WHO, ME? You wake up in a hospital with a temporary case of amnesia.
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I open my eyes and suddenly I am blinded by an intense light. The pain in my head is incredible and I close my eyes again. Where am I? Some kind of laboratory?
No, that can't be it.
I hear the sounds of hushed voices. I open my eyes again and a shadow falls over me.
"Doctor, he's awake," says a barely feminine voice coming from a thick, dark blurry figure.
"What? Let me see," says a masculine voice, then another, thinner, blurry figure joins the first. "Hmmm..."
"Well?" the female asks, impatience obvious in the tone of her voice.
"Do you know where you are, son?" the doctor asks.
"No, I..."
"See!" the nurse exclaims.
"Yes, yes, I see," the doctor says. He reaches behind me and helps me sit up. "Can you see anything?"
Slowly, I look around the room. All I see are vague, blurry shapes in shades of blue and white and black.
"Not really," I say. I see light and color, but not much else.
"Do you know who you are?"
I stop and think. I realize I haven't the faintest idea who I am, but for some reason that knowledge doesn't frighten me. I shake my head in answer to his question.
"I was afraid of that," he says quietly. "Does the name Steven Maddux mean anything to you, son?"
"No," I say slowly. "Why? Should it?"
"I should say so, young man. That's who you are. You're Steven Maddux."
"I am? Where do I live? What do I do for a living?"
"Ah, I'm getting to that. You won't like what you hear, I'm afraid."
"Anything's better than not knowing," I said, panic finally beginning to set in.
I heard the sound of a stool being wheeled closer, then the doctor's blurry blue shape grew smaller and I realized he was lowering himself onto the seat.
"Well, son, it's a long story, but in brief, you are a murderer. You killed a man in a bar fight and your punishment was that you should have your memory erased."
I wrack my brain for some memory of the event the doctor just mentioned. From somewhere deep within my mind, I see an image of a large man, bald and goateed, standing over me. His arms are crossed and he is smirking.
"Was he bald," I ask.
"Who?"
"The man I killed. Was he bald?"
"Mmmm...actually, I think he was," the doctor said.
I tried to focus on his fuzzy form and my vision began to clear just a little. I could tell the doctor had brown hair and a mustache.
"I remember him...sort of," I said, trying to remember more.
"This is not good news, not good at all," the doctor says.
"It isn't?" I ask, confused.
"See, if you remember, it means that your treatment didn't take. As a result, you will be sentenced to die."
"What? No!" I cry, grabbing hold of the doctor's collar. "Please! Help me!"
The doctor becomes silent and I strain my eyes to see him more clearly. I begin to see more details, such as the lapel pin on his jacket and the way his heavy eyebrows almost connect in the middle.
"There is one thing I can try, but it could kill you."
"I'll try anything," I say quietly, pulling my hands away and tightly gripping the edge of the hospital bed.
"Alright," he says, standing and whispering something to the nurse. She leaves the room and the doctor sits back down. Neither of us speak for several minutes, then the nurse comes back.
"Here you are, doctor," she says.
I can see much more clearly now and I see that the nurse is a large woman, easily over 300 pounds. Her hair is black and she has a large wart in the middle of her left cheek. The most startling thing about her, however, is how much her eyes stand out. She reminds me of a large, fat fly with a human's body. I shiver involuntarily.
"Alright, this will hurt for only a moment, but then you should begin to feel it start to work," the doctor says.
"Okay," I say, trying to relax my arm as he inserts the needle.
"Let me know when you start to feel something," he says, throwing the needle away and sitting back down on the stool.
My eyelids begin to grow heavy and I lie back against the foam padding.
"I feel...funny..." I slur. I feel drunk. The world spins wildly around me and I can't focus on any one thing. I close my eyes to keep from getting dizzy.
"Are you in any pain?" the doctor asks.
"N....no..." I say, letting the darkness take me.
"Doctor, what now?" the nurse asks.
"Now, we wait. It should be just a few moments."
I listen to the beeping of a nearby monitor. It slows gradually over time until it no longer beeps.
"Doctor?" the nurse asks.
"Note the time of death was at 0246," the doctor sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I hate this job, luring them into some sense of comfort with the belief that I can help them. I am a doctor. I'm supposed to heal people, not bring them to an early death. It isn't right!"
"No, it isn't, but it's the way we do things around here," says another, younger doctor upon entering the room. "Get used to it, Virgil. They commit these crimes, they should be prepared to pay for them."
"I don't like it," Virgil says angrily. "If we're going to kill them for their crimes, we should just tell them that's what we're going to do and get it over with. We shouldn't lie to them."
"Ah, but it's more humane this way."
"Humane?" Virgil laughs, the sound lacking mirth. He removes his stethoscope and his jacket and lays them on a nearby table. "I quit. I can't do this anymore. I'm through."
With those words, Doctor Virgil walks out of the room, down the hall and out of the hospital. He knows the numbers 0246 will stick inside his mind for the rest of his life. He will never forget...
He crosses the parking lot and spots his car, but just as he steps down from the sidewalk, a truck's tires squeal. He looks up to his left. He has no time to jump back. The impact is quick, his death instantaneous.
The nurse and the other doctor watch from a window on the fifth floor of the hospital.
"Nurse Wright," the doctor says quietly.
"Yes, Doctor Warren?"
"Remember what happened to Virgil, should you ever begin to develop a conscience."
The nurse looks out the window, a mixture of fear and determination on her ugly face.
"Yes, doctor."
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Who, Me? piece is copyright © 2009 by Lois Eighmy
