you vomited and then partially lost consciousness. What have you eaten today?”
“A Polish sausage, a curly fry, some coffee.”
“And earlier?”
I felt like a lecture would be coming, but there was nothing I could do to avoid it. Then again, I had no reason to think Doctor Chance was the lecturing type. I sighed. “Coffee. And coffee the day before. A donut yesterday morning. That’s all.”
“Is it common for you to skip meals?”
“No. I don’t know. Yeah, I guess.” She wrote some notes. “It’s a cop thing,” I added lamely.
“I’m scheduling an upper G.I. for you first thing in the morning. Eat bland foods as your appetite allows, then no food after midnight, no water after two a.m., and no more coffee today. Got it?”
“You think I have an ulcer, don’t you?”
“It’s too early to say. But given your medical background, we have to take more precautions than we do with the general public.”
Right. It was more likely that the force wanted to keep me alive so they didn’t have to go through the trouble of finding and training another Psych.
“Drugs?” she asked.
Shit. I wanted to lie about how much Auracel I’d taken the day before. I always lied. But they were testing my blood as we spoke, and lying wouldn’t get me anywhere.
“Auracel, ninety milligrams about twenty-four hours ago.” Chance recorded the number without making me repeat myself, or mentioning that it was triple the highest recommended dosage, or doing a spit-take. I probably should’ve told her about the Seconal, but Seconal’s been discontinued for some time and I hadn’t exactly gotten it through a reputable connection. If it showed up in the tests and they called me on it, I could just say I’d forgotten.
“Would you be able to sleep if you stopped your medications until tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah. Of course. I mean, I’m not dependent or anything. I don’t take them every day.” Just on a bad day. Like a day in which I’ve seen a bush full of scalped heads.
Just thinking about it made me crave an Auracel with a Seconal chaser.
I made an appointment to return at seven a.m., an ungodly hour, but since I wasn’t likely to sleep and couldn’t eat, it was probably for the best.
“About the sleeping,” I said, wondering if I could get my hands on some barbiturates legally. “If you knew of something that could take the edge off -- maybe you could write....”
“We’ll see after your blood work comes back. Good night, detective.”
Was it night? I checked my watch. Quarter past seven. I wanted to be home. I wished I’d been born with the ability to teleport instead of hearing the dead. And I wondered if Roger’d bought another cup of coffee for me while he was waiting.
I opened the door to the lobby and nearly bought the idea that my desire to teleport had made it happen; Jacob stared at me from a seat directly across from the door. He had on a pair of jeans, one of his incredibly form-fitting black T-shirts, and a plain leather jacket. He was on his feet and halfway across the room before I even cleared the doorway. “What happened?” he asked me.
I blinked and looked around. A yellow streetlight shone through the thick safety glass on the door. The receptionist’s window was dark and he
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