Don't Sleep Just Yet | Chapter 4

Don't Sleep Just Yet | Chapter 4

A Chapter by Noëlle McHenry

            It was dark. Ansel wasn’t sure where exactly he was, but it was very dark, and all he could see was pitch black. He tried to remember how he’d wound up there, but the last thing he remembered was… He couldn’t remember. It had something to do with Darcy, that much he recalled, but beyond that, he was lost.

            “Darc?” He hollered, hoping that he wasn’t in the darkness all by himself. “Darcy? Anyone?”

            There was no response. There was only a mechanical click of some sort, and then Ansel saw a spotlight come on to his right. It gave only enough light for him to see the floor in a certain circumference underneath itself.

            “Well,” he muttered under his breath, “this isn’t creepy at all.” There didn’t seem to be any other options, so the man took a few deep breaths and began walking toward the light in the dark. As he did, another snapped on further down the path. Since this kept happening, Ansel started to run.

            He stopped, however, when he heard another light turn on, but found that it wasn’t in front of him. He was standing in pitch darkness, so he turned to his right once more. There was a lit area there. He rolled his eyes, confused by the sudden change of path until he actually tried to walk to it, only to walk right into something. Rubbing his nose, he stepped back. It looked like he could pass through, so what was stopping him? He put his hand out, finding a solid surface upon which he was able to flatten his palm.

            “Glass,” he scoffed. “There’s a glass wall. Now I feel stupid.”

            That was when he saw Darcy. The doctor stepped into the light behind the glass, looking around. Ansel pressed himself closer to the near-invisible wall separating them the minute he recognized him.

            “Ansel?” His friend called out. “Hello?”

            “Darcy!” Ansel started banging his palm against the glass, making a few loud thunks. “Over here!”

            It didn’t seem like the doctor could hear him, as Darcy just kept looking around.

            “Darc? Come on, man, look over here!” He jumped up and down a few times, waving his arms about, before remembering that he was standing in pitch black. Besides, even if Darcy could see or hear him, the light reflecting off of the glass would probably make it hard to distinguish what exactly he was looking at.

            It was very subtle at first, but after a few seconds, Ansel was able to see it: there was someone behind Darcy. He didn’t know who it was, but his mind automatically assumed that it was Jay, and he felt panic flood his system. “Oh God.” He began pounding on the glass even more wildly than before. “Darcy, turn around! Dar�"” He stopped when the figure was illuminated by the light. His jaw dropped, and he did nothing but gawk. It wasn’t possible, what he was seeing. It didn’t make any sense. The person standing behind Darcy… was him.

            It happened in an instant. Ansel watched his own hand clamp onto Darcy’s shoulder, and before the doctor could even react, a long blade was stabbed through�"literally through�"his chest with a spurt of crimson and what could only be subhuman strength. He could hear Darcy choke in a mixture of shock and pain.

            “DARCYY!!”

            Trembling and only half conscious, Darcy glanced over his shoulder at his killer. “Ansel,” Despite everything, the doctor said the name with more love than hurt.

            “You always were a pain in my a*s.”

            Ansel covered his mouth when he realized that the words had come not just from his doppelgänger’s lips, but from his own as well. With those cruel final words still hanging in the air, he saw his other self shove Darcy off of the blade, and watched the doctor crumple first to his knees, a stream of blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth, then down onto his stomach. He found himself just staring. Darcy couldn’t be dead. He couldn’t believe it. Outwardly, he was silent, but the noises of grief he made in his head were indescribable.

            Slowly, he looked up at his other self, only to find it to be staring right at him. He slammed his fist against the glass one last time, tears beginning to drip down his face as he snarled. “You son of a b***h…!” He cursed in a sob. “Not Darcy…! Oh God, Darcy!

            It was at that point that he jolted awake, screaming and unaware of his surroundings until he heard Darcy’s startled voice.

            “Jesus!” The doctor gasped. “Calm down, Ansel! Are you alright?!”

            Ansel frantically tried to figure out what was going on. He found that he was in the passenger seat of Darcy’s car. Then he remembered: they were driving to the hospital to double check the body and autopsy report for Darcy’s father. Panting, the slightly-shorter man slicked back his light brown hair, but it only fell back at the sides of his face when he put his hand back down. “Was I asleep?” He asked. His heart was still racing from what he could only assume was a nightmare, even though he hadn’t dreamt at all in months.

            “Yeah, for about ten minutes…” Darcy answered in a mutter. “Everything alright? You scared the s**t out of me!”

            Just relieved that his friend wasn’t actually dead, Ansel looked at him as he drove and smiled. “Oh, Darcy. I could kiss you right now.”

            “I’ll assume that means you’re okay.”


