Enter the O.C.D. (Obsessive-compulsive detective.)
Adrian felt groggy and discontented as he opened his eyes, but that, he supposed, was ordinary enough. The last he could remember, one of the children over at Natalie’s for the birthday party had tripped and spilled -
Adrian sat up with a start, glancing hastily down at the front of his shirt. Miraculously, it was dry, free of the almost-sticky mess that had almost been the milk all over his shirt. His blazer was clean, too, and a quick check of his shoes revealed that they were also dry. And the left shoelace was a bit lopsided, but that was nothing a quick retying couldn’t fix.
He stood up to retie his shoe, but the impulse didn’t last very long. Mostly because, for the first time, Adrian actually noticed his surroundings. If he’d fainted at Natalie’s - well, more run screaming from the room, away from the milk, and tripped on a twisted rug, but fainted sounded a bit more dignified - that meant he should still be at Natalie’s. Instead, the whole place was unfamiliar, and both looked and smelled like -
Adrian could feel his throat closing up as a young woman in pink scrubs wandered past, fiddling with a folder. He reached over and grabbed her by the arm. She jerked and stared at him.
“Where… Where…?” He could barely get either of the words out, and realized only after the woman pulled her arm away that he’d only managed in forming one word, anyway.
“Clinic’s over there,” the woman replied with an eye roll, and jerked her head towards a pair of glass doors nearby. “So’s the pharmacy. You obviously need to refill your meds.”
He tried to protest, but the only sound that managed to escape his lips was a strangled non-syllable. The woman rushed off into a gaggle of other scrub-wearing individuals, leaving him to stand in the middle of the hallway, stark still.
After a moment of attempted processing - more listening to the word “hospital” repeat itself in his head over and over again - he found himself drifting aimlessly in the direction of the so-called clinic, using his sleeve to open the door without touching it. He scrawled his name on the intake list - “Adrian Monk” - and, finding an empty chair, sunk down and tried to ignore the gnawing feeling of doom deep in his stomach.
Adrian sat up with a start, glancing hastily down at the front of his shirt. Miraculously, it was dry, free of the almost-sticky mess that had almost been the milk all over his shirt. His blazer was clean, too, and a quick check of his shoes revealed that they were also dry. And the left shoelace was a bit lopsided, but that was nothing a quick retying couldn’t fix.
He stood up to retie his shoe, but the impulse didn’t last very long. Mostly because, for the first time, Adrian actually noticed his surroundings. If he’d fainted at Natalie’s - well, more run screaming from the room, away from the milk, and tripped on a twisted rug, but fainted sounded a bit more dignified - that meant he should still be at Natalie’s. Instead, the whole place was unfamiliar, and both looked and smelled like -
Adrian could feel his throat closing up as a young woman in pink scrubs wandered past, fiddling with a folder. He reached over and grabbed her by the arm. She jerked and stared at him.
“Where… Where…?” He could barely get either of the words out, and realized only after the woman pulled her arm away that he’d only managed in forming one word, anyway.
“Clinic’s over there,” the woman replied with an eye roll, and jerked her head towards a pair of glass doors nearby. “So’s the pharmacy. You obviously need to refill your meds.”
He tried to protest, but the only sound that managed to escape his lips was a strangled non-syllable. The woman rushed off into a gaggle of other scrub-wearing individuals, leaving him to stand in the middle of the hallway, stark still.
After a moment of attempted processing - more listening to the word “hospital” repeat itself in his head over and over again - he found himself drifting aimlessly in the direction of the so-called clinic, using his sleeve to open the door without touching it. He scrawled his name on the intake list - “Adrian Monk” - and, finding an empty chair, sunk down and tried to ignore the gnawing feeling of doom deep in his stomach.