The Silver Six

Part 6

"Good to see you again, Allen," Doctor Richmond said with an all-too-bright smile.

Allen just nodded. As if oblivious to Allen's bad mood, the doctor sat down on a rolling stool and adjusted his coat. He flipped through several papers and glanced up at the monitor in front of him.

"So," he began, turning, notes in hand. "I know I said only a checkup was necessary, but apparently the files were mixed up with another patients, and your results were slightly concerning. As I said over the phone, your last MRI showed that your stress levels and risk of seizures have skyrocketed. There isn't much I can do about the seizures, but as we determined before, they seem to be tied in to stress. Which can be remedied."

"How?" Allen asked, nearly scoffing. "Am I supposed to meditate every day?"

"No, no," the doctor laughed. "I can prescribe you some medication to help lower your stress hormones, as well as I can give you something for the nightmares you mentioned a while back."

Allen chewed on the inside of his lip. Should he? It was already hard enough remembering to take the pills he already had, and it seemed like the only thing on Doctor Richmond's mind was to prescribe him drugs and test him like a lab rat. But the nightmares had been worse... And after this morning...

"It won't cost anything extra will it?" he finally asked. 

"No," he smiled. "These meds are covered by Veteran Insurance."

"I'll take them then."

"Great!" Immediately the man began to flip through papers, commenting on the side effects of the drugs and that Allen should call if anything happened.

They spent a few more minutes talking, with the doctor going over what the scans had found and ways to prevent stress. He even asked about Allen's job and whether he had friends or not. By the end of it all, Allen was both relieved and annoyed. It seemed that he was always either called to the doctor's office to simply chat about how damaged he was or to send him away with signed papers to have needles stuck in him and blood drawn. He didn't get it.

Exhausted from a lack of sleep and absence of coffee, Allen dragged himself down the hall towards the receptionist, papers in hand. He turned down a hallway and had walked nearly all the way down to the end before he realized he was walking in the wrong direction. He spun to head back to where he had come from when a door slammed.

"Sabine!" came Doctor Richmond's startled voice. "You should have called."

"For what reason?" a woman's harsh, accented voice snapped. "This is my office too."

"Yes, but today-" the doctor's voice dropped.

"Oh please, Richy, I don't care," came the woman's voice again.

There were footsteps and the clicking of heels, and without thinking, Allen ducked into a dark room. Much to his relief, the footsteps moved on past, and the doctor and the mysterious woman entered a room on the other side of the wall. The door clicked shut and through the drywall, Allen heard her give a sigh. 

"You can't keep calling him into your office for shit like this. He's going to think something is off. Hell, I think it's weird. Not to mention the other doctors want him contained. And I'm starting to think this little 'social experiment' of yours has gone on for too long," Sabine reprimanded.

"But he is completely normal! You've seen the tests, as have we all, and there is no trace of any compounds or chemicals that the others have! Other than his scars I'm starting to think he's a botched experiment, like Frankenstein's first trial or something. I just want to see how he operates, and so far there is nothing alarming. He acts like he's lived this way his whole life, and maybe he did!"

"My god, you're an idiot, aren't you," the woman laughed. "The number is six, not five. I'm telling you he's one of them. The government won't let you keep this up."

"Fine! Fine," Richmond retorted. "If he reports another nightmare or has some sort of relapse I'll wipe his memories and have him contained. Does that make you happy?"

Allen went still, his heart hammering in his chest. They were talking about him, weren't they?!

"Ja, prima," Sabine agreed. "But don't expect me to be patient. I'm dying to see what the test they did on Nicolas would do to him."

Doctor Richmond gave a chuckle.

"Nicolas is a special case, I don't think that test will bring anything out in Allen."

Cold sweat ran down the side of Allen's pale forehead. What did they mean? There were others? They wanted to experiment on him and confine him? What did that mean? What was he?

He stayed there in the dark building, fighting back panic until he found the courage to slip from the room and past the office where the two doctors still talked. Wiping sweat from his face, he hurried to find the checkout desk and leave. In a daze, he signed papers and nodded to questions before he was able to leave. He practically ran to his car and pulled from the parking lot without even buckling his seatbelt. 

He ran a stoplight on his way home and took up nearly two parking spaces when he pulled up to his apartment. Racing up the stairs, he fumbled with the key, his hand shaking as he unlocked the door. He dashed inside, slamming and locking the door behind him. Throwing down his keys, he began tearing the place apart. He flung every cabinet door open, went through every drawer, every pocket, every box. Each pill bottle he found he piled on the floor. He pulled the place down around him, unsure of what he was looking for. 

Papers, notes, a journal, empty bottles, and a photo. He piled everything he thought could be useful into a pile in the living room. Then he began turning over furniture. 

"Where is it?" he groaned. "Where, where, where?!"

He ripped the only painting off the wall and yanked the microwave off the counter. He looked in the lights and shook the lamp. He pried the tv open in the back, only to be met with wires and metal plating. 

"What is it!" he shouted. "Where is it?! What am I looking for!"

Turning down the hall into the bathroom, he tore the shower curtains down and knocked the soap off its ledge. In sheer fury and frustration, he turned to the mirror, barely seeing his wild, flushed face.

"What am I?!" he screamed at himself. "Tell me!"

His fist slammed against the sink, his heart pounding in his chest, his breath shallow and quick. He felt the heat in his blood. Rage flooding his mind, making him see red. There was something, he knew! It was there at the back of his head, a forgotten memory hissing at him. I know something, it said. He beat the counter again, making the ceramic sink shake. 

"What the fuck is it?" he gasped, sobbing. "I don't know!"

He looked up at his white hair and bloodshot eyes and shuddered. Locking eyes with himself, he stared, teeth clenched. 

"Come on! Remember! Something, anything!"

Silence. 

Plink. Plink. Water dripping from the faucet. Plink.

And then there was the sound of glass shattering and searing pain. His fist had lashed out before he had thought to stop himself. Spiderwebbing cracks spread out across the mirror from where Allen's hand had gone through it. The pain sobered him like icy water in the face, and as he pulled his hand from the glass, regret pooling in his stomach. He didn't have the money to fix that. 

Swallowing hard, he assessed the damage. The hole wasn't big, but the mirror was ruined. He blinked. Then frowned. The mirror was mounted straight on the wall, how had his hand gone through it? Leaning in, he poked at the shards of glass and looked into an alcove in the wall. The voice in the back of his mind felt as though it were smiling. There it is.