Spilling Guts

Part 92 - Falafel

After Louis was clean and dressed, he let himself be poked, prodded and weighed by Rachel. She glared at him.

"You're six pounds lighter."

"I haven't eaten in over a day! Of course I weigh less!"

"Nutrition talk, now."

After promising a better log of what he ate, and grabbing a follow-up cup of coffee (premium dark roast as promised) Louis joined the rest of humanity in Main Tech. Four o'clock in the afternoon, and most of the day crew had left. Beni and Reese among them.

Good. Louis didn't feel like explaining himself to the redheaded beanpole.

At first he wondered who had moved his desk and replaced it with a pallet of patent folders. Then he realized what ignoring his inbox lead to.

"Oh, come on!"

"Well, look what happened to your desk." A swinging tap approached from behind. Megan and her crutch.

"I don't have a desk," said Louis, gesturing to the pile. "What is the world coming to when a person has no place to put down their coffee?"

Teegan came joined Megan, holding a small stack of photos. "We're glad we caught you. We have a few questions."

"About?" asked Louis.

"We want to talk to you about Parker."

Louis thought hard about his former barista and drugger, and then looked at his "desk".

"Sure." Anything to put off tackling the paperwork.

***

As much as Will wanted to enact his revenge, a haphazard plan cooked up between himself and Louis that would require a few hours and a hefty sum of money, he had to prepare for a sleep study.

He went home to pack an overnight bag and turn off his alarm clock. The neighbors didn't need to be woken up to Yoda saying "wake, you must!". He packed as if going to a convention for the weekend, but without costumes. Extra deodorant, extra change of underwear, and an extra large book to read.

Dinner consisted of two forkfuls of leftover colorful pasta. Will put the fork down as the taste of pesto crept back up his throat. He swallowed it down.

No more throwing up damn it. Food goes in, it stays in.

Rachel met him in the lobby of the Novak tower just as the sun set, making the world blue-gray and lit with orange and gold streetlight. The Denver Albertus Magnus Hospital, commonly known as the Albert Hospital, was connected in two ways to Watch Two. The first via a utility room that led to an underground tunnel near the cold storage; involving scanned IDs and used only in emergencies. The second was the public sky bridge that connected the hospital to the fifth floor of the Novak Tower.

Will kept his eyes front and center when they crossed over the enclosed sky bridge, overnight bag bouncing against his hip. No need to see the cars whizzing by far below through the windows. No more nightmare fuel, especially for a sleep study.

The hospital smelled of disinfectant, band-aids, and get-well flowers. Nurses in colorful scrubs sat behind stations or flocked to their patients. Tile and long hallways full of doors that Rachel navigated like a second home. He hoped they were going in the right direction.

Will hadn't been in a hospital since... Freewill. If one could call the hollowed out shell Retten had infested a hospital. Med Tech didn't count. While it had all the trappings of a hospital it felt more like a school nurse's office.

I hope this doesn't become a new flavor of dream.

"Who is the doctor taking care of the study?" asked Will.

"Doctor Neil Hayman, somnologist. He's been working alongside the Watch for years. Good medical backup in a pinch, but his specialty is the study of sleep and neurology."

"Sleep not one of your specialties?" asked Will, trying to joke, but too tired to make it work.

"Even a primary care physician knows when to recommend a specialist."

"I thought you knew everything medical."

"I can only read so many journals in a day. I have limits." Rachel patted Will's shoulder. They entered an open space, another small lobby encrusted with large paintings in jewel tones and blacks. "I wouldn't put you in hands I wouldn't trust. He's a good guy. Dressed up as a falafel once."

Will blinked, mind fuzzed in confusion. "How does dressing up as a falafel make him a "good guy"?"

A voice tinted with a British dialect spoke. "Well, at the time I thought it would be tasteful."