Young Writers Society

“Listen,” he leaned in over her desk and pointed at her left breast, “has anyone, ever, uh…”

Something like worry began to appear on Diana’s face. She leaned back as far as the back of her swivel chair would allow and gave him a nervous smile. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I have to… I have to know!” he said suddenly, rounded the desk and began pulling up Diana’s pullover.

“Hey, er…” inquired Bob Morton as he came over.

“Stop it, stop it, he’s lost it, help!” screamed Diana.

Sam grabbed hold of Diana’s right hand, turned to give Morton a smack on the face just to give him something to think about, then gave Diana a weaker smack to hint at possible stronger smacks if she doesn’t behave, and finally bared her flesh.

Impatiently he pulled her bra down and pawed at her breast, until it finally fell out.

“I knew it! What is this? What is this!?” he snarled at the whimpering Diana, poking with his finger the ragged scar which disfigured the side of her left breast. Exactly where the man in his vision had been eating away at it.
He wasn’t crazy after all.

Then his whole body went into a spasm of pain.

**
Sam sat on a chair with black upholstery which squeaked every time he moved a muscle.

In front of him, in another chair, sat Dr. Sneider. Between them was a small glass table on which stood two glasses of water and the doctor’s notepad.

“Security had to tase you,” said Dr. Sneider. “And I had to pull strings to have you delivered here out of custody, instead of into some godforsaken institution for evaluation.”

“Thanks, I guess,” said Sam, gingerly brushed away a lock of hair from his forehead. The chair squeaked.

“Now what is this all about?” The doctor looked at Sam with reproach. “You have obviously stopped taking your pills. I should have never believed you when you phoned that excuse to miss your monthly check up. What’s up?”

Sam shrugged. “I just thought it wasn’t right.”

“Wasn’t right...” repeated Sneider. “And why did you assault Mrs. Pengler and Mr.Morton?”

“I didn’t assault them,” said Sam and looked away.

“They say you did. You groped Mrs. Pengler and you punched Mr.Morton in the face.”

“No, no, that’s not the way it was,” Sam moved uncomfortably. The chair squeaked again. “Bob was just in the way and Diana… I didn’t attack Diana. I just had to make sure.”

“Yes?” prodded the doctor.

“I have these nightmares, doc. Nightmares and visions.” Sam licked his lips. “People attacking each other. Biting each other like beasts. Like demons.” He leaned forward. “Sometimes it feels like something bad has happened some time ago, but we have all forgotten it for some reason.”

“Ah, a conspiracy to suppress people’s memories,” smiled Sneider and raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Look, I know how this sounds,” said Sam and then he straightened out.” But she did have the bite marks on her breast, just as I had seen it in my vision. She had been attacked, doctor, I saw it with my own eyes!”

Dr. Sneider pursed his lips and sighed. “Your co-worker is a breast cancer survivor, Sam. You saw scars from a tumor removal intervention.”

Sam’s head span. Cold sweat broke out on his temples. “No, no, what? Are you sure? Cancer?”

The doctor didn’t answer. He looked at Sam and then said: “Let’s get back to the mood stabilizers? Why did you stop them, really? Did you think they suppress these so-called memories?”

“No, I just…” spread his hands Sam, and as the doctor tapped his left leg with a pen, another vision unfolded.
Sam saw the doctor flailing away at an assailant, stabbing at his head with a pen even as the man bit a chunk out of the doctor’s thigh.

“Sam, what’s wrong? You’re shaking,” said the doctor carefully.

Sam swallowed hard, and stood up. “Your leg doc, do you mind showing your leg?”

“My leg?”

“I had a vision that one of the madmen took a bite out of your leg. Show me! Please.”

The doctor smiled. “But I do have a mark there. Car accident. You see, I have a barely noticeable limp, and your unconscious mind has noted it, and embellished it with your, frankly pulp fare story.”

Sam looked at the doctor indecisively, and then certain sounds floated through the open window.

Familiar sounds, which evoked the nauseating thick air of that animal state of longing and biting and tearing and drooling.

Sam crossed the room and leaned out of the window. An odd combination of terror and triumph hit him as he saw what was happening. Two stories below, on the street, two men and a girl were attacking a pedestrian, stripping away his clothes, trying to bite him.

“Look, doctor, look!” said Sam and then he gasped as a needle pricked his arm.

The doctor was standing by him with a syringe in hand.

“Hey,” Sam rubbed his arm, and pointed through the window, “look for yourself, I was right all along.”

Down on the street three uniformed men had appeared. Tiny blue lightnings crackled as the attackers were subdued by shock buttons. In seconds all three were handcuffed, yet still they bended and snarled and snapped at the policemen and at each other.

One of the policemen was talking to the shaken victim. An ambulance arrived and the man was quickly escorted into it.

A soft lethargy spread over Sam. He rubbed the place where he had been injected and looked at the doctor.

Sneider gazed sternly into Sam’s eyes. “I didn’t see anything down there and neither did you!”

“But, but I--”

“Look into my eyes, Sam.” The doctor’s eyes suddenly seemed like magnets; Sam couldn’t look away, and he didn’t want to look away. He felt very light and calm.

“You only saw a pickpocket grab a lady’s purse, nothing else,” said the doctor. “I will now count to three. When I reach ‘Three’ and snap my fingers you will have forgotten all this nonsense. There are no flesh eating zombies and there never were.”

“One,” he said, and Sam felt his worries leave him.

“Two.”

Sam looked into the doctor’s eyes and smiled.

“Three.”

Sneider snapped his fingers.

Sam exhaled and blinked. “Ah, sorry, doc, I tuned out for a second there. What were you saying?”

“That’s alright, Sam.” The doctor went to his desk, and Sam followed. “I was telling you about your new prescription. These are new pills, developed in Europe, and they are supposed to have very few side effect, if any. The nightmares will stop in no time, as will the mood swings.”

“Thanks, doc, I’ll give them a try,” said Sam as he pocketed the paper.

Sneider opened the door. “Now you make sure to buy poor Mrs. Pengler some flowers and a cake, and a bottle of wine to Mr.Morton. Tell them I guarantee this will never happen again.”

They shook hands. “I will, I owe you, doc,” said Sam earnestly, and went out.

He bought Diana candy instead of a cake, and got a bottle of Chilean wine for Bob.

He went past a fire hydrant. Something about it bothered him. He looked at it. There was nothing wrong with it. Focus, man, he told himself, you have to show you’re alright now. Enough with the crazy stuff.
He shrugged, lit a cigarette, and went on his way.

THE END