Of Illnesses And Antidotes

Chapter One

10 years later

***

"Child 064330 of Division 42, please report to Doctor Warren's lab."

The mahogany door swings open and a glum, dark-haired boy traipses out.

"Have fun," he grumbles to me as he passes by.

"Er, thanks?"

Stepping forward, I grasp the brass handle, twist it and push against the door. Slipping through the void in the doorway, I head into the room and the door slams shut behind me.

Four whitewashed walls enshroud the laboratory from prying eyes. Elmwood cupboards march along the entire width of the back wall, on both the bottom sector and top, leaving a blank strip of bright white paint in the middle. Adorning its adjacent walls are shelves stacked with hefty books, many of which are caked in dust, as well as maps of the human body's anatomy. No photographs. No paintings. No personalised touches that supply comfort to a room that many people dread to visit.

Pressed tightly against the opposing wall are metal cabinets crammed with folders of various patients, most of which are still alive. Those of which that aren't remain at the back of the drawers, dog-eared, dusty, and dying to be thrown away. Someone just hasn't been bothered to.

"Morning, Naomi."

In the centre of the room is a reclining seat covered loosely with a thin, white, paper sheet. A large lamp stands beside it, its lens positioned directly over the headrest of the seat. On the other side of the seat is a plastic, white swivel chair, completing the lab's monotonous theme. Perched in the seat, is a middle-aged woman, donning a large, white coat that is slightly too big for her. Her straightened chestnut hair is pinned up into a messy bun, small strands escaping to frame her pale face. A constellation of faint freckles surrounds her nose and a pair of square, black-rimmed spectacles slowly slides down it. Her soft, brown eyes are fixated on the clipboard she grasps with one hand. The other scribbles words down onto it, her lips parting slightly to mouth the words she writes. A moment later, she clips the pen to the top of the clipboard, places it down on a three-drawer cabinet next to her, pushes her glasses further up her nose and glances up at me. She smiles warmly.

I return the smile and head towards her. "Good morning, Doctor Warren."

She pats down on the reclining seat. "Come sit. I haven't seen you in a while."

I shake my head, smiling to myself, as I stride towards her. "Boy, you won't believe what I've been through."

Sitting down on the seat, I swing my legs around and relax back into it. Glancing over at her, I watch her open up a manila folder, a grim-looking photo of me paper-clipped to the cover as well as my number scrawled in thick marker pen next to it. Withdrawn from the folder, comes my recently updated medical record.

"Hmm." She frowns, slightly perplexed by the changes. "Your latest tests include an EMG and an NCV. Both show positive results, particularly the NCV: it shows a small loss of nerve in your upper right shoulder. Unless, of course, you regained your nerve in a record three days." Her eyes flit up to look at me. "Want to tell me why you've had tests for Brachial Plexus Axonotmesis?"

I shrug. "It doesn't matter. It's no big deal."

"Hmm." She pushes her glass further up her nose once again. "Then let's begin."

"How has your day been?" I ask her as she washes her hands.

She raises her eyebrow. "It's nine-thirty in the morning, Naomi. I'm pretty sure I've only been up a couple of hours."