Waking up had always been the worst part of any day for her.
On the cusp of blissful respite the human body relaxes away the days trials and tribulations. Consciousness slips away; is replaced by dreams of impossibility and confusion that somehow, in the moment, are possible and clear. One might have a final grasp of conscious thought in which one seeks to guide their impending dreamscape but… dreams never bend to conscious will, do they? But, every morning, following every night, the sanctuary must be broken by the sun. Consciousness floods back in and duty replaces respite. The sun chases away the chill of the night as duty chases away the comfort of sleep. For her, waking up had always been the worst part of the day. And this day – this awakening, was no different….except that it was different.
Later, she would try to remember the dream that would not break the haze that consciousness brings upon memory. She would try to remember but she would not. She would only have the perception that her dream, if it could be called a dream, had been terrible. She would remember fangs, chittering, clacking, cracking, and searing pain. She would remember the way her body felt upon waking. She would remember all of this but only much later. For the haze that consciousness brings clouds the clarity of the dreamscape with such effectiveness that the human mind struggles to make sense of even the slightest bit of information.
Her throat ached. Her mouth tasted foul beyond belief. She smelled something rotten. These were the first bits of information her brain managed to piece together. Groaning, she tried to wipe the sleep from her eyes but her arms felt…distant. Heavy, even. Likely, they'd been stuck in the same position for hours. Had she slept on her stomach with her arms trapped beneath her, slowly suffocating from blood flow restriction? No. That couldn't be right. She was on her back. So she tried flexing her fingers. Closing and opening her hand once, twice, again. Even her finger tips felt heavy. She curled her toes. Everything seemed so much more laborious than usual.
Skipping all the usual wakening routine, Veronica forced her eyes open…only they wouldn't open. She could feel her eyelids flutter but no light poured in.
What the hell?
Biting down the beginnings of panic, she used the flood of adrenaline to test out her limbs. She focused on the sensory input that muscles newly charged with natural chemicals allowed her. So she was in a bed. That much was certain. And it was a soft bed at that. She could move with growing alacrity now that her blood vessels had opened. Inhaling sharply, she tried rubbing her eyes again only to discover that they were covered with a soft damp cloth. Veronica pulled the cloth away and tried to calm herself.
Oh god! How much did I drink last night? …did I drink last night?
She groaned again. As the imagery began to take shape around her, Veronica tried to recall what had happened to her. Her vision was blurry. Her head began to pound. She could hear her heartbeat as much as feel it. None of that, however, was the worst of it – her mouth tasted like she'd chewed on a corpse and the room, however she'd arrived there, smelled like a corpse.
Wherever I am someone needs to open the damned window!
"Ah, you're awake…how about that?" Who? Veronica tried to sit up. Her body didn't fail to remind her just how bad an idea that was. Her mind reeled with vertigo, her stomach lurched, her extremities tingled, and the pain in her head that had only begun to recede flooded back into existence with fervor she'd never known before. "Whoa easy there! Easy…" She felt a steadying hand grip her arm, "you've been out cold for a couple of days now. Why don't you just relax a second? Get your bearings."
Veronica held her head until the worst of the pain, spinning and tingling subsided trying to use the natural shade it provided to allow her eyes to adjust to the room. It was all too much. Putting her head in her hands she leaned down until she felt like she'd fall off the bed if she leaned any further.
"Where? Who?"
"Let's see what the damage is. How about your name. Can you tell me your name?"
"My n-name? Veronica. I'm Veronica. Now how about your name?"
"Veronica, huh? Can't say that's what I'd have picked for you but if that's your name, that's your name. I'm Doctor Rotson. Welcome to Hell's Motel."
"Hell's Motel?" Veronica looked up. "Oh…" Doctor Rotson, it seemed, was a ghoul. That would explain the smell. His skin was, like all ghouls, rotting away. The most obvious feature, however, was not his skin but the absence of a nose. His right eye seemed to be hanging lower than his left. His hair was greyed, brittle, and growing in patches. "Sorry… I've just… I've never been so close to… one of you before."
