Spare Parts

Part One: The Doctor-3

“Well?” her mother asked the room.

“I want to start a business for myself,” she said. “I’m going to have a physio room in my condo where I’ll receive patients.”

“But you have a job,” her mother said. ”You have a good job. You’re working with doctors, any of which could be a potential husband.”

She felt her temper creeping up but stifled it. “I’m not going to leave my job right away. Starting my own clinic will take time. Probably years.”

“So you’re going to invite random strangers into your home, then,” her mother said. Her tone was venom wrapped in a quilt of guilt. Alessia’s anger jumped out.

“They will be clients.”

“Strangers. And you’re not married. Who will protect you?”

“Me, Mama. I’ll protect me,” she said, exasperated.

“You’re not married,” her mother repeated.

She watched her mother’s fingers begin twisting her wedding band. Right on cue. At least my hands are steady, she thought smugly as silence settled on the room. It was her father who eventually broke it.

He opened his eyes and leaned toward his daughter, reaching out; she gave him her hand willingly enough. He cupped it with his left while his right patted it several times. Then, he gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We are a family, figlia. This is a major step in your life, but it’s also a major step for us too. We are a family. What we do, we do together. Please, let us all sleep on it for a week or two. Have some discussion on it. You owe us that much, at least.”

Suddenly, she felt ashamed. He was right. They were a family and always included each other in every decision. So, she agreed to sleep on it and discuss it over the next two weeks.

That was five days ago, and no further discussion had occurred. It’s fine, she thought, as the sun traced its way across the ambo’s fender. I gave them time to process my decision. It’ll be easier this way. She felt that the longer they went without saying anything, the better the outcome would be, that they’d come around to her line of thinking. A snap decision would be a hard ‘no,’ she knew. A long, drawn-out conversation between the two would allow them to see everything in her light; that she was over thirty and it was time to start a life of her own, away from the nest.

She checked her watch and was surprised to see that she could sit in the sun a while longer. She noticed small pockets of activity around her. The open bay doors of the laundry complex, across from the ambulance entrance, were emitting a baritone buzz. She saw mammoth sacks of sheets hoisted by chains and pulleys. Close by, on the sidewalk, she listened to a pocket of people, three employees, and two family members, huffing on cigarettes and talking about the terrible loss suffered by the Alouettes. She watched as an ambulance pulled up to a stop behind the one already parked. A man got out of the passenger side. He saw Alessia sitting there, gave her a quick, soft smile while walking to the back of the ambulance. His partner, a tall, muscled woman, popped the back doors open and climbed inside. The man bent over to open the compartment close to the wheel hub. She noted that his tight pants accentuated an already extremely cute butt, if you were into that kind of thing. She watched the partners unload an elderly patient with efficient ease and little talk, a hefty bag slung over the man’s shoulder.

She watched all this and let her mind float free. She thought back to her date the night before. She’d been hot, smoking hot was the actual phrase, and Alessia wouldn’t have minded getting into her pants, but goddamn had she been dull, vapid, and a little bit racist. While Alessia had been known to jump the bones of those she’d found particularly attractive before, age had sullied that. There had to be a mental connection as well as a physical one. And so, she’d politely refused the offer to go up to her date’s apartment, pointedly not noticing the seductive eyes thrown her way. It hadn’t been easy as she did have a body to die for. She mused on the woman’s curves for a bit before checking her watch. She got up, stretched, then headed back inside.

SheelaThank f**k she was free until next month! Sheela hated the meetings with her fuckin’ court appointed shrink.

The first year was the worst. Twice a week for the first six months followed by once a week for the remaining six months. Plus a boatload of “voluntary” NA meetings. Now, the shrink meetings were bi-weekly. While she was able to admit to herself that they did help, it was the neurotic little woman she talked to, a Dr. Wosniack, that made her dread the meetings; that chick had to be fuckin’ mental herself if she’s been working at this place for thirty years.

During their meetings, she never approached Sheela. She was always seated behind her desk, some color of file folder in front of her. As the weeks wore into months and then surpassed the year mark, the file folders had darkened in color and bulked in thickness. Sheela felt that The Wahz was always trying to trick her into admitting something she’d never done. After every answer Sheela would give, The Wahz would flip through her file, make a subtle mark next to some sentence, give a perfunctory nod, and then ask Sheela to continue.

Sheela reached the elevator and hit the button. While she waited, she fished around in her pockets for her phone. The elevator chimed and arrived while she was digging in her purse. The doors slid shut, and it descended to another waiting patient, sans Sheela.

