MW: Slate #2

[Ken Cooney]

               S         L        A        T        E


                    Issue 2.  by Ken Cooney
                         
[This metaworld series is intended for a mature audience.  This issue
 contains some violence and language.]
 
"Limb by limb and tooth by tooth
 It's tearing up inside of me.
 Every day, every hour
 Wish that I
 Was bulletproof."

-- Radiohead "Bulletproof ... I Wish I Was"


   I'm in a dark room.  Naked.  I notice a bright light ahead of me
and put up my right hand to shade my eyes.  I can't see what's making
that light.  I hear a distant high pitched beep.  I look down at my
chest and don't see a scar.  I look back to the light and start to
feel warm.  A very low whispering wind wraps around my face.  The wind
makes its way around my body in circles and wraps its way back up to
my ear.  In the distance there's another beep.  I try to lift my legs
to move toward the light but my legs won't obey.  The wind turns into
a soft whisper; a female voice.  "Not now," she hushes.  The light
fades, the wind dies down, and I'm in darkness again.  Beep.

                       *       *      *

   My eyes slowly open and I try to adjust to the artificial light.  I
am in a bed with an IV in my arm.  A nurse with her bad toward me is
checking on my vital signs on the machine.  She turns my way.
   "Looks like you're awake."
   She smiles.  She has straight strawberry blond hair that rests on
her shoulders, deep brown eyes, and some freckles on her nose.
   "We couldn't find any identification," she continued.
   "Matt Douglass," I replied, remembering my made up name.  I felt a
bad taste in my mouth as that lie rolled off my tongue.  I wondered if
she could sense it.
   "Matthew-"
   "Just Matt," I replied.
   "Matt," she said, writing it on the chart.
   "We found no ID, no credit cards.  If you had them, someone stole
them.  Maybe the same person that kicked the heck out of you.  The
person didn't take the money, what little there was." she said.  "You
can use the hospital phone if you need to call credit card companies-"
   "I don't have any credit cards," I replied.
   She paused as if a bit frustrated that I broke her stream of
thought but then a short smile washed over her face and the wrinkles
on her brow disappeared.
   "Ok," she said, thinking. "Wish I didn't have credit cards.  Worst
things ever."
   She looked at the machine and wrote some more things down.
   "A stranger brought you in, saw you at the side of the road.  He
saw that your shirt had a tear across your chest and some blood."
   The gun shot.  I remembered the sound and the searing pain.
   "The wound was very superficial.  It looks like whatever it was
just grazed across your chest.  Some very minor superficial burns.
It looks like whatever it was, it was a little warm.  Just some minor
scaring that should go away in a week."
   Minor?  Did I hear that right?  He shot at me point blank, from a
distance of maybe fifteen feet.  Are you telling me I got insanely
lucky and the bullet grazed me?  How could he?  We were perpendicular
from each other.  I couldn't have been a clearer target.  I felt a
surge of panic rush over me and had to calm  down.  I looked back at
the nurse; her attention was directed at the chart.
   "We did an X-Ray of your chest.  Your ribs are fine.  Just a little
bit of bruising on the stomach, but no broken or bruised ribs.  Must
have not been much of a kicker."
   I clearly remember the hard kicks he gave me.
   "Anyway, I don't see a reason why you wouldn't be able to discharge
yourself in the afternoon after the doctor's seen you."
   She paused and looked up from the chart.
   "Do you need to call someone?"
   "No," I replied.  I guess I could have lied about that, but the
truth came out of my mouth before I had time to stop it and think of a
better answer.
   "You got somewhere to go?"
   "Cincinnati," I said, not knowing where I was and wondering how
stupid that sounded.
   "I see," she said, looking back at the chart.
   Part of me was wondering what was going through her head.  I hope
she didn't think I escaped from an asylum or something.  I had to get
out of here before anything else happened.  The last thing I need is
to be taken away somewhere.
   She took off the device on my finger that was checking my vitals.
"We don't need this anymore since you're up."
   She then walked to the door and put the chart on a hook.  "I'll let
the doctor know you're awake."
   The nurse left the room and closed the door behind her.
   I got up and walked barefoot to the closet.  Why are hospital
floors always so cold?  I paused.  I wondered how often I've been in
hospitals and when the last time was.  I looked inside the closet and
saw my clothes clean and neatly folded.  Shirt, pants, socks, shoes,
and underware.  No jacket.  I paused for a moment.  Yeah, the jacket
