At Death's Door

Chapter 2: Nightmare

The trip was a short one. The clinic wasn't far from the library, but Elta made a conscious effort to draw it out. She wasn't exactly excited to be forced into spending the first Friday of her vacation at the clinic. Elta's mood worsened as she thought of all her plans that had been completely ruined. Things had managed to go from bad to worse in a matter of minutes.

When she finally arrived in the clinic's parking lot, she took a moment to sit in her idling car and savour her last shred of solitude that she was about to be deprived of. Then another moment was taken, to master her rising temper; if she didn't get her anger under control before she went in, the boredom would send her over the edge.

Eventually she turned off the car and begrudgingly slid out of the front seat, slamming the door behind her, much harder than was necessary. She made her way to the clinic's door and was annoyed to find her mother already waiting in front of the receptionist's desk. She was pacing anxiously, her white nurse's shoes squeaking on the linoleum as she turned.

She looked up when she heard the automatic doors slide open, and Elta watched as the tension that knotted her mother's brow eased away immediately.

"You made it," she said with a sigh of relief that made Elta's own brow twitch into a momentary frown. What she was so worried about? she wondered. It wasn't like she was going to drop dead en route; it wasn't exactly a strenuous journey.

"Duh. Well, now that I'm here—" Elta said, holding out her arms, "—you can see I'm fine. I'll go home now."

Her mother wasn't listening, she was staring intently at her daughter's face; Elta wondered if any evidence of the panic was still present in her features. She kicked herself for not thinking to look into the mirror before coming inside.

Suddenly, her mother reached out to touch her face; Elta flinched and pulled away, escaping the contact as her face fell into a scowl. She was now sure that all the world must be conspiring to make her day as annoying as possible.

Her mother did not look pleased with her reaction. "No way. Mrs. Cape wouldn't have called if it was nothing," she huffed. "You're staying here until I'm done my shift, then we'll go home together."

Elta's scowl deepened. Though she had known all along that this was going to happen, that her mother would make her stay at the clinic, that didn't make the outcome any less unpleasant. It drove her nuts when her mother got like this, so crazily over-protective, but it was no use in arguing. Her mother wasn't going to take no for an answer; she hadn't all a thousand times before, it was unlikely she'd start now.

"It's only an hour till the clinic closes for the day," her mother added, taking notice of the intensifying displeasure on her daughter's face.

Elta glanced ruefully at the clock above the reception desk. "An hour and a half," she corrected, her temper rearing its ugly head at last.

"I'm sure you'll survive that extra half an hour."

Elta grunted in bitter resignation. Yes, it was only an hour and a half until the clinic closed, but her mother usually had to stay afterwards to help as they were always short on staff, so she knew they'd probably be here much longer than her mother's estimation.

Her mother surveyed her one last time, searching Elta's angry face for something. Elta repressed the urge to roll her eyes, knowing her mother would never find what she was looking for; she had learned to guard her secrets well. After a moment that seemed to last for hours, her mother gave up, turned, and headed down the hall. Elta followed.

They made no sound but the squeaking of sneakers on the hard, shiny linoleum as they followed the narrow corridors to the back of the clinic. Elta dragged her feet like she was a prisoner being led to her cell. Truthfully, the clinic wasn't a terrible place—it was small, dated, but well cared for—but Elta hated it. It had the typical hospital-like feel, sanitized and bleak, and Elta couldn't stand hospitals. No memories she had of hospitals were good ones.