The Agoraphobics: Shortwave
Published by Izzy Winchester at Smashwords
Copyright 2012 Izzy Winchester
http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/delcat
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Where do monsters move?
In small places.
"Akinetic mutism. Akinetic, meaning unmoving, and mute, meaning unspeaking. While the victim has normal waking and sleeping cycles and sometimes seems alert, he is unable to move or communicate."
Oh, this one was a bright and eager beaver. Sam wanted to punch him in the face.
"Very good, Michael. Go on. Can you tell us how it's caused?"
The med student faltered, lost a little of his ingratiating shine. Sam would've grinned if he could.
"Akinetic mutism is, ah...caused by...acute complications of the..." Desperate eyes took stock of Sam's scars. "...brain damage to the...er...frontal lobes?"
"In this case, yes. Obviously. Mr. Merchant was the victim of a car accident--the photodocumentation is here, if you'd care to pass it around..."
This was always the best part. Sam watched the pictures go around the room with vicious delight, relishing each tic and twitch. What little entertainment he had these days was largely schadenfreude-based, and why the hell not? Everyone in the room was only thinking one thing: how glad they were not to be the poor bastard farming bedsores in Sunny Hills Assisted Living. They made a joke out of him, and he made a joke out of them.
He stopped listening as the teacher started lecturing about his condition. It was the same every semester, save for how hearing the prognosis hurt a little more every time. You're in for an extended stay, Jack. Say, oh, 'til natural causes or a sweet little angel of mercy comes knockin'. God, yes. He still got a little bit excited every time the nurse reached for a pillow.
As the drone of the professor drifted into white noise, something else drifted up into active hearing, a squeal of static between the eyes that faded into a mechanical voice.
"...A...T...G...C...C...T...A...T...T..."
So that was still going on. Had been for a few weeks. Every time the "radio" in his head ended its transmission, he was sure it had disappeared for good, but then it would pop up again a few hours later, rattling off the same four letters at random. It was more a comfort than an annoyance now, but he still wished he knew where it was coming from. Were those stories about picking up signals through your teeth true, or was he finally going crazy? Crazier?
Hey, mister, he silently addressed the teacher, You're so smart, how about you tell me how to tune my steel plate into the Top 40? Numbers stations are a drag.
One of the girls pointed at him excitedly, like he was a dog that had spontaneously learned a new trick. It was a familiar gesture. "Jim, he's looking at you! Is he trying to communicate?"
"No, he can't. We've tried before. It's highly unlikely he's actually taking anything in."
She pouted sweetly, made the boys sweat a little. "I bet he wants to tell us he wants something, but nobody's really listening, you know?"
I want a fifth of Grey Goose, a slice of Chicago-style deep dish, and a piece of your ass, honey, Sam told her. She didn't listen.
Inside his head, the radio shut off. Inside his eye, something floated into his field of vision, a little squiggly line. He'd heard them explained once, strands of protein or something. The specifics didn't matter, he just knew they were a pain in the ass. Eye tracking involuntarily as it drifted across the center of his eye, he realized it was a new one, not the one shaped like a skewed "3", not the complex one vaguely resembling a cartoon clam. Bad sign, meant his eye was going. Not that it mattered, now. He knew the room like the back of his hand. Probably better; he hadn't been able to really look at the back of his hand in years.
The shape was grieving him. It almost made sense, almost--
It clicked, and his hands spasmed on the bedspread.
The squiggle spelled "hi".
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Sam did everything he could to ignore it, which was very little. He did math problems in his head. He thought about sex. He tried to remember the lyrics to Iron Man. In the end, though, there was nothing but him and Them. And They were persistent.
hey
One of the squiggles floated into view, obscuring the General Hospital rerun Sam was attempting to distract himself with. It looped into one word, then the next, then the next, spelling each letter in chicken-scratch cursive.