doppelganger plot oom
He's pacing the floor in the hallway, the dull sounds of his boots echoing his awkward step pattern seem to almost make his limp worse, but he's so damn on edge he can't bear to sit down. The tile is worn, and he's well aware that he's probably not the first man to drive the doctors that work here crazy but he doesn't give a damn.
He's counting steps in his head, matching them to the pace of his heart beating in his chest. Everything feels a little fuzzy around the edges, and he vaguely wonders what he had for breakfast the first time he feels lightheaded enough that he has to slow himself down, take a deep breath. The last thing anyone needs is for him to end up in a bed in this damn place.
This damn place.
This damn place.
It's a hospital, run by the government at Fort Huachuca, the only place within miles of Bisbee that has proper medical care. Sure, Bisbee has a few doctors in town, but nothing like the hospital here.
There are Army men, here, in another wing. Indian attack, training accident, your common sickness and disease. Common. He hates the idea of this sort of thing being common but the truth of the matter is that it is.
He hates it.
He hates this.
A woman in skirts gives him a look as she passes, and he just slows his walk down a little out of respect. She doesn't stop, however, just continues on down the hall.
It's hot in here.
Dry.
The whole damn state is dry. Dry earth and heat and dust in the air, and they keep the dust out of the hospital the best they can but everyone tracks it in. There's dust on his clothes and dust in his hair, not having gotten a bath in the day he's been here.
He wonders what Alice is making for dinner, back home in Bisbee.
(He wonders why she's not here.)
"Sir?"
Dan lifts his head up at the sound of a voice echoing down the hallway. The woman from earlier has returned.
"Mr. Evans, if you would please come with me..."
She reaches for his arm.
He pulls it away from her.
"Ma'am, I'd like to see my son."
"I know," she explains, in a tone that's just oh-so-polite that it makes his skin crawl. "Doctor Hall needs to speak with you, if you would please come with me, sir..."
She reaches for his arm.
He pulls it away from her again.
"I'd like to see my son now," he clarifies.
"Sir, if you would just come with me..."
"Where's Mark?"
"Sir."
"Where is Mark?"
(Everything gets fuzzy after that. She takes him by the arm and then guides him down the hall. She's shorter than Alice, he realizes. Squat. Brown hair instead of blonde, and brown eyes instead of blue. Maybe she's half-Mexican. He ends up sitting in a chair in a small room off the main corridor, watching the dust motes float across the room through the beams of sunlight drifting through an open window.)
The doctor steps into the room.
"Mr. Evans?"
Dan's too busy staring at the tiny flecks of red staining the edge of the man's shirtsleeves. The spots look like they're throbbing, but he realizes that it's the red spots behind his eyes that are giving him the illusion.
"Mr. Evans?"
He can't breathe. He can't breathe.
He's counting steps in his head, matching them to the pace of his heart beating in his chest. Everything feels a little fuzzy around the edges, and he vaguely wonders what he had for breakfast the first time he feels lightheaded enough that he has to slow himself down, take a deep breath. The last thing anyone needs is for him to end up in a bed in this damn place.
This damn place.
This damn place.
It's a hospital, run by the government at Fort Huachuca, the only place within miles of Bisbee that has proper medical care. Sure, Bisbee has a few doctors in town, but nothing like the hospital here.
There are Army men, here, in another wing. Indian attack, training accident, your common sickness and disease. Common. He hates the idea of this sort of thing being common but the truth of the matter is that it is.
He hates it.
He hates this.
A woman in skirts gives him a look as she passes, and he just slows his walk down a little out of respect. She doesn't stop, however, just continues on down the hall.
It's hot in here.
Dry.
The whole damn state is dry. Dry earth and heat and dust in the air, and they keep the dust out of the hospital the best they can but everyone tracks it in. There's dust on his clothes and dust in his hair, not having gotten a bath in the day he's been here.
He wonders what Alice is making for dinner, back home in Bisbee.
(He wonders why she's not here.)
"Sir?"
Dan lifts his head up at the sound of a voice echoing down the hallway. The woman from earlier has returned.
"Mr. Evans, if you would please come with me..."
She reaches for his arm.
He pulls it away from her.
"Ma'am, I'd like to see my son."
"I know," she explains, in a tone that's just oh-so-polite that it makes his skin crawl. "Doctor Hall needs to speak with you, if you would please come with me, sir..."
She reaches for his arm.
He pulls it away from her again.
"I'd like to see my son now," he clarifies.
"Sir, if you would just come with me..."
"Where's Mark?"
"Sir."
"Where is Mark?"
(Everything gets fuzzy after that. She takes him by the arm and then guides him down the hall. She's shorter than Alice, he realizes. Squat. Brown hair instead of blonde, and brown eyes instead of blue. Maybe she's half-Mexican. He ends up sitting in a chair in a small room off the main corridor, watching the dust motes float across the room through the beams of sunlight drifting through an open window.)
The doctor steps into the room.
"Mr. Evans?"
Dan's too busy staring at the tiny flecks of red staining the edge of the man's shirtsleeves. The spots look like they're throbbing, but he realizes that it's the red spots behind his eyes that are giving him the illusion.
"Mr. Evans?"
He can't breathe. He can't breathe.