Nightmare

Five weeks earlier...

Matt drummed his fingers on his knee, not so patiently waiting for the man behind the desk across from him to say something. Said man was intently reading some papers from a dark blue folder with Matt’s full name printed across the top. Once in awhile he would glance up at Matt, his piercing green eyes making him feel a little uncomfortable.

“I can just come back some other time...” Matt said finally, glancing at the clock to see he had been sitting there for nearly an hour.

“Please have some patience, Mr. Sanders.” the man didn’t glance up this time, moving on to a new page. “It’s important I understand your circumstances before we proceed.”

Matt sighed and leaned back in the chair, resisting the urge to prop his feet up on the desk. “Maybe you should have been a little more prepared for this appointment then, Mr...Baker.” he said, reading the man’s name-tag on the pocket of his white lab coat.

This time he glanced up, and set the pages down. He folded his hands on the desk. “Doctor Baker, if you don’t mind. But fair enough, Mr. Sanders, if -”

“Corporal Sanders, if you don’t mind.” Matt mimicked, with just the slightest trace of a sneer. “From one well-respected man to another, right, Doctor?”

The doctor’s face remained expressionless. “I’d like for us to be friends, Corporal. It makes these things so much easier. You can call me Zack. Is it okay if I call you Matthew?”

Matt shrugged. “Just hurry up so I can leave.”

The doctor looked back down at the papers in front of him. “So, you’re here after being discharged from your unit -”

“I’m only on medical leave.” Matt cut him off again. “And I can get back to where I should be once you give me the all clear, so could you get on it?”

After making a note on one of the papers, Dr. Baker looked up again. “Right, of course. My apologies. So your leave was one of a more psychological nature, not physical, right?”

His patience quickly wearing thin, Matt sighed again. “Shouldn’t you know all this? Not to mention you’re a psychiatrist, not a surgeon, so that much seems obvious.”

Quickly writing something else down, the doctor continued. “I’ll make it quick then. You were stationed in Iraq with the rest of your unit. Traveling back to Baghdad at night, you were all supposed to fly home the following morning. However, after a roadside bomb went off, all but yourself and two others were immediately killed. Am I doing alright so far?” he asked, sounding not quite as sympathetic as he probably should have.

Matt met his gaze evenly, trying to remain calm and ignore the images flashing through his head. That was the only way he’d ever get back to his job, his friends, his whole life. “I think you’re hitting the highlights.” he said indifferently.

“Yourself only suffering a broken leg, you did your best to attend to your injured comrades. Not much one can do without help or supplies, however. Isn’t that right?”

Matt shifted uncomfortably. “I did what I could. But I’m not a doctor.” he found himself remembering the darkness of the ditch on the side of the road, aside from the fire burning on what remained of their truck, the pain in his leg, and worst of all the agonized moans and cries of his friends. And the blood. Blood was everywhere. He cleared his throat and repeated himself. “I did what I could. They knew the risks, sometimes these things happen.”

Zack was watching him closely. “For one who watched his friends die, some of them quite slowly and painfully, and then sat alone for hours in a ditch before help arrived, you don’t seem too upset, Matthew.”

“We all have our methods of dealing with grief, Dr. Baker.” Matt said after a moment.

“Indeed. Do you ever wonder how things could have gone differently? What else you could have done? What would have happened if it had been you that didn’t survive?”

“No.” Matt lied quickly, knowing a wrong answer would lead to more weeks of sitting in offices with people like “Zack”, and keep him away from being reassigned.

The doctor scribbled down a couple more points, before asking another question, which Matt honestly thought was pretty pointless. After a few more questions they sat in silence again while the doctor typed on his computer, before picking up the phone in his desk.

“Yes, I’m just confirming there is available room at the Los Angeles Mental Health Center. I have a patient who -”

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Matt yelled, standing up.


“Sit down please." he turned back to the phone. "Sorry, as I was saying I have a patient who needs to be enrolled in a rehabilitation program for individuals suffering from acute Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”

“You fucking liar! I’m not -” Matt was interrupted as two other men opened the door, “SECURITY” printed across their uniforms.

“Take your seat sir, or we’ll have to restrain you.” one of them said firmly.

Matt remained standing, but didn’t say anything as the doctor laughed lightly. “As I’m sure you could hear Val, his case is rather severe. I believe there might be another underlying condition that’s contributing to his anger, but we’ll have to see once the program starts...So there’s available room? Great, I’ll have him sent over today...alright, take care. Bye now.” he hung up the phone and smiled brightly at Matt, who was scowling down at him.

“I’ve done my homework, Zack, and I know for a fact you’re talking bullshit.” Matt hissed, clenching his fists but otherwise not moving.

“As unfortunate as you may think it is, I am the professional here, not you. You have no need to be so upset. It’s a short program, four weeks at the most. After that, I’m sure you’ll be ready to be back in action. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes...”

“Good. In your line of work, I’m sure you understand that sometimes sacrifices and compromises need to be made. Now if you’ll just sign here, and here...” he pushed some papers across the desk towards Matt, wearing a grin on his face that somehow didn’t seem friendly at all.

***

Matt followed a short, scrawny guy who had introduced himself as Johnny down a hall, carrying a stack of sheets, blankets, and clothes all the same color as the off-white “uniform” he had been made to change into. As far as he could tell, for being a professional medical center, the place was pretty dirty and run-down.

“Since you’re pretty...stable overall, you’re gonna have a roommate.” Johnny was saying. "He’s a nutcase, to put it nicely, but he’s not dangerous.”

“Perfect.” Matt mumbled, following him into a small room off the hallway.

Inside, a man with dark messy hair had his back turned to them, staring intently at the wall before him. Like Matt, he had tattoos running up both arms, though the left one was bleeding from a deep scratch in his forearm. As they watched he ran a finger over his arm, then reached up to continue writing words on the wall, apparently in his own blood.

“I think you meant complete fucking nutcase.” Matt said after a moment. “Aren’t you going to, you know, stop him or something?”

Johnny shrugged. “Naw, I’m another patient, just like you. Anyways, they don’t care much what he does here, so long as he doesn’t bother anyone else. So, Matt, this is Brian.” he walked over to the man and tapped him on the shoulder with a little more force than necessary. “Brian, this is Matt. Turn around and meet him.” he spun the man around, who offered little resistance. He peered at Matt, his brown eyes looking rather haunted.

Matt dropped his blankets and clothes on the only chair in the room before reluctantly holding his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

Brian stared at his hand. “Brian keeps his hands to himself.” he said in a raspy voice, clearly not used to using it much.

“Oh. Uh...alright.” Matt dropped his hand to his side and refrained from any further comment.

Johnny didn’t hide his snicker. “I’ll leave you two to get to know each other then.” he grinned at Matt before leaving the room. Brian turned around again and dragged his nail up his arm, using the fresh blood to continue his writing.

“Fucking hell...” Matt muttered, sighing as he turned to start making his bed.