Doubt Me, Forget Me (Teaser) by AnonEmis

Doubt Me, Forget Me (Teaser)

AnonEmis, Dragon, Emotion, Fox, Hypnosis, M/M, Otter, ZsisronDarkwater, drug use

I've realised it's been a long time since I posted something of relevance, so I thought I would post a little something I was, and still am working on. It's an excerpt from a story I'm submitting for ZsisronDarkwater"s hypnosis contest which should be completed in a couple of weeks. So enjoy, I intended for this to have a much more serious theme.

Also, a random thinga I wanted to say"

Look at the cover art. Just look at it. Be amazed. That is all.

Yours, AnonEmis

Doubt Me, Forget Me

By AnonEmis

[EVIDENCE_EXIBIT_A]

[EMAIL_LOG_1]

[RECOVERED FROM PC REGISTERED TO CANUS CLINIC OF MENTAL HEALTH]

[DATED: APR12_2012_9:45PM_TO_12:32PM]

-RECORDING START-

(9:45 PM)

To: [email protected]

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From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: My Boyfriend

Hello Lukas,

This is Dr. Sandez speaking. I've received your message and I regret to inform you that you still may not visit your partner. His physical and mental condition is still fragile. Rest assured, you will be informed when your partner's health improves. If you have questions, I will get back to you on a later date. But, next time, I recommend turning on the private correspondence option in your emails.

Regards,

-Dr. Sandez

(9:49 PM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

No Subject

Why the secrecy? And why can't we talk about this now?

(9:55 PM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Further Communication

Conversing privately would be more convenient. I value my patients' privacy. Also, I receive substantial amounts of correspondence to go through in my inbox on a daily basis, so I am occupied for today. However, I have some time at exactly 8 AM tomorrow morning. I will answer any of your questions about the otter then.

Goodbye,

-Dr. Sandez

(9:57 PM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

No Subject

You're talking to me now, why stop? Also, he's not just an otter, he's my mate and he has a name.

(10:00 PM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Further Communication

I am aware of that, your partner will be treated with respect. We will speak again as I have other clients to tend to.

Regards,

-Dr. Sandez

(10:00 PM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

No Subject

No, I entrusted you with my partner's safety and I have to know if he's okay or not. I'm not playing your stupid game. Just tell me how Mykal is doing.

(10:15 PM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

No Subject

Doctor, answer me now! Don't ignore me.

(10:29 PM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

No Subject

Hello? Are you there?

(10:35 PM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Screw you

I know you're fucking reading these, if I found out that you hurt Mykal in anyway, I'll call the cops on you. Then, I'll make you pay.

(11:10 PM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

No Subject

YOU BASTARD. GIVE MYKAL BACK TO ME. I'VE CHANGED MY MIND, GIVE HIM BACK. DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE HURT HIM.

(12:29 AM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Please

Doctor, just tell me how Mykal's doing. Please, I have to know if he's alright. He's my mate, if anything happens to him... I don't know what I would do. Is he okay? Please, just tell me he's okay.

-Lukas

(12:32 AM)

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Subject: Our meeting time

Hello Lukas,

I have not hurt him nor will I. You have my word. We can talk later at our pre-arranged time. If the otter's condition improves, we can talk about you visiting him.

Regards,

-Dr. Sandez

(12:37 AM)

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

No Subject

His name is Mykal.

-RECORDING END-

...........................

The monster won't let go of me. I can see him out of the corner in my eye, through my blurred vision. He stands silent beside my prone body, gripping my arm and trapping it with invisible fingers. He won't talk, he won't move, and he won't let go of me. He just looks blankly at the wall with that stupid square face of his with no eyes. All he has is a neon green mouth, set in a grim line. I don't hear any words, just a steady electronic tone coming from lips that don't even open. Sometimes it would screech, the lined mouth grimacing. The beeps enter my ears like a hot knife in butter, easily piercing my eardrums and relentlessly attacking my tender brain. With each digital breedle of the monster's cry, I grimace as well; my hands try to cradle my head, but the monster still holds on to my arm. I'm stuck in an agonizing cycle, the monster screeches, and I listen. After a while, I give up, letting the pain wash over me. My eyes close, and the sight of the monster disappears. I try to close my ears too, but I can't.

