Part 1: The Strangeness of Fredrick Street - Chapter Nine

In Chapter Nine, Mark is plagued by strange visions and secrets not even he knew he had.

9

Mark Fleming strolled down the corridors of the St. Vincent Memorial Hospital with a skip in his stride. He'd had a stellar morning, with a successful liver transplant already under his belt, no paperwork or unread e-mails piling up on his desk or his inbox and a baby scan with Kim to look forward too. The rate he was going at, he could probably even squeeze in enough time for a nap but he thought he best not push it. He didn't want to late for the scan and besides, if Kim found out he had napped without inviting her to join in the siesta, his life wouldn't even be worth living. Still rolling down the hospital hallway, shimmying past the odd gurney going at break neck speed or crash cart being thrown between nurses, he watched as all this life-saving activity roared throughout the hospital. At times like this, being surrounded by so much potential death and horror, Mark never felt so alive. As he skipped out of the way of another gurney, this one hosting a patient with a heavy blood flow from the head, he entered his office thinking how lucky he was; how they all were. The hospital had a fantastic surgical success rate and the lowest mortality rate in the country - 0 deaths from surgery in the entire time Mark Fleming had started working as a doctor here and every person who crashed through those hospital doors in immediate need of medical care was saved. Mark didn't take all the credit, but he knew for one thing though, any first day doubts he had about taking on the job, as Head of General Surgery were completely unfounded. He had a 100% surgical success rate, which had the earned him a lot of fans and admirers throughout the hospital, not to mention the country. He was treated like a hero and he was loving it. 

Sitting down at his desk, he had about 30 minutes to grab some lunch before his scan with Kim. Pulling out the brown paper bag she had packed his lunch in, (crunchy peanut butter with some raspberry conserve, a banana for snacking and – his one luxury item – a can of soda) he sat back in his chair, looking out onto the view his office offered of the city skyline and began to relax. Growing up, when he first decided he wanted to enter the world of medicine, he never thought he'd have the work-life balance that he currently had. It was deemed impossible by his lecturers, mentors and even his friends. But nothing was impossible for Dr. Mark Fleming. Not one thing. Finishing up his lunch, he turned back to the neat pile of files on his desk and noticed the mail from earlier. He had some time on his hands which meant he could go through these now, pay his bills, read any fan mail (admittedly a weird thing for doctors to receive but he was a celebrity in these parts) and save whatever endangered animal he was asked to save. As he had predicted, it was bill after bill after bill (a few new offers which would save them a pretty penny which he filed for later) and a few letters from the families of patients he had operated on and got back on their feet. The last letter in the pile however, was a strange one. He recognized the scrawl on the front of the envelope almost immediately as his own. Although he had no idea why he would be sending himself a letter. There was no earthly reason for it. It was something he used to do in the past, when he was so busy studying or chasing his medical license that if there was a pressing matter (even a reminder of Kim's birthday or his parents anniversary) he would send himself a little letter to remind him. But since striking the perfect work life balance, he had absolutely no need to do this. And he couldn't recall doing so since his student years. An uneasy feeling started to cloud the room, something that Mark wasn't used too and propelled him towards door, closing it quietly. Holding the envelope somewhat gingerly in his hand, he felt his heart start to race, the sweat from his hands cascading into the letter and almost opening it with the moisture. Sitting back down at his desk, Mark stared at the envelope. The strangest feeling was coming over him, like he knew what was inside the letter and didn't want to open it. The strangest feeling of dread and fear was coursing through him, pumping blood through his body so fast it felt like he'd run a marathon from a sitting position. He had the strangest feeling that whatever the words in this letter said, it would change his life forever, and he didn't want to open it. But he had too. Curiosity would kill him eventually, even if what was inside the letter didn't. Having a quiet word with himself to get a grip, he tore open the letter and read. 

Kim, Colleagues, Family & Friends. 

I'm sorry. For cheating. For lying. For not doing my job. For not saving people, for not saving you & for not saving myself. 

I'm sorry. 

Mark Fleming. 

Mark stared at the letter for what felt like an age. His head was swimming, his vision began to blur as the sweat from his forehead began to sting his eyes. But he couldn't shut them. He couldn't tear them away. He couldn't stop staring at the suicide note in front of him, written in his own hand. His own words. But they couldn't be. The letter spoke of infidelity, of not saving people but...what? Killing them? He didn't understand. He couldn't. Searching his memory, he had no recollection of ever putting pen to paper and writing this. He had no recollection of ever cheating on his wife, of ever losing a patient, of ever being the man that was written on this paper. There was nothing he could point to in his mind, in his current life that would suggest this. But all at the same time, he couldn't help but feel it was true. 

"Dr. Fleming?"

The sound came from outside the office door. Knock Knock Knock. "Dr. Fleming your wife is waiting with Dr. O'Brien, we'll be ready for the scan in 5 minutes. Are you in there Dr. Fleming?" 

"I....." He couldn't find his voice, noticing quite suddenly that his throat was dry and his words were coming out in a choked whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm just...I'm just finishing up some paperwork and I'll be right there."

Mark waited until he heard the footsteps moving away from the door and disappearing in the distance before tearing himself away from the letter that was stuck to his hand. He had to get rid of it. He had to think straight. It was clearly a prank, a jealous colleague or one of his friends from when he was a student, one of the ones that didn't make the cut, flunked out and was now living in his mother's basement. Of course it was that. Mark had never written the note, he couldn't have. None of it was true. But.....

