Safe Haven

Chapter Eight - Oliver

"You're a liar," Cheryl stated with a minor toxicity, but a smile found her lips as if the idea of me being a literal animal whisperer was unfathomable (it kind of was). At this point, Cheryl had called me out on my odd behavior and demanded that I explained what was going on with me. So, I did.

"Cheryl, I swear! I'm not lying," I defended. "I-I thought I was just going crazy at first, but now it's gone far enough a-and... I don't know how to convince you!"

"Not only are you a liar, but you're also crazy. Don't bullshit me, Oliver." Cheryl stood from her spot on my loveseat, not moving her gaze from me as if I might move to hurt her if she didn't keep her eyes on me. "You... you need help!"

"You have to bel-"

Cheryl slammed my words in my front door, and they crumbled to the ground like dirt. Was it really so hard to believe I could talk to animals? Why couldn't I just get a power like flying or something? At least then I could actually prove its existence to Cheryl. There was literally no way for me to prove this to anyone.

"Wow, she's a drag," the turtle in the tank at my side commented.

~ ~ ~

"Hey, so do you have a name?" I asked my new pet turtle that night while I ate spaghetti. "Or do I have to give you one? Have owners been calling their pets the wrong names all along?" I worried.

"My tank at the shop was labeled Tamika, and that's all I've known. You can call me that, I suppose," she replied. Her voice was uncharacteristically un-turtlelike – quick and a bit bubbly - though I liked it that way. I shook my head as it fell to my hands. This was too much. I was talking to a turtle. A turtle. Maybe I really should book an appointment with a therapist. "Does it hurt to talk to me?" She asked as I rubbed my head.

"Kinda." I lifted my fork and tried to eat more of my spaghetti despite my growing levels of discomfort. "Also messes with my brain a little bit. I think I'm going crazy," I admitted.

"I think you are, too," she informed me matter-of-factly. I chuckled a bit, but it really wasn't that funny. This was seriously messed up. Instead of eating, I curled up under the blanket on my couch to take a nap. I felt exhausted, mentally and physically.

Not long after, there was a knock at my door. Maybe it was Cheryl, finally coming around, knowing that it was her job as my best friend to involve herself in my life. I kicked the blanket further down towards my feet and lifted myself from the couch. If I thought it was anyone else at the door, I probably would have just let them knock. My eyes were still only half open when I answered the door to two men. One had a scraggly beard that nearly reached his chest and the other had a face that appeared almost dirty with a five o'clock shadow.

"Mr. Hart?" The man with the beard said in a gruff voice. He stepped forward, almost uncomfortably close and seemed to look behind me.

"Yes?" I questioned, feeling uncomfortable.

"We're doing a study for the Health Department, and we're wondering if you would participate? This study could provide some medical information important to curing certain diseases."

I took a small breath of relief, as despite their grim look, these men seemed harmless enough.

"Uhm, sure," I nodded. "Would you like to come in? Or should we do it out here?" I struggled.

The man without a beard chuckled a bit, "we can do it at your kitchen table if that's alright." I guided them through my entryway into my dining room, where one man hoisted a big bag onto the table and the other got out a few papers.

"We have a few things for you to taste. All you must do is tell us if you taste anything at all, and rate it on a scale of one to ten." I wondered how at all this was important to healthcare but nodded. The unbearded man began setting out small cups of samples. "You will need to be blindfolded," the other told me when he saw me looking at the samples.