Gallows Humour | Watty's 2023

The Good Doctor

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There was mold on the popcorn ceiling. They stared at it a while before it occurred to them that they were alive and in horrific pain. The next move on the agenda was a groan, which did not make the pain any better but did give them an ounce of satisfaction for acknowledging the pain.

Next order of business was to move. They appeared to be in a bathtub with one leg slung of the side, the other halfway up the wall, and their head on the tub floor. They tried to sit up. Emphasis on tried. Two things happened at once then. One, a fountain of molten agony jetted from their gut into every crevice of their body. Two, burn-scarred hands pushed them down.

They found their tongue too dry and heavy to speak, but managed to curl their fingers into a weak approximation of Radio's name. They were weak, worse, they were vulnerable, and they could think of exactly one person they could let watch their back. The scarred hands found theirs, squeezed.

Yes, okay. They let their eyes slip closed while they processed. Things were starting to seep back into the fat cotton ball that had replaced their brain. Ugh, it even hurt to think. Screeching, from a crowbar dragging across chalkboard, or more likely, creaky hinges, wreaked havoc on their pounding head.

"I heard noise and I know you didn't make it, is Sleeping Beauty awake or just gassy?"

True mustered the strength to unfurl their middle finger and aim it at the voice. Probably not the brightest idea, pissing off the person who's bathtub they were recovering in.

They pressed the sorest spot on their aching body. A rough line split their flesh just below their ribs and above the wool of their sash. Stitches. Their cotton ball brain was beginning to spit out some more information. A thump rattled the out-facing side of the tub.

"Calm your tits, little rat," the unfamiliar voice muttered, sounding irritated. True pried their crusty eyes open, hand closing around an imaginary shovel handle. "That woke you up, come on, Sunshine, struggle a little more. There you go."

The voice belonged to a pointy, shadowed face, attached to a spindly body that was half draped over Radio.

"Eliza," True said, thin and slow. They'd worked up just enough saliva for it.

Eliza flashed a mouthful of yellowed teeth that had been filed into points. The smile, if it could be called a smile, dropped when Radio shoved her off.

"Rude." She flicked a long dark tangle over her shoulder. "Anyway, I was only waiting to make sure Allsaint did what he said he'd do, and he did. He's a real doctor, you know, used to be one of the best. You're welcome. See ya."

"Wait." That was too many words to process at once.

Eliza swung out the open door. "You'll figure it out own your own."

"You... Linc..."

She flopped her head back into frame. A wide, wide smile stretched her cracked lips apart until they split. Blood trickled over her pointed teeth as she mimed a gun to her head.

"Linc's dead," she said. "You're not, I don't like owing people. Go away."

She vanished then, hopefully to never be seen again. True shifted their focus to Radio. Looking it over for any damage. It had its sleeves pulled down over its fingertips and had sprouted dark eyebags on skin a couple shade paler than True remembered it being. Everything else was hidden under layers of loose clothing, but it didn't look like it was bleeding or anything. It watched them back, motionless, waiting for something.