It was around midnight when the phone rang in Big D's hotel room. He, Mike, Phyllis, Skittles, and the other two Impossibles were staying there until either Fluey was discharged, or Dr. Hauss came to his senses and allowed the dark-haired Impossible to be transferred to Megatropolis, whichever came first.
Once the phone rang, Big D woke up, groaned, and picked it up.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Mr. Dawson, this is Dr. Sinclair at the Fillmore McGarfield Memorial Hospital," the person on the other end said. "I'm sorry to disturb you at this time of night. We're calling you to inform you . . . . ."
"What's wrong?" Big D asked, waking up a little more upon hearing this.
"Well . . . . . nothing, per se," Dr. Sinclair went on. "It's just that one of our nurses heard your grandson screaming, and when she tried to give him a sleeping pill, he began . . . . . I don't know, hissing at her, so then I tried to give him the pill, and . . . . ."
"Ah ha. I see."
"I'm sorry, but Dr. Hauss said that . . . ."
"All right, I'll be right over."
Big D hung up the phone, and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door, and it opened shortly afterward.
"Chief?" Phyllis asked, coming through the door that connected her hotel room to Big D's.
"Don't tell me you're still up," Big D asked.
"I thought I heard you talking to someone," Phyllis said. "Where are you going?"
"To the hospital," Big D said. "I got a call from a doctor there, and they're having trouble getting your brother to go back to sleep."
"Post-traumatic stress," Phyllis said, nodding.
"Undoubtably. Hopefully, the doctor who called me will be more sympathetic than Dr. Hauss."
Ten minutes later, Big D arrived at the Fillmore McGarfield Memorial Hospital, and was met by Dr. Sinclair.
"I don't know all of the details of the case, Mr. Dawson," Dr. Sinclair said, leading the chief down the hall. "I know it's post-traumatic stress disorder, but he just won't talk about it. And he won't let anyone near him, either."
"I don't know much about what happened, either," Big D replied. "And the fact that he won't let anyone near him . . . . truthfully, he just won't let anyone he doesn't know near him. Which is why I suggested to Dr. Hauss that we transfer him back to Megatropolis, and be examined by his own doctor. To be perfectly frank, Dr. Sinclair, I don't like the idea of complete strangers prodding at him while he's in this state of mind."
"I understand that, Mr. Dawson, but the trouble is I can't do anything about it. Not without approval from Dr. Hauss, anyway."
Big D nodded, and Dr. Sinclair opened the door to Fluey's room. Fluey was sitting in bed, with his knees pulled to his chest, shaking a little.
"Franklin," Dr. Sinclair said. "There's someone here to see you."
Fluey looked up, suspiciously. Once he saw Big D, he started to relax a little. Big D walked into the room, pulled up a chair, and sat down.
"Having trouble sleeping?" he asked, as he began slowly stroking Fluey's hair. "What's the matter, nightmares?"
Fluey nodded, and curled himself out of the ball position he was in for the moment. Big D said nothing, and continued stroking his grandson's hair. Dr. Sinclair stood in the doorway, watching. Big D continued stroking Fluey's hair. He stood up for a moment, and then motioned for Dr. Sinclair to come over.
"I think we may as well get some testing done," he said quietly, so Fluey wouldn't hear him. "One of his friends thinks he may have been injected with who knows what, which may partially explain his mental state. I am fully aware of his reaction towards needles, which leads me to believe that sorry excuse for a human being who was holding him used several on him, but I'd like to know what he was injected with."
"So you're saying we should take a blood sample now?" Dr. Sinclair asked.
"Yes," Big D said. "Now's a good time to do so, since I'll have him distracted. Otherwise, you won't have another chance to do it."
Dr. Sinclair left the room, and Big D at back down, continued to stroke Fluey's hair, and talking softly to him, doing his best to calm his grandson down, and get him back to sleep. Moments later, Dr. Sinclair returned with a syringe, but he was careful not to let Fluey see it. Big D made sure Fluey's focus was on him, and not the doctor, just like when Phyllis had put the IV needle in Fluey's arm. Dr. Sinclair injected the syringe, and took some blood, and Fluey didn't even notice. He was already asleep.
"You must be a hypnotist," Dr. Sinclair commented, taping a piece of gauze to the injection sight.
"I wouldn't exactly call it hypnotism," Big D said. "But at least my method keeps him still long enough for this sort of thing."
