Of Illnesses And Antidotes - Chapter One

10 years later

***

"Child zero-six-four-three-three-zero, please report to Dr Warren's lab."

The mahogany door swings open and a glum, dark-haired boy traipses out. Stepping forward, I grasp the brass handle, twist it and push against the door. Slipping through the void in the doorway, I head into the room and the door slams shut behind me.

Four whitewashed walls enshroud the laboratory from prying eyes, its secrets still classified. Elmwood cupboards march along the entire width of the back wall, on both the bottom sector and top, leaving a blank strip of bright white paint in the middle. Adorning its adjacent walls are shelves stacked with hefty books, many of which are caked in dust, and maps of the human body's anatomy. No photographs. No paintings. No personalised touches that supply comfort to a room that many people dread to visit.

Pressed tightly against the wall I entered through are metal cabinets crammed with folders of various patients, most of which are still alive. Those of which that aren't remain at the back of the drawers, dog-eared and dusty and dying to be thrown away. Someone just hasn't been bothered to.

In the centre of the room is a reclining seat covered loosely with a thin, white, paper sheet. A large lamp stands beside it, its lens positioned directly over the headrest of the seat. On the other side of the seat is a plastic, white swivel chair, completing the lab's monotonous theme. Perched in the seat, is a middle-aged woman donning a large, white coat that’s slightly too big for her. Her straightened chestnut hair is pinned up into a messy bun, small strands escaping to frame her pale face. A constellation of faint freckles surrounds her nose, a pair of square, black-rimmed spectacles slowly sliding down it. Her soft, brown eyes are fixated on the clipboard she grasps with one hand. T00he other scribbles words down onto it, her lips parting slightly to mouth the words she writes. A moment later, she clips the pen to the top of the clipboard, places it down on a three-drawer cabinet next to her, pushes her glasses further up her nose and glances up at me. She smiles warmly.

"Morning, Naomi."

I return the smile and head towards her. "Good morning, Dr Warren."

She pats down on the reclining seat. "Come sit. I haven't seen you in a while."

I shake my head, smiling to myself, as I stride towards her. "Boy, you won't believe what I've been through."

Sitting down on the seat, I swing my legs around and relax back into it. Glancing over at her, I watch her open up a manila folder, a grim-looking photo of me paper-clipped to the cover as well as my number scrawled in thick marker pen next to it. Withdrawn from the folder, comes my recently updated medical record.

"Hmm." She frowns, slightly perplexed by the changes. "Your latest tests include an EMG and an NCV. Both show positive results, particularly the NCV: it shows a small loss of nerve. Unless, of course, you regained your nerve in a record three days." Her eyes flit up to look at me. "Want to tell me why you've had tests for Brachial Plexus Axonotmesis?"

I shrug. "It's no big deal."

"Hmph." She pushes her glass further up her nose once again. "Then let's begin."

"How's your day been?" I ask her as she washes her hands.

She raises her eyebrow. "It's nine-thirty in the morning, Naomi. I'm pretty sure I've only been up a couple of hours."

I smile sheepishly. "Sorry, my mind's all over the place."

"No worries. And to answer your question, I've had an excellent day so far; or, should I say, an excelled three and a half hours.” She chuckles lightly. “How's your day been?"

"Alright, I guess. Breakfast was dismal as usual."

"I see." She dries her hands. "Now, this won't hurt a bit."

"That's what they said last time. I ended up in a sick bay for two weeks with nerve damage."

She smiles wryly at me and gently tugs the sleeve of my jumpsuit up onto the ridge of my shoulder. "Well, they mustn't have been as skilled as I am." Dipping her index finger into a small, glass pot of ivory cream, she scoops up a blob the size of a pea and presses it softly into the stretch of skin concealing the deltoid.

"So it's not going to hurt?"

She looks up at me, raising her eyebrows. "When has it ever?"

Cleansing her hands in soapy water that reeks of coconut oil, she dries them on a flimsy paper towel then rolls up the sleeves of her white coat. Her fingers brush over an array of needles half filled with a clear liquid before stopping to grasp one right at the end of the row. She poises her hand. The sharp point of the needle slices through the air and into my deltoid muscle. One minute it's in my sight, the next minute my blood is being invaded with a medicine that overwhelms me with a sudden wooziness. I grimace.

Blinking several times, I glance to my shoulder and watch as a pinprick of scarlet blood trickles down towards my elbow. Looking up at her, she smiles at me and slaps a small, round plaster over the aperture embedded in my skin.

"Thanks, Dr Warren."

She smiles warmly at me. "No problem, Naomi." She rewashes her hands in the coconut lotion. "How have you been these past couple of weeks?"

"Meh." I shrug. "Nothing's really happened. Well, apart from the..." I pause. "How do you say it? Brachial Plexus Axonotmesis."

Dr Warren frowns. "Who was administering your medicine when they severed your axons?"

"Dr Quinn."

