He hadn’t had a patient for a very long time. First he had to cure his own mind, for the Seeking had left him with an handful of broken glasses in stead of a brain.
He felt way better now: he swallowed only a chesspiece or two during last week.
But the weasels were all gone. He didn’t remember why, or maybe he didn’t want to remember, but… He felt so alone without the little critters.
(In truth, one remained, the strongest of the pack. But she hissed and gnashed every time she saw him, and that made him only more sad.)
It was nice to receive the letter of a patient asking for therapy. Someone still believing in his normality.
A good trial. A way to see if he was still capable of interacting with human beings without biting them.
They met in Veilgarden, had a little sip of honey to easen their minds. He looked like he of the two was the patient, too scrawny and dishevelled and with bags circling his golden eyes. But he still was a sort of a doctor, deep inside, and he wanted to prove it - to himself and to all of the fallen city of London.
Who would have helped the citiziens with their dreams, without him? That Scholmo fellow? Bah!
He was needed. He had to do his best.
«It’s a pleasure to help you again, my dear patient.» he said. The honey-dream was a pleasant one: a garden full of luxuriant vegetations, with insects buzzing and a pleasant smell of mushrooms. «Tell me everything. What troubles your sleep?»
He sat on a bench, inviting his patient to keep him company.
In spite of his terrible appearance, he tried to smile.
Garden… a beautiful one.Sparkling of many flying insects, mushrooms, some bigger than a mounted knight. Light from above, but not the Sun.
A person, sitting on the red cap. Magnificent one. Tall, with bright golden eyes, white coat and black shoes. Doctor Ember. Before the Seeking. Before the Fall. In the dream, mighty Titan of Modern Medicine. He is looking at somebody. Me.
In Veilgarden, on the coach, sleeping Gentelmen, with a walking crane, small mustache and beard. With the help of the prisoner honey, relieved from a nightmare of his past. For now. In Dream, He… I am a handsome young man with a red robe, covered in cabalist symbols. Before the Grand Escape. Before the partial memory loss.
"Doctor, I am grateful for Your assistance. I was looking for a competent person for long enought. You are my only way to regain what I lost. And help me with my sanity. Are You ready to descend into the madnes of my mind? It is Your last chance to turn back."
I sit on a mushroom and wait. I know that He is too curious to refuse. It is my chance. My only chance.
He laughs.
Not out of desrespect - he quickly puts an hand on his heart as a gesture of excuse - but out of surprise.
Of course he is ready! He’s a doctor. A damned GOOD doctor. Sort of. Anyway, lunacy is his daily bread, and a patient would never, ever scare him.
(Not after being so scared of himself. )
He’s competent! Perfectly capable of doing his job!
But he understand the disconfort of his patient.
Kithar asked his doctor to be ready because he himself isn’t feeling ready.
He’s scared. His problems are a big and unsurmountable mountain.
(He’s trying not to think about his carelessness.
While he seeked, he didn’t really care about… People. His patients. And without his guidance, problems probably worsened.
Foolish wreck unable to choose a side. Unable to understand if he’s still a doctor, now, or something much more terrible.)
«Madness is my job.» he simply answers, a glim of proudness in his yellow eyes «Whatever happened to you, I’m sure we can make it alright.»
A pat on his patient’s shoulder.
Together. Trusting each other, having a good and healty doctor-patient relationship. That’s the way to go. «Just tell me what happened.»
He puts on his most reassuring smile, pulls off a notebook from his pocket.
Time to get to work.