Part 25 (1/2)
I can't get anyone to explain what competency consists of, or how I achieve it -- when I try, I get accused of being 'difficult.' Of course, escaping onto the roof is a little beyond difficult. I have a feeling I'm going to be in pretty deep s.h.i.+t. Do they know about the car?”
”The car?”
”In the parking lot. The one that blew up.”
Doc Szandor laughs hard enough that his pacifier shoots across the room and lands in a hazmat bucket. ”You son of a b.i.t.c.h -- that was you?”
”Yeah,” I say, and drum my feet against the tin cupboards under the examination table.
”That was *my f.u.c.king car*!”
”Oh, Christ, I'm sorry,” I say. ”G.o.d.”
”No no no,” he says, fis.h.i.+ng in his pocket and unwrapping a fresh pacifier.
”It's OK. Insurance. I'm getting a bike. Vroom, vroom! What a coincidence, though,” he says.
Coincidence. He's making disgusting hamster-cage noises, grinding away at his pacifier. ”Szandor, do you sometimes sneak out onto the landing to have a cigarette? Use a bit of tinfoil for your ashtray? Prop the door open behind you?”
”Why do you ask?”
”'Cause that's how I got out onto the roof.”
”Oh, s.h.i.+t,” he says.
”It's our secret,” I say. ”I can tell them I don't know how I got out. I'm incompetent, remember?”
”You're a good egg, Art,” he says. ”How the h.e.l.l are we going to get you out of here?”
”Hey what?”
”No, really. There's no good reason for you to be here, right? You're occupying valuable bed s.p.a.ce.”
”Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but I have a feeling that as soon as you turn me loose, I'm gonna be doped up to the t.i.ts for a good long while.”
He grimaces. ”Right, right. They like their meds. Are your parents alive?”
”What? No, they're both dead.”
”Aha. Died suddenly?”
”Yeah. Dad drowned, Mom fell --”
”Ah ah ah! Shhh. Mom died suddenly. She was taking Haldol when it happened, a low antianxiety dose, right?”
”Huh?”
”Probably she was. Probably she had a terrible drug interaction. Sudden Death Syndrome. It's hereditary. And you say she fell? Seizure. We'll sign you up for a PET scan, that'll take at least a month to set up. You could be an epileptic and not even know it. Shaking the radioisotopes loose for the scan from the AEC, woah, that's a week's worth of paperwork right there! No Thorazine for you young man, not until we're absolutely sure it won't kill you dead where you stand. The hospital counsel gave us all a very stern lecture on this very subject not a month ago. I'll just make some notes in your medical history.” He picked up his comm and scribbled.
”Never woulda thought of that,” I say. ”I'm impressed.”
”It's something I've been playing with for a while now. I think that psychiatric care is a good thing, of course, but it could be better implemented. Taking away prescription pads would be a good start.”