When It's Time to Move On

Door 3 - Chapter 28 - Once Again

The floor was made of finely polished marble that glistened from the sunlight seeping through the window curtains. The surrounding comprised chalk white walls mostly hidden by posters detailing the human anatomy while a chair faced a large desk decorated with numerous tools and folders.

Harris was struck with panic as soon as the revelation dawned on him. His chest heaving heavily with terror, he frantically darted his eyes from one detail to the next. There was no need for him to study the posters that adorned the walls, he knew them by heart – he'd memorized them during his many visits here. They provided no guidance or answers, only further despondency.

However, it was the odor accompanying the room that unplugged the deepest of Harris's repressed memories, the aroma which pulled his heart into his throat, a reminder of an impending ill-fated end – of death.

He had walked straight back to the hospital. Dr. Roslin's office to be exact. Harris's eyes fell on the plaque bearing her name, scratched from the side which almost obscured the initials of her profession. 

The brightness of the room coupled with the smell of medication always served to unease him. This was not good, he thought, he had no intention of returning to the life of pain and misery where all he had to look forward to was a painful death.

Harris made to return to the hallway when he realized he'd snapped the door shot upon entering. He grasped the knob and pulled hard to find a dark storage room. The hallway was gone, he was trapped. 

Now panicking, Harris looked around for any clue of his condition. It didn't seem as if he was in a position of worry. During the end stages of the cancer, Dr. Roslin would generally have a nurse present to examine him. There was no one besides him at present. He felt well enough to walk and move. 

Scratching his head absent-mindedly yielded a definite answer. He had hair, it had gradually shed off during chemotherapy, and only when all hope was lost did he let it grow back as treatment ceased. This meant there was no cancer. Not yet, at least. Momentarily relieved, he heaved out a sigh and let the calmness spread to his body.

"Once again we meet, Harris." A woman's amused voice reached his ears.

A short woman in her late thirties or early forties stood at the doorway. Still in lean condition, her brown hair cut just above shoulder length, her eyes reflecting the experience of her profession and knowledge, her skin not having lost the luster of youth completely but there were discernible wrinkles near the eyes. 

A white doctor's coat wrapped over clothes clearly worn by a mother who was, or at least tried to be, invested in her family life. At the moment, Dr. Roslin's features highlighted her augmented sense of amusement that Harris was all too well accustomed to being around.

"I'm afraid so." He replied. There was truth in it, he was afraid to see her. There was nothing welcoming in her presence because he'd always felt uncomfortable at her lack of empathy, be it ludicrous or not.

"And what may I ask are you suffering from today?" Dr. Roslin asked as she crossed the room and took her seat, a folder in her hand.

"You tell me," Harris replied, trying to stay composed without giving way to any sign of fear.

"Sit down." She suggested as he had not moved from the storage room door, hand still on the knob. Harris did not reply. "Anything the matter?"

He cocked his head to the side to convey his derision. She, however, took little notice and rummaged through several other folders.

"What is it?" She asked after some time and when Harris had still not uttered a word.

"You do ask a lot of questions, I just realized that."