06/27/2012

I think I might get back into photography again.

This is the last you’ll see of this story until I publish it.

Monday morning was fairly typical at work. A lot of answering emails, a lot of deleting spam, a few confirmation phone calls to get things organized, and then an early lunch.

The afternoon was quickly followed up by a bunch of red tape and convincing my boss I still remained useful. I wanted to jerk off into his cup of coffee, but I didn’t think that was the kind of cream he was looking for.

I checked my phone and listened to a message from the hospital. It was one of the paramedics saying that Carrie would remain there overnight and well into Monday to make sure she was alright. He also said she’d have a psych consult. I drove straight from work to go visit her.

The nurse on duty decided to engage in a brief exercise of futility against my willpower. Eventually I coerced her into giving me Carrie’s room number without calling security, although this involved various threats of my photographic skills catching her doing illicit things in the staff breakroom with a certain doctor. I must’ve hit a nail, because the moment I mentioned that, the room number was mine.

Carrie’s eyes were glazed over from sedatives when I peered in the window of the door. There was someone in the room with her that I didn’t recognize. I played the part of the polite visitor and sat in a chair across the hall from her room. I stared at my briefcase and wondered what I should show her, if anything. My mind wandered along various possibilities.

The door opened and an Asian woman of moderate age stepped out and closed the door gently behind her. She saw me staring intently at the door and walked across the hall to shake my hand. “I’m Dr. Nanimura, Carrie’s psychiatric consultant. Are you here to see Carrie?”

I stood up and pumped her hand twice, firmly. I always did that with professionals, ever since I was young. “Yes, I’m Nick.”

“How do you know her?”

How did I put this? “I met her on a bus the other week, actually. We got into an accident.”

She gestured for me to sit back down again, taking the seat next to me, opening her file and clicking her pen down to take notes. “She didn’t tell me this. She just kept saying her memory was like a light switch, there were parts she’d remember and other parts she couldn’t. She mentioned your name, but I couldn’t grasp the context. She isn’t lucid right now.”

“Yeah… well… what do you believe in, doctor?”

“I’m a nondenominational Christian. Why?”

“How eclectic are you?”

“Not much…”

“Then I fully don’t expect you to believe this, but I’m going to tell you anyway…” I launched quickly into the story of Carrie insofar as I knew it, starting with the parkade photo, then the car accident and all the rest. Nanimura listened to it patiently, not once showing a sign of incredulity or disbelief, just calmly taking all the details in as though I were relating to her the events of the Napoleonic Wars. All the while, she took notes, studious notes, sometimes asking me to double back and repeat certain details. She took nothing for granted, and dismissed nothing about what I said.

At the end of my story about Carrie, she turned the tables on me, catching me a bit off guard. “So do you believe in this Underground, Nick?”

“Absolutely. I wish I could show you, if it would make a difference.”

“It probably would, but I have to take what’s given to me. Have you been under the influence of narcotics at all?”

“Asides from the odd drop of alcohol, no.”

“How often do you drink alcohol?”

“About one drink per day.”

“Sometimes more, sometimes less?”

“Yes.”

“Have you gone a day without alcohol during the time you’ve known Carrie?”

“Yes, up to about three days.”

“And who led who to this Underground?”

“I found myself there one night, shortly after I’d met Carrie and we had that phone call I discussed with you. I met her there the same night. Nobody convinced anybody it exists, we both arrived of our own separate accord.”

“I see…” She paused for a moment to write a few more notes and then sat back in her chair to think. I offered her a cup of coffee from an Aramark machine down the hall. She accepted, so I got up to get us both a cup.

I brought it back black, realizing belatedly I forgot to ask how she took it. She didn’t seem to mind. She grabbed it and sat it between her legs for balance. “Did she start losing lucidity fairly quickly?”

“I suppose if you consider the two week or so time frame that I’ve known her as quick, then yeah, but it was a gradual progression, it wasn’t like she was normal one day then insane the next. I’m surprised she went suicidal, though…”

“And do you think this possession is directly related to her suicidal tendencies?”

“Yes. There are things that my photos, and chronological circumstance, lead to believe she was involved, at least spiritually, in the murder of a man. This man’s spirit, vengeful upon release from his body, went on to kill his brother and his family.”

“Sounds rather elaborate.”

“I’m not the one that murdered the first man. And I’m not the brother who got a girlfriend ‘stolen’ from him. So while I can’t explain Carrie’s actions entirely in terms you might understand, it’s fairly easy to understand that this first guy, Darren, had a jealous streak.”

She clicked her pen up and looked at me, taking a sip of her coffee. “You do realize, Nick, that what your saying is capable of easily landing both you and Carrie in a psych ward.”

“Have you ever had a near-death experience, Doctor Nanimura?”

“No, I’m afraid I’ve been lucky enough to never suffer that, or anything close to it.”

“You can, without a doubt, say that your heart has never stopped beating in your life time so far?”

“Yes.”

“Let me tell you something, then, that may pique your interest when you do have one of those moments. Carrie’s heart stopped, albeit very briefly, when we got into that accident. Mine stopped the day prior when I thought that the photo of Carrie moved. We both made our first ‘trip’ to the Underground shortly after those events.”

“So you’re saying it requires temporary death to visit the Underground.”

“I’m not recommending you actively try it out, Doctor, but I am saying don’t discount the words I’m saying until you do. Nobody, including me, has been in significant contact with Carrie since the accident, nothing more than an hour or so at a time. She started spiraling after the accident.”

“That could’ve been just the shock, Nick.”

“Shock wears off after twenty-four hours, Doctor.”

I left her and took my cup of coffee into Carrie’s room, quietly opening the door and closing it even more gently behind me.

“Carrie?”

No response. I went to check her pulse. There, but fairly thready. I lifted her eyes and checked them as though I knew what I was doing. I was just hoping she’d be awake.

I sighed softly and sat down. Sipped coffee. Stared. Sipped again. I glanced out the door and saw Nanimura watching me intently. She didn’t avert her eyes when my eyes reached hers. I found that admirable.

“Carrie… I hope you make it through this. I really do. Because I want to know what’s going on with you, what it means for the Underground, and what that means for Aboveground. I w

ant to know why suddenly we’re able to access this parallel world. I think it’s worth exploring, maybe even living in full time. It’s… different. And I think I’d like that.”

I pressed my hand to hers on the hospital bed and left the room. Nanimura told me to drive safe. It was starting to snow.