“God dammit, shut up!”
Turning around, I see the whole room staring at a red-faced elderly man with a cane. Struggling to his feet, he points the cane at the woman with the high heels. “Shut up!”
“Fuck you,” she responds, snapping her gum and returning her gaze to the wall.
“Fuck me? Fuck me?” The old man rocks back on his feet, his face turning a deep shade of purple. I step quickly over to him and put my hands on his shoulders.
“Hey, buddy,” I say in a soft voice. “It’s bothering me, too.”
A nurse steps into the waiting room from the office area. “Mr. James,” she says, soothingly. “It’s time for you to come in.”
Mr. James takes a deep breath and starts to walk toward the door to the office. The nurse guides him into the back with one hand on his arm.
When I return to my seat, Sam is laughing quietly. “I thought he was going to beat her with that cane,” she whispers.
“I wish she had gone back instead. I’m about ready to beat her with her own shoe.” The woman has resumed her foot tapping and without paperwork to distract me, I’m aware that I won’t last long before I have to say something to her.
Another woman beats me to it. “Hey, lady.”
The shoe-tapper looks up. “What?”
“Stop tapping your foot. It’s pissing me off.”
The tapper stands up. “Oh yeah. Well, your ugly face is pissing me off.”
The other woman stands, as well. Sam grins. “Chick fight. Yeah.”
Sighing, I stand up as well. “Ladies, seriously.”
The tapper barely glances my way. “Fuck you.”
The nurse steps out of the office again. “Ms. Lowry? You’re next.”
The tapper stalks toward the nurse and I breathe a sigh of relief. The other woman goes back to her seat. Sam is shaking her head and laughing. “The locals say when two women have a fist fight in the waiting room it’s going to be a bad hurricane season.”
“Oh, very droll.”
With the tapper out of the way, the tension has gone out of the room. I still feel on edge, though. Picking up a magazine, I flip through it until the nurse comes for me.
After weighing me and taking my blood pressure, she leaves me in an examination room. I barely have time to get impatient before Dr. B taps on the door. She comes in, smiling.
“Dana, how are you?”
“I’m fine.”
“If you’re fine, then why are you here?”
I look at her face for a few moments, wondering how much to tell her. Dr. B has a genuine smile and a warm, open face. When I first met her, I guessed her in her forties, but up close, I’d say she is probably in her fifties. The lines around her eyes and mouth suggest a lot of laughing and smiling. Her hair is a lovely shade of light brown and today, it is pulled back in a professional looking bun. She sits patiently through my assessment. After a few moments, I decide to tell her everything.
“There once was a little girl who used to have dreams about death.”
Dr. B smiles. “And?”
I launch into the whole story. This is going to take forever and I know she has other patients, but once I start talking, I can’t seem to stop. “And then Fran came into my life and the visions came back.”
“Tell me more about the visions. Does your vision change before they occur? Do you see spots? Headaches?”
“They feel like the beginning of a panic attack. It’s worth noting that I have those as well, but whether they are caused by the visions or something entirely different, I don’t know.”
She nods and I continue. Telling her about the arrival of Esmé on the island and how things have gotten worse since then. I even tell her about Voldemort’s tent in my yard and tripping over a chicken. I feel as if I’m half out of myself, watching me tell the story from a distance. I’m disconnected from this entire scene.
Dr. Brawley listens quietly until I have talked myself hoarse. When I finish, she says, “I think I’d like to order some tests to rule out any physical ailments. I can schedule an MRI and...”
“Wait. I honestly don’t think there’s something physically wrong with me. I only came here because Sam was going to have a breakdown if I didn’t.”
“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to rule out the possibility of neurological disorders or epilepsy.”
“Or schizophrenia?”
“I think we should start with sending you to a neurologist.”
Shaking my head, I lean back on the table and close my eyes. “Modern science always assumes those who fall outside of the laws of physics are psychotic.”
“Dana, I don’t think you’re psychotic. I just want to make sure you aren’t in danger. Brain trauma can be very serious. I don’t want you to die of something I could have prevented if only I convinced you to get some tests.”