Join Date: September 15, 2005
Location: Searching for Betsy... I won't stop!
Short Story: Spotlights
I'm going to enter this story in four parts over a couple of days because its decently long and I don't want people to have to spend a long time reading the whole thing at once.
Christopher Mann sat the briefcase down and made his way upstairs. It had been a long day at work. He was a psychiatrist, and had had a particularly lond day with one of his patients. A teenager who's best friend had died of a car accident. He was threatening to kill himself. He was a tough case. Chris took a seat on his bed and let his headache cool until the phone rang. He sighed, and picked it up.
"Dr. Chris Mann speaking."
"Yes, I would like to schedule an appointment?" He heard the man on the other end say. "Do you have any openings?"
"I can fit you in tomorrow at 3:30." Chris replied. "Does that work for you?"
"I need your name and phone number, please." Chris said.
"Fred Gibson." The man answered. "(495)234-4728."
"Thank you, goodnight." Christopher said, put the phone back on the receiver, and laid down to bed.
Morning came too soon. Christopher pressed the snooze button as his alarm sent long soundwaves crashing through the thick quietness of the room. He rolled over, groaned, and looked at the clock. 5:30 AM. He jolted to a more awake state as the phone rang. He picked it up.
"Hi honey, it's me." The woman said.
"Good morning, Carla, what are you doing up so early?" He replied in a soft tone.
"I couldn't sleep."
Chris looked at the clock. 5:36.
"Sorry dear, I'd love to talk to you more, but I have a meeting with my first patient at 6:15. I have to go, love you."
Chris hung up the phone and got dressed. He made sure he was clean shaven, his teeth brushed, he had his nice tie and leather jacket ready, and his hat on before he made his way out the door. He strode down his driveweay and picked up the newspaper laying there, and then started back up for his car. He opened the door, sat down, and unrolled the paper.
"Nothing new," He said to himself, scrolling through the pages. "Local bank robbed, city debts increase. Obituaries... Marie J. Ossur, 89, died in the hospital on Wednesday, Mark K. Walters, 24, found dead in his bed mumbling....blah blah blah. Another uneventful day." He put down the newspaper and turned the key.
He pulled up at his office at 6:20. His patient was already waiting for him. "Sorry I'm late, Greg." He said to the man. Greg didn't reply, but timidly followed Chris into his office.
Nine hours and countless patients later, Fred Gibson took a seat in the office. "Fred, correct?" Chris asked.
"Yes," The man replied.
"How can I help you?"
Fred hesitated, then began his story. "Lately, I've been having this reoccurring dream. In the dream, I am killed by a huge monster called the Cyclops. Don't ask me why it's called that, I just knew it was. The only way I can describe it is that it is a giant dark monster with three rows of three bright white eyes like spotlights. I had the dream twice, the night before I called you, and last night. It disturbed me, so I thought that I should see someone to talk about it."
Part 2 will be posted tomorrow. I know it's kind of slow now, but it gets better towards the end.