Slippage
It took a long time before I could will the courage necessary to step inside the clinic.
At times, I observed the visiting crowd. Other times, I gazed at the slightly discoloured patch job on the ceiling. Evidently, the Doctor didn't like the skylight Dulcy had created in her little escapade.
Eventually, I managed to force myself into the room. When I did, Tails was awake, wrapped in a thick body cast. Like a little chubby mummy with twin orange tails sticking out. His recovery sped-up via a set of power rings generously donated by Sonic. He was scratching the edges of his bandages as I came in. When he saw me, his eyes lit up and he smiled the widest, most innocent smile. He's still a child. Not even in the throes of adolescence. But Tails is not a baby. No matter how much Sally wished he could be. His mind developed a lot faster than his body, giving him a level of maturity unbecoming of his physical age. That makes it so easy to forget that for all of that, he's still a child. Tails looked at me with that childish innocence.
There was no anger there, no recrimination. He didn't blame her. He didn't blame me. Something seizes up within me. It's my heart pressing against my chest. I lurch forward, giving in to instinct and impulse. My lithe arms gently encircle the kit. I pressed him as tightly to my bosom as I dared. As I did so, I could feel the sobs beginning. The two of us didn't end that tight embrace, or move apart, for a very long time. I'm okay now. It's just... things only get worse from here.
Usually, I maintain that my actions were justified. But out of everything I have done, everything I have witnessed first-hand, this is still what gets to me. Tails didn't deserve what happened to him and he certainly didn't deserve it being done by the person he trusted the most. Tails... he really deserves better. He'll understand that, someday. Maybe...
When I had calmed down, we actually managed to have a conversation. In spite of his injuries and being under a heavy dose of painkillers. His eyes were bright and he was extremely articulate. He asked about Aunt Bunnie. I explained as calmly as I could that she had overexerted. Of course, I knew this wasn't exactly true.
Tails combed my unkempt hair with his one good hand and tried to make me feel better. The kit in the body cast was trying to make the adult feel better. How's that for irony, Huh? I apologized profusely of course, but he had waved it all away. He said that if I didn't know exactly why it happened, then I should probably find out. I thanked him. Maybe, he knew. Maybe he knew what Aunt Bunnie was really going through. What I was going through.
By the little light remaining of the day, I conducted Tails nightly readings. I flipped through Sally's creased and smudged copy of Gulliver's Travels, a book her father had given her when she was six. On the front cover, he had written, "Daddy loves you," followed by his name. That was exactly why, five years ago, Sally had ripped the front cover off.
I settled onto Tails' bed. Having flinched a bottle of cider from the mini fridge to quench my parched throat, I read to Tails the chapters depicting the titular character's time in the fictional land of the horse-like Houyhnhnms. Reading it made me think that perhaps the author had discovered traces of our distant ancestors on that remote isle. In particular, I marvelled at his depiction of a society that valued friendship and benevolence and his descriptions of the clever ways in which they used their pasterns as though they were hands.
Having finished the chapter, I gazed over at Tails. By now, his eyelids were securely closed against the evening light. All the muscles in his face and body were totally at peace. Not a twitch, not a spasm, barely any movement save the steady rising and falling of his chest with each intake of air. Leaning over him, I planted the usual 'Funny Kiss' square onto his nose and twice on the cheeks for good measure. I felt calmer than I had in my first conscious moments.
Antoine showed up later in the day, exhausted and sweaty. His usually well-maintained uniform covered with creases and buttoned in all the wrong places. He complained bitterly of the skunk's sadistic behaviour: forcing him to dig holes, fill them back in and start over till he keeled over with exhaustion. After regaling his sordid tale, he dragged up an old cot and went to sleep from sheer bodily exhaustion.
Occasionally, I peered over at the partitioning curtain where Doctor Quack was hard at work. Why was it taking so long? Everyone had come and gone. Even Geoffrey who had lingered awhile outside. Abruptly, the corner of the curtain parted, and the exhausted and bleary-eyed Doctor Quack emerged from behind. He leaned against the side of the wall. Apparently collecting his thoughts. This wasn't a good sign. I steeled myself for anything. "I have a prognosis on Ms. Rabbot. Just to be clear, what you're hearing is confidential and kept under wraps between you and I."
"Okay," I chocked out, letting loose a breath of air I didn't know I was holding back.
The clinic was silent. Silent in a way that seemed to gnaw at the insides. It hung in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. Unnatural, like dawn devoid of birdsong. Doctor Quack broke the silence with a sigh. "To put things simply, princess, Ms. Rabbot's muscles are dying."
"What?" I asked incredulously.
