House Call

Chapter 1: His Mistake

Jeremy's mistake was believing he had free rein in the house. As far as he could see from the windowsill in its kitchen (it was too cold to ever go outside), the place was pretty isolated. Recently, the human rarely came downstairs from his bedroom. And, when he did, he was especially slow. Jeremy would sit perched atop a kitchen cabinet, observing curiously. First, he would shamble down the last step, then haphazardly throw together a "sandvich", finally pouring himself a glass of this clear stuff. It looked like water, but it seemed to make him feel a little better. Of course, it couldn't have been water: that always made Jeremy feel worse. He much preferred "Bonk!"—now, that hit the spot. He still drank from one can that he had swiped weeks ago; it gave him enough energy for a whole day of "borrowing".

"Would you look at you? I mean, look at you." Jeremy whispered to himself. He felt a mix of pity and disgust toward the human. He was such a big guy—way bigger than any other human he'd ever seen. Jeremy's family nicknamed him "Heavy." He usually felt afraid of him and those huge hands, but now? He just looked pathetic.

Once he made his way back up the stairs, Jeremy leaped from atop the cabinet down to the countertop. Heavy was sloppy, so there was always plenty of food left to scrounge. This time, he had left a whole...half of the sandwich!

"I... eat... your...sandwiches. I eat 'em up!" Jeremy bragged triumphantly between mouthfuls of food. He was the winner. Jeremy then crammed as much as he could into the "borrowing" bag that his Ma had lovingly sewed together for him. He couldn't wait to show off how much he brought back.

Once he was finished with that endeavor, he glanced thoughtfully at the towering bottle of...clear stuff left behind on the counter. Motivated by novelty, he gripped the base of it and scaled the bottle, a foul smell assaulting his nose the closer he got to the top. Still, he was interested. It might taste better than it smells, and it might even work better than Bonk. Imagining how fast he might run, he gripped the spongy lid-thing with both hands and thrust upwards.

A bright light then flooded and illuminated the dim room, accompanied by an ominous creak and a sharp gust of freezing air. It was almost like a spotlight, fixated on Jeremy. The shock knocked him hard on his back where he lay, frozen by panic. He twisted his neck to look; somebody was standing in the doorway. He was tall, enveloped by a long, white coat almost touching the floor. Red gloves wrapped around his arms. A doctor! Like on the TV. But very real. Glancing upwards, Jeremy saw his dark eyes trained on the scene playing on the counter. His long face expressed menacing amusement...fascination.

Jeremy clambered to his feet, and, for the first time, he ran like his life depended on it. His heart felt like it was going to burst as it worked desperately to pump blood to his legs, clad in too-short, baggy, hand-me-down pants. For the first time, Jeremy realized that he couldn't outrun his assailant. Any other time that would have been one of seven of his older brothers, but he was always faster than them. That's why they called him "the Scout." And, though they teased him, he knew they could never hurt him. He didn't feel that same reassurance from the monstrous doctor striding toward him right now. He still had to try in case his Ma or his brothers happened to be seeing this. He couldn't let them down. Though his confidence was high when he earlier snuck out of the gutted console television serving as the family home, he now regretted his mistake with every fiber of his being. But, on the other hand, he felt gratitude that every fiber of his being was still in its rightful place.

As he ran, Jeremy loathed that he was trapped on top of the counter, waiting, ready to be handled like every other object that made that countertop its home. So, he did something drastic. He hesitated, took a deep breath, and jumped off the side, plunging to the floor. He landed roughly on his feet, the breath knocked out of him, but kept running before he registered that he was still alive. That move elicited a noise, a gasp...? From the human pursuing him. Jeremy didn't dare look back. The doctor's thunderous footsteps hastened, shaking the floor beneath Jeremy's feet as he knew he was closing in on him. Jeremy wasn't sure where he planned to run to—his home wasn't an option. If he was gonna die, he wasn't gonna drag his family down with him. Even worse, what if he had to watch them get hurt? The thought disturbed him deeply...he wanted to cry. How could he have fucked up so badly?