Shit, she couldn’t find it. She must have left it in The Wahz’s office. s**t! She turned in the direction of the office and trudged down the hallway. When she got there, some twinge of intuition made her pause, her knuckles poised a few inches away from the door. Instead of knocking, she shifted her weight to the right and peered into the window slit that ran parallel to the door. Inside, she saw The Wahz down on her knees, a container of bleach wipes in her left hand while her right clutched one and was furiously scrubbing away at the chair Sheela had been sitting in. When the chair was clean, Sheela watched The Wahz crumple up the wipe and throw it away. Sheela watched The Wahz’s mouth go slack, unhinged, as it opened to enormous proportions, before she jammed her whole hand into her mouth to the wrist.

What in the f**k is that?

Sheela stepped back from the window and shivered. She searched her pockets and purse again, hoping beyond hope to find her phone. She had no such luck. Finally, with a slight tremble in her hand, she knocked and waited.

After an unbearably long time, she heard The Wahz shout through the door.

“Who is it?”

Sheela almost didn’t answer. Almost.

“It’s Sheela, Dr. Wosniack. I think I left my phone in your office.”

She could picture The Wahz taking her quick, small steps towards the door. She could even hear the swish of her slippers on the carpet. The door opened, but not fully. The Wahz handed the phone to Sheela and looked at her. Sheela felt herself being judged, sized up, considered for a meal. She shivered again and thought she saw a flickering pull at the corners of The Wahz’s lips.

Was that a smile?

“Thank you,” she said with a small voice.

“Anything else?”

“No.”

“Then please leave. I have another client coming soon.”

Sheela turned and walked toward the elevator. She reached out to hit the button, thought of The Wahz’s jaw again and opted for the stairs; a hasty retreat was always fuckin’ best.

She pushed the heavy, red stairwell door open and stepped in. She clutched the railing and began descending the first flight. There were twelve steep stairs that stopped at a landing, with twelve more descending to the next level. She was halfway to the landing when the door above her closed with a loud snap. It startled Sheela, and her footing slipped; if she hadn’t been holding onto the light pink-painted railing, she would have fallen the rest of the way and possibly ended up with a broken ankle or leg. As it was, she kept herself upright at the expense of having her arm overextend itself. She felt first a pull, then a slight burning in her shoulder that she knew would double by days end. Still, she considered herself fuckin’ lucky. She descended to the landing and stood there for a few moments, rubbing the sore spot in her right shoulder. She looked at nothing in particular, just shifting her gaze casually over the walls.

Something caught her eye. It was on the outskirts of her peripheral vision. It looked like the wall was moving. She took a tentative step away from where she saw the movement. Then, she scanned the scant stairwell but saw nothing obvious. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed. Nothing stirred. Probably just my adrenaline washing out, she thought.

When Sheela felt she had herself under control, she continued down the stairs. She passed by the second floor and then the first. Twice on her descent, she caught something moving along the walls, just outside her field of vision. Every time she turned in its direction, there was nothing but the pockmarked white brick staring back at her. She continued to the basement level, where an exit door was, except, when she got there, there was no door. She stood, dumbfounded, staring at the same pockmarked white bricks. She saw movement again, only this time it was directly in front of her. The wall rippled and expanded out in the middle by a few inches. It hung there, seemingly reaching out to her before retracting. Sheela closed her eyes and shook her head. It’s just a fuckin’ lingering drug hallucination, she told herself. It wouldn’t wash. With her eyes still closed, she heard a rumbling and felt a faint whisper of hot air push against her face. She squeezed her eyes tighter and told herself, once again, that what she heard and felt wasn’t real. Again, it wouldn’t wash. Struggling, she counted to twenty and opened her eyes; a trick she’d learned in her meetings.

She looked out at what was once a stationary brick wall. Now, the middle of it was bulging out like a fuckin’ pregnant chick ready to pop. She watched in horror as it reverted back to being a wall before expanding again with hypnotic movements. This time, however, it didn’t stop. When the majority of the wall had reached the limits of its ballooning, the center kept going. It pushed out in a puff of crumbling dust. The center began to form a limb, stretching out. It stalked toward her at an agonizingly slow speed, yet she was rooted to the ground, unable to comprehend, or believe, what was unfolding before her. It was only when a finger and a thumb materialized at the end of the appendage and plucked a piece of her blouse neatly between them that panic overrode her brain. She turned, wrenching free of the fingers as they ripped a soft square of fabric from her blouse, and bolted up the stairs. She reached the first landing and looked toward the door that held her salvation, except that door had disappeared too. She stood dumbstruck, not believing what her eyes told her to be true. She heard the same sounds as before and looked behind her. The wall on the landing was ballooning out. She had no doubt that another hand would be snatching at her soon. Her brain sent a signal to her legs to run, to GET THE FUCKIN’ f**k OUTTA THERE!