 

            They got to the hospital around eight in the morning. Once he found a staff-only parking spot and put the car in park, Darcy looked over at Ansel. After the comment about kissing him, the younger man�"he was about seven years younger than Darcy, who was 34 despite not looking a day over 25�"hadn’t said very much. He just stared off into space, lost in his own thoughts. The doctor stared at his friend for a long moment in silence, waiting for him to notice the eyes on him. When it didn’t do any good, Darcy leaned back and sighed.

            “Ansel,” he softly pleaded, “Come on. Moping like this is my shtick right now.”

            Finally, Ansel snapped out of it. “Huh? Oh, sorry.”

            “You good?” Darcy inquired.

            “Yeah, I’m okay.”

            The pair left the car, and Darcy spun the key ring around his finger before slipping it into the right-hand pocket of his black pants. Ansel had always admired Darcy’s long and skinny legs, but he had never said anything of it. While he did occasionally make jokes about admiring Darcy as more than a friend, he felt like rambling about Darcy’s legs would be a bit too gay for him to just laugh off.

            The doctor made Ansel follow him up the stairs, which the younger man lightly griped about the entire way up to the main floor, and then they headed through the lobby to get to the hallways. They were stopped by Ryan, who just happened to be working the front desk, and Darcy felt his eyebrows sink in disappointment.

            “Well, if it isn’t Dr. Adair. Haven’t seen you in a while.” Ryan mused sarcastically.

            “Can it, Ryan.” Darcy denied. “We’re looking for Dr. Park.”

            Ryan seemed taken aback by Darcy’s firm tone, and he lowered his head. “Geez, who pissed in your Cheerios? She’s in her office.”

            “Come on, Ansel.” The taller man walked through the double doors in front of them, revealing the hall that his office and Dr. Park’s were in. Ansel followed him closely; admittedly, hospitals made him nervous, though he had never told Darcy of this. However, his mild uncomfortable feeling almost seemed worse that day. Something was bugging him, but he wasn’t sure what. He felt anxious.

            Once they were standing in front of the pale yellow door with the nametag “DR. A. PARK” on it, Darcy knocked his usual, melodic knock. After a few seconds, the door opened, and Ansel caught his first sight of the female doctor; she was quite tall for a woman, and she was clearly of Asian descent. Probably Chinese, Ansel assumed from her tan skin. She looked up at Darcy with black eyes that were behind black-rimmed glasses, and she almost seemed surprised to see her co-worker back so soon.

            “Dr. Adair.” She remarked in a puzzled manner.

            “Hey, Dr. Park.” Darcy greeted. Looking at him, Ansel noticed that he looked a bit flustered while talking to the woman. The doctor continued, “Look, I know you’re not technically supposed to…”

            “Don’t ask to see your father.” The lady crossed her arms over her chest. She seemed to know what Darcy was thinking, and upon realizing that, the doctor only grinned sheepishly.

            “I know, I know. It’s just…” He frowned again. “I need to. I also need his autopsy report.”

            “Why?”

            “Just humor us, Doc.” Ansel responded.

            “I don’t take orders from patients,” Dr. Park informed him in a sardonic chirp.

            “Dr. Park, please.” Darcy pleaded. “I really need to do this. Call it my way of coping.”

            With a sigh, the woman turned and grabbed a folder from her office, then returned to them and slapped it against Darcy’s chest. “Then you’re one sick puppy, Dr. Adair. Follow me.” She pushed past them, beginning to walk down the hall the way they came.

            Ansel elbowed Darcy. “You’re so into her.” He laughed.

            “Shut up,” the doctor blushed.


 

            “This is him.” Dr. Park announced as she put her hand on the handle to pull out the corpse slab. She hesitated before pulling it out, however, and looked at Darcy. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She asked him.

            Darcy nodded. “Yeah,” he assured her.

            Reluctantly, she pulled open the shelving unit, revealing a corpse. Darcy wasn’t surprised, but it still took a massive hit on his emotional strength to see that it really was his father lying dead before him.

            “Oh, dad…” He whimpered.

            Ansel said nothing, but inwardly, he thought about how tragic it was that his first time seeing Darcy’s father was seeing him dead in a morgue. With his hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie, he took a good look at the cadaver before him.

            “The autopsy revealed that his neck was broken.” Dr. Park mentioned matter-of-factly. “His organs were healthy. He was unharmed other than a few bruises and a shattered upper spinal column.”

            Darcy slowly shook his head in disbelief, still unable to wrap his head around his father’s death. The bruises on his dad’s neck caught his eye first. “How?” He questioned openly.

            “He was found hanging in his closet.”

            That was when Darcy looked up at her. “My dad’s closet isn’t that tall.” He objected. “I mean, he could have suffocated, sure, but… There’s no way he could have broken his neck. It’s impossible.”

            Dr. Park shrugged her shoulders. “That’s what they told the coroner.”

            Ansel stepped forward and moved one of his pockets forward briefly, gesturing to Mr. Adair’s left shoulder. “What’s this bruise, though?”