I take another look at my captor, my eyes searching for a weakness. He is very gangly, I realize. The arms, the neck, the torso, they're poles. I could snap them easily. I glance at his arm, wanting to smash it. I want to splinter it in two, hear its screams as I escaped. Yeah, I can do that. I can. My other arm twitches as I ready it. I lift it and immediately gasp as invisible bonds rip it back. My teeth grind together painfully as my throat lets a guttural snarl loose. I'm trapped. I try to speak to him, to threaten, to bargain, to beg. Maybe all three at once. My mouth opens, but my words choke as my sandpaper tongue grinds them down to wheezing breaths. I shut my mouth, desperately trying to coax out saliva that I know won't come. Biting my lip in defeat, I resign myself to closely examining my jailor's arm.

In one fingerless hand, he tightly grips a small pouch. Ropes sprout from the bottom; long, coiling, and ropy tubes that bite into my skin. I wonder if they are snakes. They certainly look like it. I can see the snakes' innards, a viscous red fluid that oozes from the pouch into the snake and then regurgitates into my body. Revulsion fills my being and I try to jerk my arm away. The snakes simply flex and stretch, the flow of liquid staunched for a second before continuing its journey into my body. I look away in disgust and stare at the ground.

He has no legs. My captor has no legs. His rolling-pin torso extends all the way to the ground. It melds into a square block. No feet either, I guess. The square has a metallic sheen to it. The silver colour extends from the square all the way up to the monster's head. More tubes like the ones attached to my limbs are feeding from the base . The only difference is that they are black and have three pronged heads that sink into the wall. My brows furrow in concentration. Words flood my mind. Captor? Or another Prisoner? Monster? No. A Machine.

With a sigh, I roll my head to the ceiling and stare at the white washed surface. The monster or machine, it still won't shut up. The mental action of thinking puts me in a state of agony, so I resign myself to sleep. I try to take deep breaths, but each intake of air only makes my mouth as arid as a desert. My brain becomes a clock, seconds tick away, but hours drag on and on. I had just tired of counting the beeps from the machine, exactly eight hundred and four times, when a section of wall shakes. The section vibrates for a second and then peels off. Like old skin, the wall opens up and someone steps into my room. His face is cloaked in shadow and his body obscured by a white lab coat. Closing the portal behind him, he seemingly pulls a chair from mid-air and places it beside the machine. My heart stops, and the machine grimaces again. My mind screams a warning. Don't. The machine will get you too. But the stranger simply extends an arm, and presses a button on the machine. The beeping stops, and my head stops pounding.

"Ah!" I gasp as the snakes in my arms suddenly clamp down on my arm, teeth piercing into my flesh. Then, they go limp, their innards suddenly shrinking into a trickle before evaporating. As the snakes die, I feel myself waking up, coming alive. Almost. My vision isn't restored, the bleary fog is still clouding my vision. The throbbing in the back of my head doesn't disappear either, it stubbornly resigns itself to a spiteful poking in my temples.

"How are you?"

I look at the stranger, intrigued. He talks. His voice is grating and has a tinny quality to it, as if he were a scratched record. I reply with a croak. My hands form a shape and grip an imaginary cup. Bringing it to my lips, I look at the strange imploringly. He smiles, the same sort of knowing grin an adult would give to an adorably naïve kid. I'm not a kid, and I don't like this man. A finger reaches down to his belt, and depresses a button on a device. Seconds later, a figure briskly glides into the room, opening the door, placing a cup in the stranger's hand, and then leaving. He hands the cup to me, wrapping my trembling fingers around the plastic. I look down at the shaking container, peering intently at the clear liquid. I hesitate, wondering if it was snake innards. I drink anyways and sigh as I taste the water on my parched tongue. It tastes like metal, with a oxidizing tang. The cold fluid slides down my throat, and washes my insides. My vision clears, my body starts to work again, and I somehow drop my cup. The remaining liquid spills over the sheets and forms a dark patch in the grey blankets. Oops.

I nervously look at the stranger, taking in his face. I meet his eyes, desperately trying not to blink.

The elderly fox is staring at me, coal-gray eyes boring a hole in my head. He is thin, not as thin as the machine, but still frail-looking. His fur sags in places, making him look as if he hasn't grown into his skin yet. A skeleton that stole someone's fur. His lap coat mirrors the distended quality about him, frayed and fading at the cuffs and bottom. The fur on his chin hasn't been groomed in a while, growing and becoming scraggly at the tips. He looks like he has a beard. I thought only humans had beards. And humans only existed in fairy tales. His facial hair must have been white when he was younger, but now it's a gunmetal colour. It matches his eyes, but looks horribly garish against his rust orange fur.

"How are you?" The fox repeats.

I swallow, wetting my tongue.

"Good." I say.

He nods, and pulls out a clipboard and pen from under my bed.

"I want you to answer some questions." He says, "It will help me to deliberate what state you are in."