His smile was not the smile of a man with insecurities about his appearance, "One of me? Ah. You mean a ghoul." He shrugged, "it could've been worse. I could've been a super mutant, you know? Now now, missy. You don't have to worry about a thing. I'm quite aware of what I look like. I would add that I'm aware of what I smell like too but… as you can see… I'm down one of my senses, it seems." He cackled at his own humor the way a father tells lame "dad jokes" that only he thinks is funny.
"Yeah… again. Sorry. I didn't mean to be a prick about it." He waved her apology away, so she continued, "So I'm at Hell's Motel? Where is that? How'd I get here? Where are my clothes? And why do I feel like a super mutant beat the shit outta me… and why does my mouth taste like a super mutant made out with me?"
"All very good questions, my dear!" Rotson exclaimed. "I'll be happy to answer all of that and more once I'm sure you've got all your faculties about you."
"What do I need to do?"
"Do? You don't have to do anything," Rotson sighed, "well, if you're feeling well enough to be curious then I suppose telling you where you are and what happened while I check on your condition won't hurt." Reaching forward cautiously, the doctor gently pulled the gown she didn't remember wearing before waking up over her head. Veronica blushed to see that Rotson had, obviously, had to disrobe her in order to save her life. She hadn't often been naked in front of anyone and the thought of being naked in front of a ghoul was, despite his pleasant demeanor, a revolting prospect. But she steeled her nerves.
He unwrapped a stethoscope from around his neck, placed the tip on her chest, taking great care to keep whatever contact he made with her nearly bare and bare flesh alike firmly professional-like, and motioned for her to breathe deeply, "you took a hell of a beating, sure, but not from one of those super mutants." He moved the instrument to her back. Leaning so close, the stench of his decaying body was almost overwhelming, "in order to save your life," Rotson continued, "I had to give you a purgative I concocted from jalepenos, vodka, and horsenettle after I made you eat a bit of smooch to mellow you out from the poultice I put on your wound." He must have seen her furrow her brow in confusion because he added, "the smooch is probably why your mouth tastes so bad. That shit is so rancid even I gag when I dabble. It's this green goo that is more of a chem than it is anything else. I use it to help any patient I might take on through the worst of any procedure I have to perform. It's mighty addictive but easily cured. The shit is so damned nasty I'd almost prefer not giving my patients anything for the pain but… short of med-x, smooch is the best option I have. It's easy to manufacture and cheaper than med-x. Plus, I need the med-x to trade with since I don't really get too many paying patients." He nodded his head at her chest, "And I'm glad you ain't the type to get uppity about me doing my work on ya. I mean, I'm not an old pervert or anything but even I appreciate beauty when I see it."
Veronica looked down at her bare breasts to see that they were not bare at all. Well, at least not any longer. The doctor had wrapped her torso in bandages at some point. Her left side was sore but, otherwise, no worse for wear. "A poultice? What happened to me?"
"You were stuck by a radscorpion, dear. A biggun from the way I heared it. Fella I know found you on the side of the Long 15 south a bit. He brought you here to me."
"Here? Where is here?"
"Oh. Southwest of Primm a bit. You're in the Mesquite Mountains, Miss Veronica. You're in my home. I call it 'Hells Motel'. 'Hells' because of all the damned radiation surrounding the place and 'motel' because my patients never seem to leave… they're all ghouls. Well, all 'cept you, of course."
"How long have I been here, Doc?" He held up three fingers, "Three days? Oh man! This, this guy? He saved me?"
"I don't know, dear. Harp just brought you here, unprotected, told me to fix you up and that he'd be back in a few days." Rotson seemed to spit the word 'unprotected' as though it were ridiculous.
"Unprotected? What do you mean?"
