Sand

Chapter Two: Phonecall

The Sand was back. It stirred in the dark corners of Wayne's mind, threatening to whip into an obscuring could. Elaine had thought "sand" was a good metaphor for the confused state that always preceded his blackouts. But to Wayne, it was no metaphor.

He had suffered these attacks for three years, and thought he had finally overcome them. He had even dared to hope they would never return. But he knew the warning signs. Another attack was coming.

Confusion settled over his mind like a dense cloud of dust, making even simple concentration a chore. It added a touch of gloss to his eyes and a hint of weight to his eyelids.

The herd of Friday, end-of-shift hospital employees crowded the hall. Wayne shambled along with them, letting them corral him towards the elevators.

He had promised the Human Resources manager he would leave the hospital directly, but he had to make one more stop. It wasn't like they could fire him again. They had already played that hand. Twice.

Darth Vader's theme music marched from his pocket. He had jokingly assigned it as a ringtone to Garret Owens, the hospital's managing director and Wayne's oldest friend. A couple of people walking near him reached for their phones, too. Idiots.

Fishing the phone from his pocket, he ducked into an alcove by a door labeled 'Private.' He realized he could no longer unlock the door—his ID badge was on the HR Manager's desk—and settled for facing the corner with his back to the crowd. It offered more privacy than running with the lemmings in the hall, so he answered his phone.

"Hi Garret. I'm glad you called," Wayne said, his distracted tone contradicting his words.

"What the hell, Wayne?" Garret asked. He sounded like he was talking through clenched teeth.

"Sorry, Garret. I'm in six or seven different Hells at the moment. Which one are we talking about?" The important looking envelope Wayne's pocket held a signed copy of his termination notice. Garret must have just found out. Even without this, their friendship since childhood was already under serious strain.

"I just hung up with Ryan from HR. What's this crap about you harassing the cafeteria cashier this morning? Someone called security and said you were screaming at each other."

The sand was creeping out of its corners and starting to blowing unfettered through Wayne's mind. It took a Herculean effort, but he stayed calm. The shit storm raining down on his epically horrible day showed no signs of abating, and the loud argument with his daughter in front of customers had only been the beginning.

"I'm sorry, Garret. I really am, but..."

"Stow your sorries, Wayne. Come to my office. Stop whatever you're doing right now, and get over here. We have to figure this out."

"I'm almost to the Cafeteria. I'll just apologize to Sarah, then..."

"Wrong," Garret interrupted. "Stay away from her. I know you didn't mean to, but you scared her. Your little show almost cost Sarah her job. You've already been sacked, but I promise, I'll fire her, too and have you arrested if you bother her again. Is that what you want?"

"No, I just..."

"And you stole a patient's wallet on your lunch break? I called the head of security a liar to his face. I accused him of being biased against you. I said he was out to get you. Do you know he said?"

"He showed you the..."

"He showed me the surveillance video. I watched you take it with my own eyes. I couldn't believe it, but what could I say? I watched you do it."

Wayne had no answer. He had been just as surprised to see himself on that video as anyone.

"I've called Elaine," Garret said. "She's on her way, so get here, now."

Elaine had taught him an array of techniques to keep the Sand from rising and to hold the blackouts at bay. Triggered by emotional stress, the blackouts had cost him his career, his freedom, and the lives of an innocent young woman and her child. Now, on his tenth day of parole, the Sand was rising again. The blackouts were back for an encore.

Garret had done the right thing calling Elaine. If he could make her appear beside him in the next few seconds, she'd probably even be able to help. She was the only person who could--the only one who believed him.

The Sand thickened. His thoughts grew sluggish.

Not here. Not with all of these people around.

There was no telling what could happen if he blacked out in a crowd like this. He could wake up to a disaster.

"Wayne? Are you there? What are you doing?"

"Have to go, Bro. Later, yeah?" His hand drop to his side. He had nothing more to say to Garret. How could he tell him the truth? How could he explain that he was innocent, when the security footage clearly and unequivocally showed him taking a wallet from a patient's room? He couldn't. No more than he could explain how that wallet had been removed from his pad-locked employee locker a short time later.

His thoughts scattered. He had to stay focused. Ten days of relative freedom, and now he would be sent back to prison over this bullshit. The world seemed to flip upside down, like an hourglass in his head, trickling more sand down over his half-buried brain. This was the point of no return. The blackout was imminent, and not even Elaine could stop it, now. After the day he'd endured, he was surprised he hadn't reached this point sooner.

The locked door swung open, hitting his shoulder as a man in a suit pushed past, muttering apologies. Wayne took the chance to escape the crowd and slipped through the open door before it closed. Garret's disembodied voice still spoke from the phone in his hand. He must not have hung up.

"It's not all right, Wayne. I went way out on a limb for you, and for the second time this week, I'm falling out of the damned tree. Who gets fired twice in a week? I'm all out of limbs, here. I can't just transfer you to another department again. What am I supposed to tell..." Garrett's voice stretched and warped into a tinny, unintelligible echo.

Bile burned the back of Wayne's throat and sweat beaded on his face and forehead. Two office workers walked past. One of them said something, but the words bounced off of him.

I can't lose it here. Hang on a little longer!

A proper storm was blowing through his head, obscuring everything. He caught the words "serious," and "police" from his phone, or so he thought. He wasn't sure, but it really didn't matter anymore. Knowing it was futile, he fought to stay conscious, to maintain control. He managed another step, maybe two, but he felt buried. He couldn't move. He couldn't...