Page 13 of Dying for the Doctor

Gulping hungrily, I grind my teeth so hard it hurts. Her aroma fills my senses, and once again the urge to go back to Wanda rises up like a serpent. Turning back to the hospital, I stare up at the glass-and-steel building like I’m searching for a sign.

“What the hell?” Looking up, I count the floors all the way to Seven. Then I count off the windows, my gaze resting on what must be Wanda’s room.

And as I watch, a shadowy figure draws the curtains closed.

Is it Lenworth?

Is that bastard alone in the room with her?

With my Wanda?

MyWanda!

Instantly my vision takes on the red tint of protective rage as I stare up at the window. Of course, it’s totally normal for a nurse or doctor to draw the curtains shut. The late morning sun is hitting that side of the building directly, so of course you’d want to close the curtains. Totally unremarkable. Absolutely reasonable.

Get it together, Drake. Stop seeing things that aren’t there. Get out of here, because you sure as hell can’t trust yourself right now. You’re a loaded gun, a loose cannon, an armed missile ready to launch. Go to your car, whip out your dick, jerk yourself off, then drive the fuck away.

But my gaze is fixed on that window. My feet won’t carry me beyond the threshold of the parking lot gate. My mind is clear as a bell, my vision focused like a laser, my cock pointing straight back to the hospital like a homing device.

And now I’m marching back to the hospital, buttoning up my lab-coat at the front to hide the bulge in my crotch. This is insane, but I’m already striding through the hospital doors again, punching the elevator call button, glancing left and right for those security guys.

No sign of them, but there’s no sign of the elevator either. My heart hammers in my chest with irrational impatience, and now I’m barging through the stairwell door, bounding up the stairs, careening around the corners, my Italian leather shoes pounding the metal steps as I hurdle them two at a time.

By the time I get to Seven, I’m soaked in sweat, breathing hard, totally manic, completely psychotic. Pausing to straighten my coat and slick away the sweat from my forehead, I take a deep breath, then push open the door and step out into the seventh-floor elevator lobby, just past the nurse’s station with all the security-monitors and camera-feeds.

Based on the patient-chart I’d seen earlier, most of the rooms are empty up here, so there aren’t too many staff-members on this floor. Just one male nurse at the nurse-station. He’s talking to a uniformed technician who seems to be checking out the camera-feeds on the computer monitors.

The computer monitors which are all blank right now.

Zero camera feeds operational.

“Why are the cameras off?” I ask, brushing off the male nurse’s wide-eyed look when I lean on the reception desk and stare at the tech-guy. This nurse saw me get escorted out by Security, but Wanda’s room is far down the hallway, so he wouldn’t have witnessed the drama down there. And it’s not like I was dragged out in handcuffs or anything. Anyway, right now I’m more concerned about why the cameras are off up here. My signal-jammer is turned off, and it wouldn’t have worked from all the way in the parking lot anyway.

“Doctor Lenworth asked us to reboot all the camera systems up here.” The tech guy shrugs up at me before turning back to the computer screens. Some diagnostic messages are scrolling across the screen. “It’ll take about an hour.”

Grunting in acknowledgement, I glance down the hall towards Wanda’s room. I feel the male nurse eyeing mesuspiciously, like he isn’t sure what to do, if he should call security or not. But I don’t give a rat’s ass right now. That sickening sense of urgency is directing me towards Wanda’s room. That shadowy figure drawing the curtains closed is fixed in my imagination, fueling my protective paranoia, boiling my possessive blood, my bulging cock and heavy balls sending torrents of sexual energy through my tensed-up body, a potent mix of sex and violence bubbling up in my muscled core.

The blood thunders in my ears as I storm down the hallway. No sign of Wanda’s parents in the waiting area. Wanda’s room door appears to be closed. It better not be locked.

My hard-soled footsteps ricochet off the floor-tiles like gunshots. Behind me I can hear the nurse calling security from the reception-desk phone, but they won’t get here soon enough to stop me from following up on my paranoid hunch, my impulsive intuition, a sixth sense that I didn’t know I had, has only just emerged because suddenly I’ve got someone to protect, someone to possess, someone to . . . love?

The total ridiculousness of my thoughts makes me hesitate, and now time slows down, the hallway seems to lengthen. I’m trying to walk faster, but it’s like I’m wading through quicksand, stuck in a nightmare where I can’t get to the door in time, am always just out of reach. Warning bells are going off in my head, and now in the distance behind me I hear the elevator doors sliding open, the security guards already here, one of them calling my name, saying I’m not supposed to be up here, that Doctor Lenworth has given strict instructions that the patient, Miss Wanda Turner, is not to be disturbed while he examines her, while he probes her, while he violates her, while he tries to take her from you, Drake, steals her from you, Drake, takes what’s yours, Drake, destroys what’s pure, Drake, desecrates your possession, Drake, owns yours obsession, Drake, because she’s yours, Drake, yours, yours, yours, fuckingyours!

Now sound and thought get all mixed up in my overheated brain, and I don’t know if the paranoia is coming from inside or outside, if that security guard is even here or if I’m just imagining things as the possessiveness drives me to madness, the obsession sends me over the edge, the years of murder finally breaking my brain, the desperate need to be with Wanda just a symptom of my psychosis, clear proof that I’m mentally wrecked.

But when I get to the door and realize it’s locked, that paranoia explodes into action, and without bothering to knock like a civilized human being might do, I back up three steps, then launch myself forward, barreling my shoulder into the door like an unhinged beast, a feral animal running wild in the jungle of his own madness.

6

TEN MINUTES EARLIER.

WANDA

The madness of the morning recedes as I watch Doctor Lenworth press the plunger of the syringe, the strong sedative entering my vein and almost immediately making my head buzz. I blink and swallow, wondering how strong of a dose I just got injected with.

“Relax,” Doctor Lenworth says as he pulls the needle out of my arm, tosses the syringe into the hazardous-waste box, then wipes the dot of blood on my skin with an alcohol-soaked cotton swab. “Close your eyes, sweetie. Don’t fight it.”

Don’t fight what? Strange thing for a doctor to say, and for a moment I panic, try to raise my head and see if Mama and Papa are still in the room. Noticing that the door is closed and the deadbolt has been slid shut, I move my lips and discover that they taste like rubber. “Where . . . where are my parents?”

---