“For two weeks, you supervised the refitting.”
Doctor Aran fetched a plastic chair from a corner. It was part in a stack brought in for visitors.
“What’s wrong with me?” Armand was not interested with the overview. He needed the short version, fast.
“You did not say,” the doctor was being evasive. “You called the hospital and asked for names, doctors and nurses. We came right away so you can choose.”
“Am I that powerful?” he was stunned.
“You have clout. You financed an entire wing of the hospital. The board of directors could not say no.”
Doctor Aran clenched his fists. He was angry.
“Release me!” Armand tried to pull out both his hands from the leather belts.
“As I explained to you, I can’t.”
“Did I hurt someone? Did I?”
Before the doctor could answer, a nurse came over to follow procedures. She extended to the doctor the tray containing the syringe, needles and small bottles of medicines.
“What happened to her?” Armand asked. The bandage around the nurse’s neck attracted his attention.
The nurse hurriedly left. Total fear gripped her hearing him awake.
“You bit her,” Doctor Aran replied succinctly.
“I did not!” Armand yelled defensively. He could not remember but ideally who would bite another person?
Doctor Aran finished mixing the liquid, the dosage was increased accordingly.
“This will relax you.”
“I am relaxed,” Armand said, controlling his voice to sound subdued. “I don’t need medication.”
“The signs are coming back.”
“What signs?” he was back to a confused state. “Tell me! What really happened to me?”
“Wild aggression. Violent behavior.”
“How could I be aggressive? I am strapped, for heaven’s sake!”
Doctor Aran found the vein in his right arm and injected him.
“After you bit her, you howled.”
The drug’s effect was quick; slightly slower to digest in his brain than what the doctor claimed he did.
“Did I become a werewolf?” he jested sarcastically. “Or, a vampire, perhaps?”
The doctor did not laugh. He was concerned in preventing him escaping the restraints,
“You are ill. You knew that so you made sure you would not become a menace.”
“Your word exactly,” Doctor Aran said. “Imagine a wealthy and known person in society roaming around biting people. You have a reputation to protect. That is our job: protect you from whatever bad thing you could do.”
“Look for specialists abroad!” Armand demanded. “I have money. Some foreign doctors can cure me.”
“We have done that,” the doctor clarified, “for your sake. They cannot help you.”
“Are you telling me I have a rare disease?” Armand suddenly felt hopeless.
“No, not rare. Complicated.”
“Why do I bite? You said I howled. Why?”
“We don’t know. But you exhibit the actuation of a rabid dog.”
Dog! The word reverberated in his head, accompanied by a dark memory, blurred by the passing of time.
“You can cure those I bit but you can’t cure me. Is that it?”
“It’s a dilemma,” Doctor Aran explained. “Unless we cut off your head and discover what really happened to you.”
Armand let out a short chuckle that surprised the doctor. His wealth seemed useless at that point.
“Maybe I need to consult the other ‘doctors’ not necessarily members of your association.”
“You mean …” Doctor Aran knew who were they Armand referred to, not by name, of course.
“Please call my lawyer.”
(to be continued)