TANSTAV part 14

Chapter 4 part 4

I know, I sound completely callous and heartless towards the welfare of my fellow monsters. But at that moment, I didn't care. My mood was blacker than an imp, covered in Ghul blood, drinking octopus ink, inside a whale's gullet, at the bottom of the ocean, during the new moon. I burst into Higgins's house (the front door was always left unlocked, in order to admit patients), shaking and stomping, dripping water on the hallway carpet. His secretary, a heron man dressed in a custom-made suit, ran from his desk towards me, squawking in protest. For your information, he was of that species of monster that looks essentially like a human with some animal body parts. Very popular in Native American and Egyptian mythology. This particular one had a long, pointed beak, even longer skinny legs that looked like sticks, wings with hands on the ends, bright blue, feathery hair, and round yellow eyes.

"You are ruining the floor!" he squealed indignantly. "We just had the carpets cleaned yesterday! How dare you come here in this state!"

"Stuff it, stilts," I growled, "I'm here to see your boss."

"Not in that condition, you're not," the heron man said primly. "You must be dried off first. Furthermore, I'm not sure you have an appointment with Doctor Higgins."

I reached out, grabbed the secretary by his scrawny neck, lifted him off the ground, and moved him out of my way. Then I dropped him and moved on down the hall, going for the stairs. Higgins’s office was up there, and I meant to see him, come hell or high water.

"You can't do that!!" the heron man cried, grabbing my arm. "The doctor has given strict orders against anyone coming in without an appointment!"

"I am here to schedule an appointment with him!"

"You certainly do need one, but-"

"Not for ME, you dodo!" Wrenching my arm free, I prepared to take off. A sudden scream of fury rent the air, and I felt the secretary slam into my legs, knocking me to the floor, despite his scrawniness.

"I-AM-A-HERON!" Stilts shrieked. "NOT-A-DODO!!!"

Well, technically, he was only part heron. But I understood his meaning. Things were getting contentious, when a reedy voice cried, "What is all this racket about, Ivocnavi? I'm trying to work!" Standing at the top of the stairs, clad in his typical pale beige suit, was Doctor Archibald Higgins, in all his psychiatric glory.

Every time I see Higgins, my skin crawls. To humans, and even to most monsters, he looks very normal: tallish, thin, early to mid-'40s, receding gray hair that gives him a big forehead, a narrow, intelligent face. But I hate his eyes. As I've mentioned, I'm not impressed by flaming red orbs, and stuff like that. But his eyes are a completely different story. Cold, gray, calculating, like you'd imagine the eyes of Professor Moriarty. And how unfeelingly analytical they are! Sometimes he just stares at people without blinking, studying every movement, every sentence, and you just know he's also x-raying their thoughts-ugh!

I slowly disentangled myself, stood up, and shook water from my hair, eliciting another squeal from Mr. Ivocnavi. I ignored him.

"Hey, Doc. I'd like to set up an appointment with you."

Unadulterated delight spread in a reptilian grin across his pale face.

"You require an appointment, Mr. Wormwood? But of course! I would simply love-"

"For a friend of mine," I interrupted. Why was it, I wondered, that everyone assumed I needed psychiatric help?!

Higgins was disappointed, but also intrigued. I felt him starting to probe my thoughts (which is very hard to describe; to understand it, you'd have to experience it yourself), and began reciting the periodic table of the elements mentally. The doctor can only read thoughts on the surface of your subconscious, because he doesn't have enough power to push any further. Too lazy to practice, I guess. I didn't want him digging around in my brain just now, so it was easy to shut him out. He looked annoyed; the probing stopped, and he descended the stairs.

Once he reached us, I told him- in a nutshell- about Calla, and his delight returned.

"Wonderful!" he cried, with all the happiness of a scientist who has just discovered a new type of plant that can cure cancer. "And in only three weeks?"

"Yup. Healed up enough that she can go to the police."

"Oh, I just love a challenge!" Higgins rubbed his hands together gleefully, making a repellent shush-shush sound. "When do you want her first appointment?"

"I was thinking Wednesday."

"Ivocnavi, when am I free Wednesday?"

The heron man scrambled to the front desk, shedding a few feathers, and flipped through the appointment book.

"Either from 7 to 9 a.m, or 2 to 4 p.m."

"I'd prefer afternoon," I said.

"Splendid!" Higgins practically chirped the word. "Fill this out, please."

He waved a hand, and the book and a ballpoint pen flew from the desk, and landed in my hands. I read the page it was open to, making sure I wouldn't be selling away my soul or anything like that. It was just a formality for setting up the appointment, without enchantments, concealments, or alternate dimensions. I filled it out to the best of my ability (since I didn't know Calla's birthday, names of her parents, or the exact nature of her mental ailment; for that last one I just wrote "trauma"), signed, and handed both of them over to Higgins.

"Thanks. I'll be going now." I turned back down the hallway, passing the front desk (where the heron man glared at me), and unwittingly let slip a thought about where I was going at the moment when Higgins probed again.

"Galveston?" His interested query made me pause. "Why are you going to Galveston, Wormwood?"

After a moment, I replied, "That's my business. I'm not one of your patients, Doc." Then, humming loudly the song "I Am the Very Model of a Modern Major General" in my head, I exited the house into the rain.