"Think you can do that for Dr. Hauss to get the physical done?"
"I don't think so. I suggested it to Dr. Hauss, but he refused. He wouldn't let me in the examining room until Franklin hid behind the table and wouldn't come out. I certainly don't blame Franklin for not wanting to have this examination, but considering those bodies we found . . . . ."
Big D stopped in mid-sentence at the mere thought of the autopsy reports received during this whole nightmare. The very thought of Jake Cooper sexually assaulting those boys was bad enough, but the thought of him doing the same to Fluey made him sick to his stomach. But he recovered from that thought, and cleared his throat.
"I don't know what the regulations here are," he said, "but I think I should stay here with him."
"I agree," Dr. Sinclair said. "Usually, we only allow parents of very young children stay in their rooms with them, but this is a special case, I think."
"Better give him that sedative now, doctor. He might need it."
"Right."
Dr. Sinclair added a sedative to Fluey's IV drip, and Big D stood up and stretched for a moment before sitting back down in the chair.
"I can arrange to have a cot brought in if you prefer," Dr. Sinclair said.
"No, that won't be necessary," the chief said. "I'm probably not going to be getting much sleep, anyway."
Dr. Sinclair nodded, and left the room. Big D sighed, and began stroking Fluey's hair. He could only hope that this would all end soon.
About an hour later, Fluey began moaning, and jerking his head from side to side. Shortly thereafter, the moaning turned into screaming. Big D immediately grabbed Fluey by the shoulders, and held him down for the moment.
"Fluid!" he shouted. "Fluid, wake up!"
Fluey woke up suddenly, breathing heavily. He looked around the room a little confused. He calmed down a little when he saw the chief, but then, he suddenly lost it, like he did earlier that day in the examining room. He latched onto the chief, and wouldn't let go.
"Won't stop . . . . ." he said, hoarsely. "Can't . . . . he's . . . . he's there . . . . . every time . . . . won't go away! Make it stop, chief . . . . please make it stop!"
"If only I could," Big D sighed.
Twenty minutes of straight sobbing later, Fluey was out like a light again. Big D figured he exhausted himself and passed out. Big D guided him back down into bed, and started stroking his hair, gently.
"If only I could," he sighed again.
Around eight in the morning, the others (save for Mike and Skittles) came into the room. Fluey was asleep, but Big D was still awake.
"Been here all night, chief?" Coiley asked.
"Yes," Big D said, standing up and stretching. "I didn't get any sleep at all. And I think Fluid only got at least three hours worth. He keeps having nightmares, and I'm positive he's reliving the experience."
"Maybe you ought to get the story from the perp," Coiley suggested. "I'm pretty sure the medics brought him here. This is the only hospital around."
"I'd better not," Big D said. "I'm liable to wring his neck the minute I got in there."
"Big D isn't very pleasant to be around when he doesn't get enough sleep," Phyllis said.
"Besides, I don't think it would be a good idea to leave Fluid," Big D continued. "From what the doctors have said, he becomes completely unglued when they come near him."
Suddenly, Fluey began moaning and thrashing about. Then he began screaming. Before Big D could do anything, Fluey suddenly jolted awake, sweating, and taking in huge gulps of breath. His eyes were a bit glazed over, and he looked around the room in confusion. Then he collapsed into the bed, flat on his back, and moaned. Big D took a handkerchief out of his pocket, and began wiping the sweat off Fluey's forehead.
"Calm down, Fluid," he said. "It was just a nightmare."
"No . . . . ." Fluey said, breathlessly. "No . . . . . it . . . . . it keeps . . . . . happening . . . . ."
"The same thing every time?" Coiley asked.
"Want it to stop . . . . . ." Fluey said, practically whining. "Want it to go away . . . . ."
"I know," Big D said, stroking Fluey's hair. "I know."
Fluey broke down about then. The others just stood there, not knowing what to do. They had never seen Fluey like this before. As they were wondering what to do, Dr. Hauss came into the room.
"Well," he said. "Should we try to have a go at the physical examination?"
"No . . . . ." Fluey said, nervously. "No!"
"At least he's started talking," Dr. Hauss said, coming closer to the bed. "Come along, now, Franklin."
Fluey began shaking nervously, and started backing away. When he hit the wall, he started to claw at it, as if he were trying to climb it.
"I've heard of climbing the walls, but you're just being ridiculous, Franklin," Dr. Hauss said. He reached out, and grabbed Fluey by the arm. "Come on now. Don't be such a baby!"