was probably left on the bus.  I checked my pants pocket.  Wallet,
money, keys.  No pen or newspaper; those were left in the jacket.  I
still remember everything though, even the time I "woke up".  I'll
visit the gift shop and buy a pad and another pen.  I guess I'm out of
luck in the jacket department.
   I quickly got dressed.  I had to get out of here and try to piece
together what happened and what all of this means.  I was tying my
shoes when the doctor came in.  He was maybe in his mid 50s, a bit
heavyset, with gray balding hair, round rimmed glasses, blue gray
eyes.
   "Hi, I'm doctor Stevenson."
   He gave me a firm handshake.
   "It looks like you were in a light scuffle.  I'm not sure what to
make of the streak of superficial burn across your chest.  Something
hot and metallic.  Maybe a sword.  It's shallow, barely going below
the surface.  We gave you something to ease the pain.  Just take
four Advil in three hours and another two in six and you should be
fine."
   The doctor looked through the chart, flipping a page and reviewing
the notes.  "Whatever ordeal you've been though, you're recovering
well," he said and then looked up from the chart "I don't see a reason
to keep you here any longer, though you may want to grab something to
eat.  Something light.  You've been out for a few days."
   A few days?  I tried to register that fact.  I guess it didn't
matter, at least I hope it didn't.  I hope no one was waiting for me
at the other bus terminal.
   "Oh, we found this lodged in your shoulder," he said, pulling
something out of his pocket and handing it to me. "It's not a bullet.
Too smooth to be shrapnel.  I'm not sure what to make of it."
   It was ovular, about an inch long, smooth, black, metallic.  I
turned the object around with my fingers, trying to remember how it
got there and coming up with nothing.
   "Well," the doctor replied, getting up, "if you don't have any
questions, I'll be on my way."
   "No, I'm fine," I said. "Thanks."
   He left the room and I put the object in my pocket.  Another piece
of the puzzle.  What the hell have I got into?  I needed to eat
something and think.
   I turned to leave when I saw another nurse at the door.
   "Hold on, we need to give you one more shot."
   "Excuse me?" I asked, kind of taken back.
   "It'll only take a second," she said as she walked forward and
placed her hand on my shoulder.
   Two more doctors entered the room.
   "Wait a minute.  I thought I was discharged."
   I backed up a bit, taking this all in.  She was ignoring my
comments, holding a small bottle in her hand, putting a needle into it
and getting a dose of clear liquid it.  The room got a little darker.
I glance back to see one of the doctors closed the blinds.  I felt
a firm grip on my shoulder and turned to see the other doctor holding
down my left arm.
   "Hold him down," she said, tapping the needle.
   "Wait a minute!"
   The other doctor pulled me back and grabbed me from behind.
   "What the hell?!"
   "Hurry," the man behind me ordered.
   I thrust my head back, hitting the doctor behind me in the nose.
   "Motherfucker!"
   I threw a punch with my now freed up right arm, clocking the other
doctor in the chin.  He lost his balance for a second, falling back
up against the wall.
   I glanced back at the nurse,  she was lunging at me, with a death
grip on the needle.  I quickly grabbed her arm and spun her around,
twisting her arm upward, the needle up against her throat.
   "What's this all about!?"
   I moved up against her and turned us around so I could see what
the other two were doing.  One had his hands covering his nose, blood
coming out.  The other was reaching in his pocket.
   "No guns!" She said.
   I pushed the nurse at the doctor as he pulled out his gun.  I then
turned and ran out the door.
  
                       *       *      *

   "Get off!"
   Bert pushed Alison off himself and looked out the door.  Gone.  He
pulled his dress shirt sleeve up to his face.  "The fox is out," he
said, speaking into his cuff link.
   Alison looked up at him with a look of disgust on her face.
   "Don't just stay there, look for him!" he ordered.
   Alison  got up and stormed toward the door.  She quickly turned
and glared back.  Then she turned around, chucked the needle into the
trash, and ran out the door. 
   Bert turned his attention to Don, who was coming out of the
bathroom, holding a face cloth against his face.  "Jesus, Don."
   Don just sat down on the floor, feeling a bit light headed.
   "It's fuckin' amateur night," Bert replied as he headed out the
door.

======================================================================
   SLATE   Issue 2  "Shots and Novocain"  A Metaworld comic.
   Copyright 2009 by Ken Cooney, all rights reserved.
======================================================================

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