STARE

Part Three

Tim entered the hospital the next morning, more hopeful than he had ever been. He made his way through, trying to ignore the stares coming from the lobby.

"Hey. I have an appointment for-"

"Tim! Great to have you. Just sign this form and you'll meet the nurse by the door in just a minute."

He could feel the stare coming down on him as he bent over to sign the sheet. It wasn't at all necessary to see people staring at him, to know that they were.

After some common check-ups, the nurse left him in the doctor's room. He looked around and studied some of the medical flyers tacked to the walls. The one about heart disease made him feel uneasy. He thought that perhaps when he's fixed, he could finally do some exercise. It was the mock skeleton, though, that made him the most uneasy. It was without eyes but he could still feel it staring at him. The empty eye sockets were cold and the brow seemed unnaturally furrowed like a scowl. He could see a light movement in its suspended arms like the nurse had bumped it on her way out. Tim and the skeleton stared at one another for an agonizing moment before the door swung open following a few loud knocks. An older man with grey hair framing the sides of his otherwise bald head walked into the room, his white lab coat trailing behind his feet.

"Hey, Tim, great to see you! I'd ask how you are but I have no doubt you're interested in the solution to your... condition." He said.

"Very much so, doc. Is it true? You found a way to help me?" Said Tim.

"Well, I'll say it won't be easy on your body or your wallet. But I'm sure you'll find it worth the trouble, no?"

"Of course."

"I must ask you, how have you been holding up? I know it must have been a nightmare after... well, your father." He said.

"I've been surviving. Not living really, just surviving. But I'm doing well enough."

"Good, good. Glad to hear it, Tim," the doctor continued, "so, this procedure will be the first of its kind. You'll have to trust us, which you should, as well as fill out quite a few forms. You'll be in the hospital for some time. There'll be a need for physical therapy as well as psychiatric. But first, I'll need to ask a few questions."

Tim couldn't quite tell, but it always seemed as if the doctor was looking slightly to the right of him, almost like a lazy eye but it was both of them. "Let's get this started, then. I'm ready for this. Have been since I started breathing."

"Alright, then." He said as he reached for a clipboard and sat down in a chair, the skeleton looming behind him.

"So... How often do you speak with yourself when you're at home?" He asked.

"A lot. Almost all day, when I'm not in town." Tim said.

"Okay. Do you ever feel like you're not yourself? Like you aren't behaving normally?"

The questions felt odd to Tim. It was like he was talking to a psychiatrist instead of a physician. "Um, not really. I feel pretty in control most of the time. But... I'm sorry, why do you ask?"

"Well, I feel these questions are highly important in determining which one we should exhume." Said the doctor.

"Exhume? What do you mean?" Tim asked.

"Oh boy. It's happening again, isn't it?" The doctor asked. He stood up and began to rummage through a drawer in his desk.

"What's happening again?" Tim asked.

The doctor continued, searching through another drawer. "You see, there haven't been many people like you. In fact, it's often rare that people with your condition live as long as you have. Now, I know you've been kept in the dark for most of the medical side of things. I believe your father thought you had been through enough as it was to worry you about such details." He said.

"I-I'm so confused. My neck is just out of place. It shouldn't be this serious." Said Tim.

The doctor took out what looked like a small mirror, a scalpel, and a needle filled with some fluid. He walked behind Tim and made his way to the other side where he began to do something. "It's quite a rare phenomenon but it's not entirely unheard of. When someone like you experiences some kind of trauma, whether it be mentally or physically, you can shut out certain things and it's like it doesn't exist at all. Now, from what the other one is telling me, it seems as though you haven't been very kind lately. Since your father passed you've had a few violent tendencies. Is this correct?"

"Other one? What the hell are you talking about?" Tim asked.

The doctor reached his hand towards Tim and showed him the scalpel, covered in a small amount of blood. "I hope you don't mind, it's a very small incision. Did you feel that at all?"

Tim stood from his seat. "Are you insane? You don't just cut your patients like that!"

"Did you feel it?" He asked again.

"No."

"Because you shut him out. You've done this before, Tim, when you were very young. It's almost like you've completely erased a part of you from existence. Poof! Gone. Have you been letting others get to you again? When they stare?"

Tim looked upon the doctor with a deep dread that ate away at his guts. "Doc. Please. I don't understand." The doctor began to talk again, looking towards his neck.

"Is that so? Alright, Tim. I think you should sit down and I can show you what I'm talking about. I'm going to give you a shot. Don't worry, it's just a mild sedative." Before Tim could answer, the needle was already in his arm. Within seconds, he was sitting down on the chair as the doctor pulled the mirror out from his coat.

"I think we've all come to a decision. We can start the procedure today. Tim, I want you to look and just try to relax. It'll all be fine, I promise." He held the little mirror up to Tim's face and pointed it towards his neck. What he saw there was so instantly terrible that he immediately vomited onto the floor.

"What. What the fuck is that?" Tim said as his eyes filled with tears. He began to feel the dull pain from the incision creep up. The thing in the mirror stared at him with bloodshot eyes and its lips were small and chapped. Its chin was narrow and a few strands of hair drooped down from it, moving just a little under its hot, rancid breath.

"This is you, Tim. Well, sort of. I'd say it's your brother." He said.

The mirror reflected it back at Tim as it smiled. It's eyes were deep and cold like the skeletons were. It protruded from Tim's neck like a parasite on its host. He felt the sedative kicking in hard and he realized then that it wasn't mild at all.

"Your brother has made some very good points, Tim. I think it's best for everyone that he can finally have a somewhat normal life and not be at risk of any more trouble or confusion. I'm sure you'd agree." He said. "Unfortunately, we believe only one of you will be able to survive the separation."

Tim tried to speak but his face was numb. The face that stared back at him in the mirror began to droop down as well, eventually smacking its head down on Tim's head. "No," Tim mumbled out from his numb lips, "no. plea no. Pleaf nuhh." His heavy eyes began to close as the doctor stood there. The doctor, with the skeleton still shaking it's arms behind, never once stopped staring at them.