I stiffen, suddenly wary of this old fox. Why does he want me to answer any questions? Where am I? How did I wind up here? He seems to recognize my doubt, and smiles. He does a horrible job, his lips being stretched like elastic to reveal bleached white teeth. His eyes don't show any expression and he looks like he is in pain. I don't bother to hide my distaste and he sees this. He drops the smile and scowls.

"I know you have questions of your own. I will answer all questions you have if you answer mine first." He states in an icy voice.

My instincts flare, every sinew in my body tensed to run and escape. To jump out of this bed and away from this fox and his colourless prison. But I remember the tubes still attached to my arms.

I clear my throat and try to keep my voice steady.

"Who the hell are you? I don't know you, so why should I do anything you say?"

Biting my lip to hide my satisfied grin, I watch as the fox frowns again. When he speaks, his voice is even more scratchy, like stones grinding together.

"I am Dr. Sandez." He replies with what might be indignance and authority if his voice wasn't so abrasive. "You are in a hospital and I'm trying to help you. But I cannot do anything if you don't want to help yourself."

He glares at me, daring me to be insolent. I'm not, the wariness replaced by alarm as what he says sinks in. The monster/machine. It's an EKG, a device that I saw on TV that's hooked up to people who were either dying or in a coma. The snakes and the pouch, they were an IV drip. I feel my heart begin to flutter, panicking at what happened to me. The machine start to beep again, the wavelengths trying to keep up with my racing pulse.

"I'm in a hospital? But..." I start to stutter, "But how?"

Dr. Sandez shrugs, eyeing me with his mockingly ignorant gaze.

"I'm not sure," He says innocently, "I thought you would know, you are the victim."

Victim. I'm a victim? Of what? I shake my head in response.

A smirk plays across the doctor's lips, disappearing as soon as it materializes.

"So this is why I want to ask you some questions. I'm here to help you." He says silkily. I shiver, my body telling me to run. I edge away from Sandez, away from his unsettling stare, and as far as the tubes digging into my arm will let me. He doesn't seem to mind my actions, in fact, he doesn't seem to care. He waits patiently, tapping the edge of his clipboard with his pen. I feel my ears flatten in defeat. He has me right where he wants me: scared, curious, and helpless.

I sigh. "Fine."

"Excellent," He cheerily exclaims, "Now, tell me your name, birthday, occupation, and close relatives."

I blink. The answers are all on the tip of my tongue, but I can't reach it. I'm beating my hands on glass, looking at my life but unable to reach it. Dr. Sandez sees my confusion and smacks his lips in disappointment. The ugly sound makes me cringe. He scribbles something on the clipboard, grasping the pen with bony fingers. The fox looks up, fixating me with his dead eyes.

"Perhaps that was too advanced for you." Dr. Sandez remarks pretentiously. I can feel my fur standing on end, bristling at his arrogance. Jerk.

He continues to speak.

"Why don't you say what you know for certain is real. Then, you say things that you think might be real. Perhaps that would help you get your bearings."

He sounds so sincere, but I can't trust him, I just can't. But I ignore my gut and speak in halting tones, my own voice sounding foreign in my mouth.

"My name Mykal." I begin, my throat raw. I really wish I hadn't dropped my cup. The water has soaked through the sheets and is now in my fur. Am I naked under the blankets? The sound of the old fox clearing his throat shakes me out of my tangent.

"My name is Mykal Hillis. I am a male otter." I look down at my arms and exposed chest for the first time. Brown fur, accented by lithe muscles confirm my gender and race.

"I was born in Britain. And I moved to..." My memories start to get fuzzy. "Havre Island, in the Mediterranean?"

Dr. Sandez looks up from his clipboard just as I look to him for confirmation. He nods encouragingly.

"It's in the Caribbean," He corrects me, "But go on."

"Umm," I mentally sift through my head, trying to pull out a coherent recollection.

"I live in an apartment, with my boyfriend." I furrow my brow. "At least I think I do..."

Silence, and

"Damn..." I hear Dr. Sandez swear under his breath. Did I do something wrong? He finishes writing on his clipboard and stood. Silently, he stared at me with lips locked and stitched in a line. His body tenses and face muscles stiffen under his languid flesh. Despite the agitation vaunted from neck down, his eyes are still bereft of life. Sandez's glare draws me in, so I miss his slim arm depressing a button on the machine. The crystal snakes pierce my skin and I feel liquid fatigue running in my blood. Slowly, a milky black blur takes over the edge of my vision. The last thing I see before darkness claims me is Dr. Sandez striding out of the room, the wooden panel sliding seamlessly back into the wall.

To Be Continued

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