            Darcy looked down. On his father’s shoulder, there was a bruise in the shape of a handprint. The fingertips dug into the skin just above the old man’s breast.

            “No one’s sure.” Dr. Park admitted. “It’s from a hand, obviously, but…”

            “But my father couldn’t possibly have done that to himself.” Darcy finished her sentence. “He would’ve had to bend his arm in the wrong direction to do that.”

            “So someone else was there?” Ansel inquired.

            “Don’t ask me.” Dr. Park muttered. “I wasn’t there. I just read the autopsy report. Besides, it could be old.”

            “It looks just as recent as the bruises around his throat.” If Darcy didn’t know any better, he would’ve pointed out that the bruises on his dad’s neck looked more like signs of strangulation than mere hanging, but who was he to argue with the coroner’s opinion?

            Ansel took a closer look at the handprint on Mr. Adair’s shoulder. He thought back on his nightmare, and remembered how his other self clamped his hand down onto Darcy’s left shoulder, the same shoulder the hand print was on for Mr. Adair. “Was there anything odd on his back?” He asked in a shaky breath.

            “I don’t recall anything being mentioned in the report.”

            Darcy opened the folder he’d been handed and skimmed the report. “She’s right.” He commented.

            “His heart?”

            “Perfectly normal.” Darcy continued. “Why?”

            “Just curious.” When Ansel stood upright, he felt himself jump slightly when he heard a metallic clattering noise across the room, as if something fell over. He looked in that direction, but the table of supplies beside the door was untouched.

            “Ansel?” Darcy looked where Ansel was staring, but saw nothing of interest. “What is it?”

            “Did you hear that?” He questioned.

            “Hear what?”

            “That clang. Something fell.”

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            Ansel took his hands out of his pockets and started to wipe them down on the legs of his pants. His palms had a tendency to sweat when he was nervous, which he was very much so. In fact, he was so nervous that he felt short of breath.

            “Dude. You okay?”

            The younger man struggled to catch his breath, managing a brief chuckle. “Gonna be honest, Darc,” he laughed, “I feel like I’m having a panic attack.”

            Taking charge of the situation, Darcy snapped his fingers at Dr. Park, who jolted from the gesture. “Get a chair.” He ordered.

            “Darc�"” Ansel was cut off.

            “Save your breath,” instructed the doctor before turning back to his co-worker. “A chair.”

            Dr. Park left the room, leaving Darcy and Ansel alone with Mr. Adair’s corpse. Darcy rest his hands on Ansel’s shoulders.

            “Been a month since I had a panic attack.” Ansel remarked anxiously.

            “Look at me.”

            “I’m lookin’.”

            “It’ll be okay. I need you to try to relax.”

            “Something’s got me real frightened, Peanut.”

            The door opened, and in came Dr. Park with a folded metal chair. She put it against the wall across from the opened slab and unfolded it there, allowing Darcy to sit his friend down on it.

            “Bring him twenty milligrams of Valium, would you?” Darcy asked her.

            “Darcy.” Ansel scolded lightly, since he didn’t want to cause any trouble.

            “Are you sure?” Dr. Park questioned Darcy’s order.

            “Look, he’s had panic attacks before. I should’ve prescribed him something earlier. Just get him the Valium, please.”

            The other doctor was clearly uncertain, but she finally agreed. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Keep him calm.” She told him before rushing out of the room again.

            “Keep me calm?” Ansel quipped, clasping and unclasping his trembling hands between his legs. “I’m sitting in front of a corpse!”

            “Hey, focus on me, Ansel.” Darcy spoke softly, putting his hand on the side of Ansel’s head and looking him straight in the eyes. “I’m here. You’re going to be alright.”

            “I’ve gotta get out of here, Darc.”

            “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

            “Hold me.”

            Willing to do whatever Ansel wanted in the hopes of soothing him, Darcy wrapped his arms around his friend, who grabbed him and tried to hold him tighter. He softly shushed him, beginning to rub his back with his right hand. He could feel Ansel’s pounding heart through his chest, against his own, racing like a jackrabbit.

            He wasn’t usually much of a hands-on sort of doctor when it came to comforting others, but with Ansel, Darcy could make exceptions. Their close and quickly-built friendship had brought with it was certain degree of intimacy that made him feel comfortable doing things like hugging the man, even without reason, though he didn’t do it very often. While holding Ansel at that moment, he began to wonder if he should hug his friend more often, and if that would make either of them uncomfortable somehow.

            They stayed in each other’s arms in near silence until Dr. Park returned with a needle.

            “I said twenty milligrams.” Darcy told her when he saw that she hadn’t returned with what he’d asked for.

            “This is twenty milligrams.” She countered. “Or, well, the equivalent: point four milliliters of Diazepam.”