"I mean that the house you're in right now is only radiation free because of some filtration technology I swiped from a vault a few years ago. Took me forever to figure out how to power the damned thing but I did. Harp brought you in here without any protection from radiation." Seeing her widening eyes, Rotson held up his hands as if placating her, "now don't worry, you won't turn feral or anything. You'll keep human a bit longer. Can't say you'll never turn ghoul as I know some of you young'uns like to tempt fate by drinking dirty water instead of the pure stuff. The purgative I gave you purged you of any radiation you might have absorbed. Harp should have known to take you to Mojave Outpost but… NCR don't really take kindly to his kind."
"What's 'his kind'?" Rotson seemed on the verge of letting lose a monster of a secret but, in the end, he visibly shook his head once, then again. He even opened his mouth and inhaled as though to start a third time but….
"Bah! Enough of this gossiping. I'm betting you're tired of being cooped up in the bed after so many days. Can't say I'm upset to see you up finally either. Bathing you had become quite the chore, Miss Veronica, and don't think that because you're a female that your shit don't stink. I can assure you, it does. Especially after that purgative I put into you." She blushed and lowered her eyes in shame. She hadn't even thought about the things this guy had likely had to do for her. Pumping her full of meds was one thing. Wiping her ass was another. And she felt like she'd been bathed this very day too. The way this old man looked at her showed that he wasn't the kind to take advantage where advantage was available. Almost like she wasn't even his flavor, which was an immense relief.
Rotson might have noticed her shameful musing, but he ignored that too, "Beyond that, I'm hungry and I bet you could eat a Brahmin. Hungry little lady?" She was and nodded emphatically. As he leaned forward to offer Veronica his hand, Rotson rasped "Great! Tin Man! Lady Dorothy and I are hungry! …Tin man? Tin Man goddammit! I swear that thrice damned machine had better not have… ah, there you are. Did you hear me?" She felt the heat from the propulsion system coming down the stairs before she saw the source. A Mister Handy series maintenance robot glided to a stop just a few feet from the doctor, complete with an apron.
"I've told you before sir," it buzzed in a monotone accept not altogether unpleasant but at the same time altogether alien from anything Veronica had ever heard, "I am not a cook! I was designed to perform any maintenance services you might require. Services, might I add, which do not include being your chef, sir."
"Yeah yeah. You have told me that but you're wrong you damned bucket of bolts. You're designed to follow your programming and your programming includes cooking me a god damned omelet. I know you're programmed to do that because I programmed you to do that! So, hop to it son!"
"Very well sir. Two omelets coming right up. If you would, sir, please reinitialize my self-diagnosis protocol so that I might perform my functions for you at peak efficiency? At your convenience, of course."
"Later." As the robot disappeared around the corner, Rotson turned back to Veronica, "I'm not doing that. Every time I reinitialize his self-diagnosis protocols the blasted fool purges my cooking and cleaning programming. Can you believe that? The glorified toaster thinks it's too good to make me toast! Hah!"
"I could take a look at it, if you like? I'm pretty good with machines." Veronica offered. It was no small boast. She'd been pulling apart and putting machines back together since before she could walk. It was a special talent of hers and one that her family nurtured. "It'd be a small thing considering how you patched me up."
"You? No no no. I won't be accepting any payment for services rendered. They're gratis – free."
At that, Veronica smiled. This old man might look and smell like a rotting corpse but his heart beat in a way that would make the holiest of men jealous. She leaned a bit forward, showing him a little cleavage, "So hows about telling me a bit more about this Harp, guy. If you won't let me pay for your services, maybe he will?"
Rotson rolled his eyes at her display and laughed out loud. It wasn't an abrasive laugh. It was a comforting one. In fact, Veronica would later realize that this man who had saved her life and given her safe haven without abuse would be one of the most comforting men she'd ever known. "Harper? Accept that for a payment? I'd love to see it, dear. I really would."
"Harper?" She prodded.
But Rotson only deflected her, "Breakfast, dear. I'll tell you all of it at breakfast."