Jeremy no longer had to consider his destination; the huge satchel that landed in front of him, blocking his path, decided for him. He again fell on his back onto the floor and scrambled to finally look behind him. He wished he hadn't. The human was knelt before him, looming, enshrouding him in shadow. He had an expression on his face that Jeremy interpreted as awe. His vast eyes were focused...right on him.

"I... hate... doctors!" Jeremy breathlessly exclaimed without even meaning to. His heart still pounded. The object of his hate adopted a surprised smile.

"Es tut mir leid..." he muttered. "Armes ding." He leaned back, allowing Jeremy a moment of reprieve as he spared him his gaze.

Jeremy had no idea what that meant. In all honesty, he struggled with English. But, the doctor's tone unnerved him. He sounded...disappointed. Disappointment? With what? Was he not good enough for whatever he had in mind for him? Was that a blessing or a curse? Amidst the fear, he now also felt a pang of indignancy. He considered himself rather impressive, especially for a borrower, and... Jeremy's grandiose thoughts were interrupted by a sudden movement from the doctor. His colossal, gloved arm began to move toward him and he instinctively recoiled, eyes shut, preparing for the worst. Before Jeremy could reconcile himself with death, before he could regret every time he disrespected his mother, his shirt tightened, and he was denied the ground beneath him. He couldn't help but scream and squirm as he soared several yards into the air. His eyes shot open, and he saw that the doctor was standing straight up.

He felt so pathetic and smaller than he had ever felt, even compared to his brothers. He had never been this close to a human. If he retained one thing his mother had ever taught him, it was that humans were dangerous. He was now dangling in the air, spared from falling only by the two gloved fingers pinching the back of his shirt. From this perspective, he could see the doctor's whole form. His body seemed to stretch for miles before his boot-clad feet touched the ground. His white coat alone looked enough to...he wasn't sure. Make a crap ton of blankets or something? Regardless, this perspective made Jeremy woozy, and he was grateful once he felt solid ground beneath him again as the doctor mercifully sat him on the countertop. Jeremy felt angry that his impressive jump was pointless, especially as he was now beginning to feel the pain of it. His ankle...he brushed it off for now. Jeremy watched the doctor seize the clear stuff—hey! He had borrowed that fair and square. That was his.

"Vhat vere you doing vith zis?" The doctor teased and smiled, shaking the bottle. Its contents sloshed inside.

Jeremy burned red with embarrassment, being spoken to like a child. "Real nice effort, Deutsch-bag!" He sneered with sudden confidence. Jeremy watched the doctor's eyebrow raise in condolence as he popped off the sponge thing and took a sip. Did he just fuck up even worse?

He placed the bottle back on the counter, then reached for Jeremy again, he thought, and he panicked. He felt unimaginable relief when the arm instead moved toward the cabinet above him, eclipsing him in shadow. The doctor's hand soon returned to his sight, clutching a jar labeled with—scribbles...? That he didn't recognize. The doctor again plucked him up, though less gently this time. Jeremy went limp this time from deference and physical and mental exhaustion. Before he could put two and two together, process the implications of himself in the doctor's one hand and an open jar in the other, he was being lowered into it. He weakly struggled against the hand grasping him, to no avail. He was in the jar. In a jar?! Where food goes?! He had not even considered that possibility, but now he felt sick to his core. That had to be illegal or something.

At least he was out of the doctor's hands. If not for his ankle being slain—stained...whatever it was, he could have easily jumped out of the jar. He might have run even faster than he had if he knew he was gonna be ea...ugh, he couldn't think about it. The jar jostled as the doctor screwed the lid shut, sealing his fate. He caved and started to cry; he didn't care anymore if his brothers saw. Maybe they'd feel bad for not doing anything to stop the crazy bastard imprisoning him. The crazy bastard that Jeremy could see through the curved glass was wielding a knife.

"Where's your precious Hippo-crates now?" Jeremy sputtered spitefully. As far as he knew, doctors weren't supposed to hurt people. Maybe he didn't count as "people." He sighed.

Jeremy's brain decided that it would be better if he didn't have to endure the pain of a Spain-ed ankle or being dissected, so Jeremy fell limply backwards into unconsciousness.