She sighs, tutting. "Marcus. I told them he wasn't ready yet but nobody listened to me. They were just so impatient to get a replacement after Dr Tennyson quit. It was meant to be so crucial to get a replacement quickly." She pulls a face and shakes her head in disbelief. "Oh, forget it. It was probably an accident. How is your arm, anyway?"

"Alright. What do you mean by Marcus...Dr Quinn isn't ready yet?"

"He's too young. He hasn't earned enough qualifications to register him as a proper doctor suited to these facilities."

"Then why hire him?" I frown. "It doesn't make sense."

Dr Warren shrugs. "Like I said: they were desperate for a replacement."

“Surely there would’ve been a more qualified doctor available. Dr Quinn isn’t the only doctor in the world.”

“A position like this is controversial, Naomi,” Dr Warren says. “It’s a very well-paid, prestigious role, but the cost in terms of the work doesn’t appeal to a great deal of doctors. Most doctors in fact.”

“Why not?”

Dr Warren smiles. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“That’s unfair.”

“That’s life, I’m afraid.”

I roll my eyes. “Life’s boring. It’s the same every minute of every hour of every day of every year that passes by.”

Dr Warren mutters something under her breath, which sounds similar to, “Wait until you’re eighteen.” But then again, I cannot be too sure.

Standing up, I roll my sleeve down again. "See you later, Dr Warren. Have a good day."

"You too. Oh, and Naomi."

I turn around, just as I reach the door. "Yes?"

"Be careful." Her forehead is creased with stress lines. "Try not to get into trouble."

I grin. "Since when do I ever?"

Dr Warren puts her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow, purposefully. “Go on, before you get me fired for idleness.”

Turning around, I drag the door open and exit the lab. The minute I step foot into the corridor, another boy darts past me and through the narrowing gap in the doorway, his number drowned out by the sound of the door slamming shut. Rolling my eyes, I head down the corridor towards the pharmacy.

"Hey, Nay! Did the doctor kill your other arm?"

Glancing to my left, I catch sight of Michael and his cronies, loitering around the back of the queue to Dr Warren's lab, the three of them smirking at me.

"Oh, go screw yourself," I snap, glaring at them. "At least my medicine didn't cause my dick to get inflamed." Michael's grin drops off his face. My grin resurfaces.

“How did you-“

“Ask Charlie.” I nod at the tall, lanky boy on his right. He takes a step back, concealing himself behind Michael, but not before I catch a glimpse of his reddened cheeks. “I’m pretty sure when I asked the four hundred and ninety-six people who had told them, his name came up somewhere along the line.”

Michael’s face grows stormy. He pivots around to face a cowering Charlie. Smiling smugly, I turn on my heel and stride away from them. Rounding a corner, I halt beside a sandy door with a bold PRIVATE sign tacked to it. Slipping in through the side-door, I head into the pharmacy.

The pungent odour of disinfectant hits me like a slap to the face, overpowering my senses and leaving me nose-blind. Wrinkling my nose, I shake my head and stride down the aisles of antidotes and antibiotics, humming quietly to myself. Entering a box room at the back of the pharmacy, I grab myself an apron and throw it over myself. Fumbling with the strings, I cross the room to find a surgical mask and eventually manage to tie it around my waist. I seize a mask and gently hook it over my ears, fixing it into position over my mouth. Glancing into a mirror, I smile at how professional I look. Not that I can see my smile; I just take the word of my muscles, hoping they pulled back the corners of my mouth into a cheerful expression.

"You're early."

Spinning around, I face a middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. A short bob of ginger hair bounces off her shoulders, granting her a youthful expression. However, I can see clearly through that, into her real age. Her grey eyes sparkle and her eyebrows are raised in surprise. She folds her arms and leans gently against the door frame.

"Dr Warren doesn't like to keep her patients waiting."

A smile breaks out onto her face. "How are you, Naomi?"

"Good, thanks, Dr Craig. And you?"

"Oh, you know." She shrugs. "Every day's been the same since adulthood. Enjoy your youth while you can."

"Why do you say that?" I ask curiously. "We're told being an adult is one of the most rewarding things in the world."

"And why do you think that?" Dr Craig queries.

"I don't think it. I believe it. There's a difference."

"Okay, then why do you believe it?"

"Well, adults get everything. Jobs, money, a family, children..." I trail off. "If any of us ever actually get that.”

“And why do you say that?” Dr Craig asks in surprise.

“These illnesses.” I shrug. “If none of us are cured, I’m guessing we’ll never enjoy the luxury of adulthood.” I sigh, then smile cheerfully. “Got to remain optimistic, eh? Anyway, what have we got today?"

"Marcia needs some help with measuring out the doses. I told her you'd help her out. Is that okay?"

"Anything's okay if it doesn't involve killing my other arm. I've had enough of this one being an inconvenience."

Dr Craig smiles warmly. "You know, Naomi, I've never seen a child with spirits so high as yours."

"And why do you say that, Dr Craig?"

She remains silent for a moment or two, contemplating my question. "I guess it's nice, not to have everyone moping around, complaining about their miserable life."

"Well, it's like you said, Dr Craig. We have to enjoy our youth while we can."