Substitution - Chapter 10
#10 of Substitution (TF Themes)
Substitution - Chapter 10
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"I doubt I have to tell you again that meeting your father for the first time may be very traumatic for you and your father. There may be things that you are not ready for -"
Brantley huffed.
"Like what, Miss Lake?" he snapped to the orca with whom he was standing in the hallway. "That because he just popped out of a test tube, he looks about 15 years younger than he was before? Or that he's got holes in his memory the size of Nebraska? Or that he's possibly going to be physically and mentally impaired for the rest of his life? That he's just about good for feeding himself from a plastic bowl but that's about it?"
The orca appeared taken aback, but held her calm.
"Yes, Mister Kyle, those are all clinical facts we have to take into account for the moment, but if we could discuss some of the points for a little bit longer - "
"No more talking," Brantley growled. "I've been talking with you for months. I've bothered the hell out of every senior doctor in this place to let me go and finally see him, and Doctor Joliot has told me that there are no medical reasons why I can't, so right now I'm going to go and talk to my father for the first time in over four months to see for myself what kind of a wretch you are keeping me away from!"
"I understand your concern for him, but I can assure you that his wellbeing is our first concern - "
What about MY wellbeing?" the wolf snapped. "And his? I'm his only immediate family and you're keeping me away from him. In what way is that good for his wellbeing? He's alone and lonely in this fucking place - "
"There's no need for language," the orca said.
"So stop your delay tactics and let's go," Brantley demanded. "Or I'll call not only Doctor Joliot, but also the insurance company who is paying for all this shit. I'm sure they would not be happy to hear about what's going on here to one of their very expensive customers."
The orca appeared to deflate through her blowhole, and simply replied with a curt nod.
"Yes, Mister Kyle," she said.
Finally Brantley felt like his opinion meant something. He'd been telling the doctors for two weeks now that his father's recovery might as well be hanging by the chance that seeing his son would trigger his mental healing. The news he had heard about his very slow recovery were not encouraging, but Brantley had not let himself be demoralized. They had said that it could take a long time, and Brantley was not about to give up on any measure of his hopes until more time had passed.
The aseptic corridor changed into a more homely one, after moving up into the next floor. There were potted plants, warm colors, furniture that looked like they belonged to a comfortable hotel rather than a hospital. There were paintings, televisions, the lot. Classical music played softly on the background. They passed a niche where several elderly furs were sitting on armchairs and watching television together.
"Memory reinforcement patients," Miss Lake noted, "the communal aspect helps their recovery."
"Memory reinforcement?" Brantley asked.
"Anti-dementia treatment," the orca said, "we regenerate damaged neural tissue, help them form new connections, recover the old. Being exposed to old music and film often helps."
"My grandmother was like that," Brantley noted as they moved along, "didn't remember what she had for breakfast but she could sing every Bryan Adams song by heart."
"Your father has received music therapy as well," the orca said.
"Does he respond?" Brantley asked.
"I understand he does," the orca said, "but you'll have to ask Doctor Steepley for further information on that."
"I just want to see my father now," Brantley grumbled.
"The next door," the orca said.
It was marked "8", Brantley noted. He also saw that it was locked, and opened with a key card the orca flashed onto the reader. The wolf didn't like the idea of his father being imprisoned like that.
"Why is he kept behind locked doors?"
"Your father has wandered on occasion," the orca replied. "Also to keep the others from wandering in. The staff cannot follow them individually every moment."
"Hmmmph," Brantley's tail swished tensely behind him.
"Now...I would advice against loud noises and sudden movements," Miss Lake said, "he is very sensitive, and easily startled."
Brantley decided that the orca made his father sound like a baby with colic.
"I'll whisper," he declared.
The orca finally pulled the door open, and admitted Brantley into the recovery suite of his father, Roman Kyle, reborn. Brantley found himself holding his breath, at the cusp of actually seeing his father.
He hesitated.
Could he do it?
What could he say?
"Good afternoon, Mister Kyle!" Miss Lake announced upon their entry. "You have a guest here for you!"
Brantley wondered whether such hollering really didn't count as a loud noise. It was enough to almost make him jump, let alone his father whom the orca had declared to be nearly a nervous wreck. She was already stepping into the room and he had no choice but to follow, even with a pulse rate of 200, or so it felt.
Roman Kyle sat on a well-padded, high-backed chair facing a window. He wore pajamas, but no socks, and his bare, huge footpaws rested on the floor, carpeted in a shade of peach.
Brantley bit his lip. He found his mind struggling to make the connection between his memory of his father and the man sitting in the room and staring in front of him. His apparent youth was perhaps what struck him first, besides the difference in physical size. Apparently they always played it safe and made sure that the recombinants would be as viable as possible, which led into the new bodies being what could only be described as well built. His father had never been a small man, but this...version...of him was certainly larger than Roman Kyle had ever been. His broad chest filled the pajamas, and even though his paws were at rest on his lap, the arms were obviously very well built.