NO! The word echoed around his head, as if not quite his own. The room was close to spinning; he couldn't think straight and was dangerously close to collapsing. There had to be a reasonable explanation for this letter. It had to be forged in his hand. He and his friends from University, they were always doing shit like this to get out of certain classes or helping with each other's essays. Yes. That absolutely had to be it. He had no idea who would do such a thing, but when he found out...

Still panicking, he yanked open one of his desk drawers to hide it in there when he saw something that made him spin away from the desk and knock the lamp crashing onto the floor. Inside the drawer, there were dozens, if not hundreds of the same letter. He picked them up, flicking through them, each one saying the exact same thing as the one he had opened. Each one written in the same handwriting. Each one a message from him to him. 

Trying to think, trying to get his head clear and stop the flurry of activity and voices rushing through his head, he let the letters slip from his hand as he noticed something blinking on the computer in front of him. Rushing forward, pressing his face up against the screen he watched as all his case files, every single one of the patients he had operated on flashing up on the screen. He watched in silent horror as their status turned from the green success to the words written in blood red DECEASED. Clicking at the computer furiously, he pressed as many buttons as he could, trying to stop the cases changing status. Trying to stop everything. But nothing worked. They kept flashing up, they kept changing, and they kept dying. He had to do something. He had to get out. He had too. But as soon as it had started it stopped. The computer screen went blank. The messages in the drawer disappeared. The door to his office swung open, the doorway empty. Breathing heavily, transfixed by whatever was going on around him, Mark started to move toward the door. Walking through it, the hospital corridor seemed different. It was a different place. There wasn't the same flurry of activity. There was nothing. There was nobody. Nothing and nobody except the different sounds coming from the rooms that lined the corridor. Slowly, as if hypnotised, he started to walk down the corridor, looking into the rooms as he passed each one. Seeing what he did not want to see, and hearing what he did not want to hear. In one room, he was standing over a patient, covered in blood while they lay on the table the shrill beep of the heart having flat lined reaching out and puncturing his ear drums. In another room, there was Mark with his trousers round his ankles thrusting against a woman who was bent over a hospital bed, a woman who wasn't Kim, the sounds agonizing to listen, to seeping out of each room. Every room was the same. Mark stood over a dead patient, Mark with a woman who wasn't Kim. Dead patients. Fucking strangers. Every room the same. So many of them. He walked past them all and looked in every one, until it all blended together in a tornado of noise. Sex and death. Death and sex. Reaching a crescendo, a fever pitch screaming and crying and flat lining all mashing together until—

--It all stopped. Everything disappeared and the real world came flooding back in. Mark found himself standing in the middle of the hospital corridor as the usual gurneys and crash carts, doctors and nurses, families and patients whirled past him. He felt his shirt and found it to be soaked through with sweat. Catching sight of himself in the reflection, he was as white as the coat he wore and his hand was trembling. Nothing made sense. He was frozen, unable to move. Unable to forget everything he just saw. Unable to clear everything from his mind. Unable to do anything. He stood there for what felt like forever, until he felt a hand on his back. 

"Dr. Fleming? Are you OK?" He turned around; it was one of the nurses. One of the nurses who just moments ago he had seen lying on a hospital bed with him lying over her. 

"I'm...I'm fine. Where is....Kim? The scan."

"She's just in Dr. O'Brien's office. You can go in now. They're waiting for you."

Mark nodded. "Thank you."

The nurse looked at him. He didn't even know her name. And she didn't look at him like she remembered what he had just seen. "Are you sure you are OK Dr. Fleming? You look a little, shaken."

Mark shook his head, wiping his palms on his head. "I'm fine. I just had a bad lunch. Thank you."

She hovered for a moment longer before nodding and leaving Mark to stand there alone. Kim was waiting on him. His beautiful Kim. How would he look her in the face after what he just saw?

Thinking fast, he headed back to his office, changed quickly into a fresh shirt (a second change of clothes was always needed in this profession) and splashed his face with some water. As he looked at himself in the mirror, some of the colour started to come back to him. 

"None of it was real." He heard his voice for the first time in what felt like forever. "None of it was real."

With that, he buttoned up his coat, left his office (locking the door behind him) and headed to Dr. O'Brien's office to find Kim. Knocking first, he entered, with Kim lying there on the table, waiting for the gel. He looked at her, everything he saw almost falling out of his mind. She smiled at him. But there was something off about her, like she'd had a day not unlike his. 

"Hey sorry I'm late. Got caught up." Mark strode across the room and planted a big kiss on her. 

"It's OK. I was running late myself." She stared at him. " You OK? You seem a little off."

Mark plastered a big smile on his face and shook his head. "I'm fine. Just busy. Hardly had a moment to myself. What about you? You seem—"

--"I'm fine too. Had a nap. Bad dream. That's all." Kim looked away. 

"You know what? I think that's what happened to me too. Serves us right for napping without each other right?"

Kim gave a weak laugh and smiled. "I guess so."

They stared at each other for a few moments in silence before Dr. O'Brien entered the room and shattered it. 

"Well then, sorry to keep you waiting. Let's see how our little one is doing then huh?" Dr. O'Brien rolled up her sleeves as Mark squeezed Kim's hand. Neither saying a word.