I sighed, my shoulders slumping slightly. “Okay,” I replied. “Okay, I need to see a doctor.”
“Name?”
“Iris Walker.”
“Age?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Are you currently pregnant or nursing?”
“No.”
Her list of queries went on. I described my ‘symptoms’ to her, explained any known health problems, and declined to give anyone as my emergency contact. Eventually, the invasive game of twenty questions ended, and she slid the paper to me with a pen. “Please sign and date here. This is your agreement that all the information here is correct.”
I signed and slid the paper back. She finally looked up, offering me an exhausted smile. “Please take a seat over there.” She nodded towards the crowded waiting room. “Someone will call you as soon as they’re able.”
Before I so much as moved, she called the next person forward. I hurried to find a seat, tucking myself as far into the corner as I could. A kid was coughing nearby, and another child complained of an aching stomach at the other end of the room. My skin crawled as I curled in a little more on myself.
Just don’t get sick, Iris. The last thing you need to do is to get sick.
Four hours later,someone called my name. I looked up to see a haggard-looking nurse and said a silent thank you to whoever was listening; the battery on my phone was getting pretty low, and you could only play so many games of Sudoku or read so many articles inBetter Homes and Gardens. The sick children had gone in a while ago, replaced by a woman with a pronounced limp and a man so pale I was worried he might pass out before he was seen.
I wasn’t surprised that the nurse looked positively exhausted as she led me back. The only words out of her mouth were a confirmation of my name and asking me to step on the scale. Once she had my weight, she led me back to a small room and nodded inside. “The doctor will see you as soon as he’s able,” she said, closing the door before I could ask how long that might be.
Uh-oh.
I tried to make myself comfortable in the chair, though it wasn’t any better than those in the waiting room. I looked at the plastic rack, sighing as I realized there was one lonely magazine.People…dated 1998. Great.I reached up to grab it anyways, flipping idly through the pages.Well, better than nothing.
It was at least another half-hour before I was seen, and the doctor looked even more exhausted than the nurse as he let himself inside. His shaggy gray hair fell over his glasses as he closed the door, greeting me tiredly as he sat in his chair.
“My name is Dr. Zither. It’s nice to meet you, miss—” He flipped the page. “Iris?”
I nodded. “That’s me.”
“Okay, good. And your intake form says you’ve come in today because you’ve had a pain in your chest that’s been bothering you for the last five days, and it isn’t getting any better?”
I reached up to touch my chest almost instinctively, forcing myself to put my hand back down as I cleared my throat.It’s now or never. Dr. Zither was human and exhausted, and I hoped both of those would work in my favor. “I’m hoping you could help me, actually. One of my friends went missing recently, and this was the last place she was seen.”
The doctor set the folder down on the small table and swiveled to face me, his expression dry. He looked at me over his glasses. It would almost have been comical if not for howtiredthe man looked. “So… you aren’t experiencing any chest pains?”
“No…” I murmured, my mouth tugging to one side. “Well, no more than normal, anyway. Did you see Cynthia Smith when she came in?”
Dr. Zither ignored my question, leaning forward as he scrunched his brows together. “No more than normal? You normally have chest pains?”
I sighed.Why did I say that?
“Yes,” I admitted, shrugging one shoulder. “I have a pacemaker. I’ve had it the last fifteen years.” It wasn’t a big deal. It still bothered me every once in a while, which is why it was the first thing that came to mind when the nurse insisted I either tell her what my ‘symptoms’ were or leave. “Did you see any of the other missing people? I know at least six had been here in a few days before — if not the day — they disappeared.”
The doctor leaned a little closer. “Have you had anyone check your pacemaker lately? You know those batteries don’t last forever.”
I frowned, annoyed he wouldn’t let the issue go. “I had it replaced before I went to college.” It was a half-truth. My foster parents had it replaced before I turned eighteen when I was still covered by insurance as a child. It wasn’t the worst idea, in truth, but that was seven years or so ago, and the lifespan of those batteries was only five to fifteen years.
Just one more thing to worry about.
The doctor seemed to read my mind, grabbing his stethoscope and rolling closer. I sighed and tipped my chin back, allowing him to press the metal to my shirt and listen to the beat of my heart. After a few moments, he rolled back, his expression unchanged. “I don’t hear anything I wouldn’t expect,” he told me, “but if it’s been some time, you need to get in touch with your cardiologist. I’m afraid I can’t do anything else for you in that regard.”
I sighed. “And the missing people?”