Raving Moon, Lords of the Night Book One

Chapter 12: The Doc

I gave her the only advice I could.

"Stop trying to fight it and let yourself feel. Ride the emotion and let it tire itself out."

"Sounds like a bull at the rodeo," Wheeler said.

Roddy looked up as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Keep quiet and stay in the van," she snapped as she jumped out.

I gave him an apologetic look and followed.

We walked through the parking lot dressed for a celebration, but the mood had sombered. We were both dreading what we might find. I looked to the overcast sky and saw something fly past the partially exposed moon. It was too small to be anything exotic, so I assumed it was a gargoyle on patrol. They made great sentries if you could afford their fees which mostly entailed a safe place to roost and a hearty supply of vegetable roots. I busied myself with trying to spot the creature again rather than think about Carl.

"How do you live like this?" Gates grumbled.

I brought my attention back down to terrestrial things and saw her wiping her eyes with her sleeve. Pink streaks trailed from the corners of her eyes.

"I've never known another way. I can lessen my emotional responses, keeping them at arms length for a time, but I've never been able to detach from them completely," I explained. "To be honest it seems like a lot sometimes."

"It's a cold cocoon that protects you from... from this." She turned away from me so I couldn't see her cry.

I wanted to remind her that I'd seen her at her lowest points. I was there when she had her breakdown in the 60s. I held her hand while she cried endlessly over never bearing a daughter. I sometimes forgot that though my peers could bury their emotions deep, those feelings still remained and occasionally resurfaced with a vengeance. Looping my arm in the crook of hers I pulled her along, drawing a surprised grunt from her lips.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting us inside before you drown me in tears."

"What? Michele, stop!"

"Not until you clean it up. I can't be seen with a self proclaimed Viking who can't stop weeping like a Scottish farm girl."

"I don't weep," she snapped, yanking her arm from mine. She glared at me, grief replaced by anger.

"My job's done."

I kept walking, not looking back. After a few moments she caught up to me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw she'd found her composure. She caught me looking and turned her nose up with a harrumph.

"You annoy me sometimes."

I couldn't help but laugh. She'd said that many times before.

The original sanatorium was a pair of old three story buildings joined together by a dilapidated skyway. The Gorgon Historical Society voted unanimously to protect the structure as a city landmark. So while the hospice underwent much needed innovations and additions the old complex was left untouched. Above ground it looked much like it had in the 1950s. Below ground were The Doc's facility. We reached the old building and ascended the stairs to the main entrance under the watchful eye of four elder gargoyles. Their age was evident from their size and the deep lines carved into their stone skin.

The security guard in the lobby was an old warlock named Fahad Sahar. Fahad and I were usually on good terms, though he'd grown wary of trying to lure me over to his coven long ago. Even when we weren't on good terms he was always hospitable.

"Evening, my friend," I said as Gates went over to the information desk.

"Yes. It is evening, sir." His tone was uncharacteristic of the usually bubbly man.