Page 27 - Effable Encounters

Fantasy and Fugue

here. I’m getting little goose bumps all over, just taking it all in. But
look at the possibilities: all that blank white wall space! You could
paint a mural of all your patients on that wall, and another one of all
the hospital staff over there. That would be fun! I’ll help you if you
want to start on it right now.”
Chesterton started to rise from his chair, but the doctor reached
over and easily pushed him back down. A strange sort of euphoria,
mused Wheelhouse, jotting a few notes on his steno pad; almost
psychedelic, but I know he tested negative for alkaloids. Might be
false, though. Can’t trust the labs here. Better look again for
hallucinogens.
“Not today, Mr. Chesterton. We’ll have to go through a very long
approval process before we alter the decor in here. For now, perhaps
you can tell me more about this room and how you feel about being
in it.”
The man was silent, and Wheelhouse wondered whether he had
shoved him back with more force than necessary. Chesterton’s
enthusiastic expression was gone, replaced by an anxious, haunted
look.
“Mr. Chesterton? Albert? Can you hear me?” The doctor fumbled
in his lab coat for the mundane tools of his trade, stethoscope and
thermometer, but they were not needed.
“Eh, you know me?” said the patient, blinking and glancing warily
at his surroundings. ”Where am I? Still in this loony bin, no
doubt. Doesn’t matter. One place the same as any other. I’m a
stranger here. You look like a foreigner, yourself. Maybe you’re a
doctor in that outfit—but you don’t scare me: you’re stuck here just
like me. Oh, yes, you can go home or anywhere else you want at the
end of the day, but so what? You’ll die, same as me, still wondering
what it’s all about—or if it’s about anything at all. Just a cruel joke,
with no perpetrator. Well, you can do whatever you want to me: pain
or pleasure, it’s all the same. I don’t know what I did to get thrown
into this place, but it wouldn’t mean anything even if you could
explain it. God, that light is blinding! How can I think with that in my
eyes?”
Dr. Wheelhouse scribbled furiously on his pad. Were these
multiple personalities? Or just temporary pathological outbursts

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