But that wasn't all of it. He really was young. Brantley had spent so much time during the past months looking at photos of his father that he could quite well tell at what age each snapshot had been taken. Right now he had the appearance of his father around the age of 30, something he could compare in his mind to a snap of a 30-year-old Roman Kyle proudly ruffling the head furs of a 10-year-old Brantley Kyle, wearing baseball gear and grinning at the camera. It was a sweet family moment he had returned to several times in the past, even though his own memory of the time it captured was somewhat vague.
His father, at the moment, did not look very fatherly.
They could have been mistaken for brothers now.
"Do you want to say hello to your guest?" Miss Lake said to Roman Kyle, speaking with a voice that Brantley associated with kindergartens.
Roman Kyle did not speak.
"Let me get your board."
The orca pulled a small cart over from nearby and parked it next to the oversized armchair containing the wolf. Upon it sat a plastic board that was covered in cartoonish images, captioned with legends such as "HUNGRY" and "YES" and "NEED BATHROOM".
"Here's your board, Roman," Miss Lake told the big, quiet wolf.
"What's that?" Brantley asked.
"A communications board for the preverbal patients," Miss Lake said. "He can point at things to express basic needs, moods and ideas."
Brantley bit his lip.
"I...I didn't realize that...that he's still this..." he mumbled.
Roman Kyle's huge ears flicked in his direction. His large head turned and he looked at his fellow wolf with bright, sharp eyes. He appeared curious at the sight of this new person in his room, yet was unable to utter a word in acknowledgement.
"This is your son, Roman," Miss Lake said. "Your son, Roman."
The orca placed her finger against a cartoon of three stick figures with smiling faces, a mother, father and a child, labeled "FAMILY". Roman Kyle looked at this pantomime with what appeared mild curiosity. He smacked his lips, but didn't utter a word.
"Family, Roman," Miss Lake repeated.
"Hey..." Brantley said.
"That's your son, Roman," the orca affirmed.
The wolf looked at the orca first, then at Brantley.
"How...how are you?" Brantley questioned. "I'm afraid I didn't bring any gifts...heh..."
The wolf's look at him was dull, and puzzled. Brantley wondered whether he understood what he was saying.
An even more terrifying thought was whether his father knew who he was or not.
"Perhaps I should get you a chair," Miss Lake suggested. "Sit down for a moment and let him get used to you."
I'm his fucking son!
"it's me, dad, Brantley," the wolf spoke again, "Dad?"
He stepped closer to the seated wolf and leaned down, trying to find eye level with him.
"Dad, I'm here," Brantley rumbled. "I'm here...I've come for you."
The big wolf's ears perked, but he did not speak.
"He's not speaking yet, mister Kyle," Miss Lake spoke behind him, "as in most cases, either verbal or motor development happens faster than the other, and your father is proceeding in his motor development at a very good rate, but his language development is consequently slower."
Brantley growled, and his ears began to move flat.
"Does he understand anything?" he hissed. "Dad, can you understand me? Dad? Do you know who I am?"
The wolf on the chair looked at him with a puzzled expression.
"Dad?" Brantley breathed. "Father!"
The wolf's ears dropped flat. He let out a surprised huff, not yet a growl, but part of a wolf's non-verbal arsenal of communication. His tail snapped against the side of the armchair.
"Mister Kyle, I think he is feeling anxious," Miss Lake spoke somewhere close.
"Dad..." Brantley groaned, "Dad, it's me!"
"Mister- "
Brantley grabbed the plastic board from the cart and stomped his finger against the image of "FAMILY" on it, obscuring the cartoonish smiley faces.
"Look...family..." he tapped at the image, "family...me...family..."
"Mister Kyle, please calm down!"
"EEH!" the wolf exclaimed.
"Dad!"
Roman Kyle's paw lashed out and slapped the plastic board down to the floor. Brantley jumped back with surprise.
"Dad?" he gasped.
"Perhaps we should - "
Brantley reached for his father's arm. The wolf panicked at the sudden approach and lunged out of the chair.
"DAD!"
He slammed against Brantley, who lost his air and was sent tumbling by the collision of a pajamas-wearing hulk on him. He landed on his ass while a Miss Lake let out a surprised yelp. The towering senior Kyle rushed across the room and into a corner where he held his ground, eyes scanning the area suspiciously while he snapped his teeth together.
Brantley's awkwardly bent tail sent a flash of pain up his spine. Miss Lake was going to the door.
"I'll get the nurses!" she yelled.
"Shit, dad..." Brantley muttered.
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