Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

Young Mark crept up carefully, quietly. He hid behind the cart and slowly rose up to look over it. Beyond, he saw a short hallway, similarly paneled with the dark mahogany. Another door stood open at the end of the hallway, the source of the light. Mark was drawn forward, and he tiptoed around the cart and into the passageway. He approached cautiously.

As he moved closer to the light coming from the open door, Mark began to hear something… a quiet sobbing. He stopped abruptly, trying to melt into the wall. The sobbing was subdued, eerie. After a moment he continued forward. Slowly. Carefully.

As young Mark approached the door, the sobbing grew louder. Mark leaned around the edge of the door and carefully looked in. The nurse was leaning over a hospital bed, trying to dispense a spoonful of the medicine to a woman. The woman’s head twisted violently from side to side, trying to avoid the medicine. The nurse grabbed the woman’s chin and forced the medicine between her clenched lips. As the nurse stood back up, Mark got a better look at the woman. She was middle aged, brown hair a rat’s nest that hung down her forehead almost covering her eyes. She was scary, but the thing that frightened young Mark the most was that she was bound to the bed, hands tied with leather straps to the bedframe. The patient lifted her face, staring directly at Mark. She opened her mouth to scream, when a light began to grow behind her head. The light behind her face grew larger, brighter, eventually haloing her head, diffusing the edges of her face and finally absorbing her face completely.

A painful odor attacked Mark’s nostrils. As the fire in his sinuses abated, Ellen’s face came slowly into focus.

“Mark… Mark… You okay?” Ellen asked.

Mark realized he was laying in the middle of the floor, looking up at the lobby ceiling. Another woman, mid- to late forties, wearing a white lab coat, was kneeling over him. She came into view next to Ellen. She waved a small vial under his nose.

The fire returned to Mark’s nostrils. His head snapped back and Mark pushed the woman’s hand away. “Yeah… Yeah… Enough!” Mark said.

Ellen’s face came back into view. “Damn, Mark. You just spun right into the floor.”

“Sit up. Slowly,” the woman told Mark.

Ellen and the woman helped Mark up into a sitting position. A nurse, wearing floral scrubs, brought a cup of water.

The woman took the water from the nurse and offered it to Mark.

“Here,” she said. “Sips only.”

Mark sat up and took a sip, as instructed.

“Better?” the woman asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” Mark said. The room was still spinning a bit, but he was getting his stability back.

“This is Dr. Drexel,” Ellen introduced the woman in the lab coat. “She’s the hospital administrator.”

“Did you have breakfast?” Dr. Drexel asked.

Mark took a second to size her up. Mid-forties. The grey streaks at her temples didn’t detract from her elegant looks. “Yeah,” Mark said. “A big one. I don’t know what happened. This is really embarrassing.”

Mark started to stand. The women helped him, one on each side.

“Easy,” Dr. Drexel said.

They got Mark up, but both stood ready on either side of him.

“You’re awfully pale, Mark. You going to be okay?” Ellen asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Mark said as he took another drink of water. He could feel Dr. Drexel looking him over. Was she worried about his health? Or was she more concerned about what he was doing here?

“Why don’t we go into my office?” Dr. Drexel said. “You can rest there.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Mark said. “We can get on with the interview.”

Dr. Drexel took his arm, helping to steady him. “If you’re up to it.”

“I think I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” Mark looked over at Ellen. He nodded over at the camera sitting on the floor.

Ellen took the hint and retrieved her equipment.

“After you,” Mark told Dr. Drexel.

Drexel supported Mark for a few steps, then he gently pulled his arm away as he felt his full composure return. He didn’t need to feel like he had to be friendly with Dr. Drexel — he might need to ask her some tough questions.

Mark glanced back to see that Ellen had retrieved the camera. They both followed Dr. Drexel past the staircase on the left, then turned left down the hallway. It was different than the hallway Mark had looked down — the one that had seemed to cause his stability problem. This hallway was well lit, some daylight streaming in through large windows.

Dr. Drexel stopped at a door on the left. She retrieved her key from a pocket in her lab coat and opened the door.

Mark glanced at the placard on the door frame:

“Come in, please,” Dr. Drexel said.

Mark followed her inside. The office was certainly not what Mark had expected. It was large, classically elegant. Dr. Drexel’s antique, oak desk was clear of clutter: only a phone, with a large chair behind it and two smaller guest chairs at its front — all appeared early twentieth century. At the other end of the room was a large leather sofa, and a leather chair situated next to it. One wall had several tall, uncovered windows, which let the sunlight stream in. The light highlighted dark paneling and built in bookcases on the other side of the room. The bookcases were filled. Mark glanced at the books — some appeared quite new, but others were very dated — leather bound.

Two things looked immediately out of place. In the corner between the sofa and the bookcases was a large video monitor on a mobile stand, the modern technology contrasting harshly with the ‘old-school’ feel of the office. Near Dr. Drexel’s desk were several cardboard boxes, some already filled with personal items.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Dr. Drexel motioned to the two chairs near her desk.

Mark took one of the chairs as Dr. Drexel sat down behind her desk.

Ellen pulled a small, collapsible tripod out of the camera box and mounted the camera on it.

“Is it okay if we video?” Mark asked.

Drexel looked at the camera.

Mark could see a hint of displeasure on Drexel’s face before she turned back to him and put on a broad smile.

“Of course,” Drexel said. “Are you sure you’re up to this?”

Mark looked over at Ellen.

Ellen nodded and flipped the camera on.

Mark turned back to Dr. Drexel: ‘I’m fine. Sorry about that.”

Dr. Drexel leaned forward a bit from behind her desk: “When was the last time you had a checkup?”

Mark caught himself thinking back, trying to remember the last time he had even thought about going to the doctor. Then he caught himself. This woman was a psychiatrist — she’s trained in getting into her patient’s heads. He couldn’t let that happen. “It’s been a while,” Mark finally said, hoping to cut off her inquiry.

“Typical. Most men ignore their health until it becomes a problem.” Dr. Drexel looked over at Ellen, as if to gain her agreement.

Mark watched the unspoken conversation between the two women.

Ellen noticed Mark’s look. She turned her attention to the camera. “Ready,” she said to Mark.

Mark looked back at Dr. Drexel. “If it’s okay, I’d like to get started with the interview.” Mark took out a small note pad and pen.

“Of course,” Drexel said.

Mark glanced back over at Ellen.

“Rolling,” Ellen said.

Mark then turned his attention back to Drexel: “Thanks very much for talking to us, Dr. Drexel,” Mark said.

“My pleasure.”