            “I meant in tablet form. He’s scared of needles.”

            “This isn’t a pharmacy, Dr. Adair.” She turned to Ansel when Darcy pulled away and stood up. “What are you wearing under that sweater?”

            “A t-shirt.” He answered. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna�"”

            “Take off everything down to the t-shirt.”

            “Everything?” Ansel chimed, still able to make a joke amidst his panic. When the woman narrowed her eyes at him, he sobered up and nodded. “Alright, got it.” He then took off his coat and slipped off his sweater, and as he did, he realized just how cold it was in the morgue.

            “Keep your arm still against the arm of the chair.” Dr. Park commanded.

            “Holy S**T I hate needles.

            Feeling the doctor’s small, cold fingers on his inner elbow, Ansel pinched his eyes shut. He wasn’t a very squeamish man until needles were involved, at which point he became one of the most squeamish. She swabbed the area with a decontaminating swab, then, without warning, he felt the cold steel prick him, stabbing into his arm, and he kicked his right foot in response. A few seconds later, he was already starting to calm down due to the Diazepam flowing through his system.

            “Slower,” Darcy warned.

            “I know what I’m doing.”

            After a little over twenty seconds, Dr. Park removed the needle from Ansel’s arm and placed a dry cotton ball over the spot she punctured, pressing it in. “Don’t move for a few minutes.” She instructed.

            “Sure, you’re the boss.” Ansel grunted in a tone that almost sounded like sarcasm, though he did seem to be obeying her regardless.

            Dr. Park stood up and pulled the needle’s cap from her coat pocket, and during this action, Darcy gazed at her.

            “Thanks.” He said timidly as she capped the needle.

            “You owe me, for all of this.” She replied, then offhandedly told him, “There’s a patient upstairs demanding to see you. Ryan wanted to take him, but he kept insisting that he had to talk to you, so I think Ryan let him into your office.”

            Darcy rolled his eyes and tapped his foot against the floor. “Goddamn Ryan.” He hissed in a voice thick with contempt. “Always Ryan.”

            “You should go deal with that, Dr. Adair. I’ll keep an eye on your patient and bring him up to my office when he’s ready to walk.”

            “I’m not a patient.” Ansel ranted. “I’m a friend.”

            “Alright.” Darcy reluctantly agreed to his co-worker’s suggestion. He took one last glance at his father, silently vowing that he would do everything in his power to find out the truth, then at Ansel, who seemed to be quietly pleading for him to stay. “I’ll see you in a bit, Ansel. Duty calls.”

            “Heh, heh, ‘duty’.” Ansel snickered, his mind in the gutter.

            Darcy shook his head as he pushed the door open, and he wasn’t able to keep the dorkish grin that ensued off of his face. “What a dumbass,” he affectionately remarked under his breath.


 

            When Darcy got upstairs, he saw Ryan standing by his office door with a clipboard in hand. He approached the nurse with a serious expression, and when he was seen, the nurse turned toward him, holding out the clipboard for him. He took it, and then Ryan started to talk.

            “Got him to fill that out.” He announced with what could have been an undeserved sense of pride. “He’s inside.”

            “Why did you let him into my office?” Darcy interrogated.

            “I didn’t want him disturbing anyone in the halls. He was shouting for you.” Ryan did a corkscrew gesture by his head, then pat Darcy on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it.”

            “Thanks.” There was little to no enthusiasm in Darcy’s voice as he watched the nurse leave. Once he knew Ryan was gone, he looked down at the clipboard. The patient’s name was James Thorne. As for why he was there, he had only written, in neat, all capital handwriting, “WE NEED TO TALK.”

            “Sure we do.” Darcy grumbled to himself. Composing himself, he opened the door, and found the man he assumed to be James sitting in a chair in front of his desk. The young man, who looked to be about Ansel’s age, had short black hair and sideburns running down the sides of his face. On his chin, he had a long soul patch. When he heard the door open, he looked up at Darcy, nodding at him as his knee bobbed. Though he was sitting down, Darcy could tell he was both shorter and stockier than Ansel was. Not really knowing what else to do, Darcy nodded back and closed the door before taking his seat behind the desk. “So, James,” he began, “You say we need to talk?”

            “Oh,” James laughed, “you don’t have to call me that.”

            “What would you prefer I call you, then?” Darcy asked, putting the clipboard and his father’s medical file down on his desk and trying to get comfortable.

            “Call me Jay.”



© 2017 Noëlle McHenry


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Added on November 29, 2016
Last Updated on May 10, 2017
Tags: doctor, patient, drama, friendship, stalker, insomnia, diagnosis


Author

Noëlle McHenry
Noëlle McHenry

Canada



About
I like to write stories and make up characters. I also draw and occasionally do voice acting. I've been writing as a hobby since I was a little squirt, and began my first original story when I was eig.. more..

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