Fluey suddenly froze. He stared at Dr. Hauss, and suddenly, the doctor began to morph into Jake Cooper, holding him in a vice like grip, sneering wickedly at him.
"Don't be such a baby!" Jake shouted. "All I wanna do is play!"
"AAAAAAGGGHHH!" Fluey shrieked, and yanked his arm away. Then he curled himself into the fetal position on the bed, and started whimpering.
"No . . . . no, please!" he begged. "No . . . . no, no!"
"Geez, what is the matter with this kid?" Dr. Hauss asked.
"A little something called post-traumatic stress disorder," Multi explained, glaring at Dr. Hauss. "Don't you think that's kind of obvious, doctor?"
"You must've done something that triggered a memory of what happened," Coiley said.
"Don't be ridiculous," Dr. Hauss said. He walked over to the bed, and grabbed Fluey's arms. "Come on, now, Franklin. We have to give you an exam in order to . . . . . ."
"Let me go!" Fluey yelled, and he began to fight off, Dr. Hauss. "Please, please let me go! Don't touch me! Let go of me!"
Fluey was squirming so much, Dr. Hauss had no choice but to let go of him. The minute he did, Fluey latched onto Big D and wouldn't let go.
"Don't let him hurt me . . . . ." he begged. "Don't let him hurt me!"
"It's all right, Franky," Phyllis said. "It's okay. You're safe now. No one's going to hurt you."
"Wow," Coiley said. "He must've really been through something."
"This is the worst I've ever seen him," Multi commented.
"I give up!" Dr. Hauss shouted. "This kid is being impossible!"
"And I think you're the one being impossible, doctor," Big D said. "He obviously doesn't trust you, and he doesn't trust anyone at this hospital."
"But I'm a doctor!" Dr. Hauss shouted. "There's no need for him not to trust . . . . ."
"He doesn't trust you because you're a complete stranger to him!" Phyllis shouted. "I mean, geez, haven't you noticed he gets like this with all the staff here?"
"Yeah, and it was a complete stranger who kidnapped him, and did who knows what to him," Coiley pointed out.
"That's what I'm trying to figure out, if he'd only . . . ." Dr. Hauss went on.
"No!" Fluey yelled. "No, don't let him near me! Don't let him near me!"
"Franklin, listen to me," Big D said. "I know you're having a rough time, but you need to have this examination."
"No . . . . ." Fluey practically whined.
"I have an idea," Multi said. "Franky, you trust me, and Calvin, and Phyllis, and the chief, don't you?"
Fluey looked over at his red-haired friend, and nodded.
"And if we trusted the doctor who was going to give you the physical, you'd do it, wouldn't you?" Multi went on. Fluey thought that one over for a moment, and nodded again.
"That's what I thought," Multi said. "All we have to do is tell you we trust the doctor, and you'd trust him, right?"
Again, Fluey nodded. Dr. Hauss heaved a sigh, and started moving toward the dark-haired Impossible.
"About time," he said.
"Hold it, doctor," Big D said. "You're not going to be handling this."
"But he said if you trusted me, he'd . . . . ." Dr. Hauss protested.
"Mark said if we trusted the doctor," Coiley said. "We didn't say if we trusted you."
"Therefore, I'm going to contact Franklin's doctor from Megatropolis, and have him come here immediately," Big D went on. "Dr. Phelps should be the one to take care of this."
"But you can't do this!" Dr. Hauss said. "You can't call in another doctor to handle my patient!"
"I can, and I will," Big D went on. "It's obvious we won't get anywhere with you!"
"But why not?"
"Because he just doesn't trust you. And, frankly, Dr. Hauss, I don't trust you, either."
"You can't do this to me! After all, I am a doctor, and I know what's best for my patients!"
"Dr. Hauss, I am aware you are the head doctor here, and I am also aware that you do know what you are doing. However, I do not care what you think is best for Franklin. It's quite obvious you don't. I'm calling Dr. Phelps, and if you don't like it, you can take that P.h.D. of yours, in being a pompous windbag, and shove it!"
Dr. Hauss just stood there. Saying nothing, and not even looking at the others, he left the room, closing the door behind him. Once he was gone, Big D lifted his wrist communicator, and began punching the buttons on it.
"Now that we've settled that," he said, "let's get Phelps down here to take care of this little matter."