Young and Doomed | Frerard

Chapter Eighteen

Mikey was completely lost when he made his way into a waiting room, taking a seat on one of the sofas in silence.

The one other family in there – a mother and a son – shot him curious looks, but said nothing. Mikey knew what he looked like: some guy with a bad haircut, walking with a stumble, wearing a hospital gown (with bloodstains on it, to top everything off. The IVs he'd ripped out must have been connected to some pretty serious veins).

Mikey found himself picking up a magazine, flipping mindlessly through a few pages before placing it back on the ground. After a few moments, the mom spoke to him gently, asking, "Hi, honey, are you lost?"

Mikey looked her over. She was a young mom, and her infant son probably provided her with enough problems to deal with. She didn't need Mikey's on top of that. "No," He replied plainly. She nodded, getting up quickly when the nurse called her name.

There was no one working reception, and Mikey's eyes wandered to the shelf of files behind the front desk. They were arranged alphabetically (as indicated by the large letters on each row), and Mikey walked over to them slowly. Making sure no one was around, he slipped behind the desk, flipping one open.

It was the file of a young girl named Cameron Benson. She was allergic to pollen, used the insurance company Cigna, and had talkative mom – watch out! scrawled at the end. Placing the folder back on the shelf carefully, Mikey began to examine the other shelves for his own file, which was sorted by last name. Mikey had learned his a few weeks ago, while fiddling with his hospital band. A lot was written on the bracelet, including the words Way, Michael 15 M. He wasn't sure what the last two meant, but after searching the W category, found that his file was not there.

Before he could give up, Mikey noticed the same copy of Cameron Benson's file on the computer at the desk. Reaching over, he slowly typed 'Way' into the top right search bar. Three results came up, and he clicked on the last one: Way, Michael.

A chill ran through Mikey as he doubled clicked the document, opening it. He felt as if he were discovering a dark secret, rather than snooping around at a receptionist's computer. The document started out with things Mikey didn't recognize: his insurance, his allergies, his medications. Suddenly, his eyes landed on a name he recognized. Donna.

The word before that (presumably her last name) was unfamiliar, but Mikey was fairly sure this was the same Donna who visited him frequently. Wanting to learn more, he clicked on the name. The word's 'Legal Guardian' popped up, followed by a few irritated margin notes. 'Medical record practically inexistent. Allergic to penicillin and Zycorax, but ALWAYS half-dose first. Consider anti-depressants.'

Mikey scanned over these, finding nothing of importance. Clicking forward a few pages, he found a small paragraph. The notes read, "Only documented sessions we have – ask mom for follow up later." The paragraph appeared to be an almost interview-style monologue, between M and T. Mikey wondered if M was him, and quickly found his answer in the beginning lines of the document.

"Way, Michael. Wednesday, 4:56 pm. 7, M.

T: How are you feeling today?"

M: Tired.

T: You're tired often, aren't you? You've given me that answer a few times this week.

M: Oh, maybe. Sorry.

T: How is your bed at night? Is it comfortable?

M: Yeah, it's good. The blankets are super cool!

T: Are there other children making noise? Is it too crowded?

M: Nope, everyone's nice! Especially my friends.