"I took muscle samples, running a complete diagnostic for every known condition. The prognosis is clear. As you're aware, Sir Charles's roboticizer was still undergoing clinical trials. Literally so new in fact that its effects had yet to appear even in peer-reviewed journals. It's long-term effects, particularly those of partial roboticization remain largely unexplored." Doctor Quack paused, as though deciding whether to soften his next hammer blows. "In a matter of speaking, her immune system is eating her alive."
I remembered being unable to breathe, unable to speak, left totally stunned as my brain struggled to process the new information. It was as though the impact of the words had knocked every wisp of air from my lungs. "But that's impossible. She had them for years without any trouble and I saw her looking fine just yesterday." I interjected. Surely, in spite of all his credentials and years of medical training, there was a chance the Doctor could make a slip-up, somewhere - my heart sank.
"Yes, if there was a flaw in the Roboticization process we would have found out a long time ago. But maybe, her muscle necrosis was festering for years and has only now reached critical mass. Also, what certainly did not help was that she had concealed her condition from us until recently." Doctor Quack sighed wearily, so quietly that it nearly went unnoticed.
"What are you talking about?" I said quietly.
"Again child, I must stress what you're hearing from me is confidential. But Ms. Rabbot approached me some months ago for irritation around her roboticized limbs. It was my mistake really, should've insisted she remained longer to conduct a more thorough investigation. But she refused. I should have suspected something was amiss. If you would just allow me to show you.". I wanted to look away. But I had to be sure as I silently counting in my head the number of small black spots virtually camouflaged under the unconscious rabbit's fur.
"I don't know how to phrase this gently. Bunnie's immune system is rejecting her roboticized limbs. If we leave them in any longer it will only serve to cause further damage to the rest of her body. And I don't think surgery will do anything either. We can't leave her alone or necrosis will set in and release toxins into her bloodstream. There's only one thing we can do … we have to amputate."
My mind went numb. "No ... you pull off medical miracles all the time. Surely you can save her limbs," I began, upon recovering from the shock.
The waterfowl shook his head. "I can slow it down with a cocktail of immune suppressants. But it's only a stop-gap measure. We'll be in the same position come a week or a fortnight at best."
My mind raced. "What about Robotnik?" I suggested. "One of his arms was roboticized. Surely, he'll have medicine to manage his condition. It'll be risky. But we don't abandon our friends."
"I shouldn't comment on your planning. But I do believe the odds are slim to none that you would make it. Even if you somehow succeeded there's no guarantee it'll be at all compatible with our physiology. Don't you think I hadn't considered other options?"
My head fell, defeated. I felt compelled to cry, the emotional rollercoaster left me drained of energy. "Just give her the cocktail. Buy her some extra time," I croaked out.
"I already did. Believe me, this is not pleasant even for me." Doctor Quack grimaced.
"Now princess, as you promised. Will you allow me to perform your examination?" Doctor Quack asked.
"Since when did I promise that?" I asked, bewildered.
"You promised to co-operate when you came. Besides, this was something Bunnie arranged on her own initiative. If she were well, she would no doubt have accompanied your session."
I frowned, this was manipulation. But he meant well. Perhaps, Doctor Quack with all his knowledge knew something about my condition I didn't. "This is blackmail, Doctor, but fine I'll do it." The waterfowl proceeded to present me with a set of physicals followed by a written psychological test. Which I did without any complaint or protest on my part.
"So, how did I do?" I asked tapping my foot from my growing impatience as the Doctor graded my written test. A bad habit picked-up from the hedgehog.
"I'm still compiling your physical tests but I'm more interested in your psychological results. Did you know your father refused to let me perform this test for you when you were younger? I suspect he was concerned about what he would find. Given your extensive family history of mental instability."
"I'm not mad and I don't see the point of these tests Doctor Quack," I growled as the waterfowl moved about applying all sorts of sensors to my face. "I need to get to work.".
"I would already be working up a psyche profile on you had you been honest with your questionnaire, but now we have to do this test instead," he added, pointing at the sensors plastered on my face.
"What do you mean?"
"Your answers to the written portion were dishonest. You scored as perfectly balanced"
"That just means I am composed of strong mental fortitude,"' I boasted, folding my arms.
"Please don't insult my intelligence. You know as well as I that someone in your position would be maladjusted, traumatized even. Do you know what I think princess?" Doctor Quack asked rhetorically, "I think an intelligent young adult like yourself found a way to game her way through the tests by memorizing the best responses for normalcy."
I sat, mouth agape. What followed was a rather simple test. I was instructed to flip through a book containing a series of pictures. Where I was supposed to 'linger on and contemplate' each picture for a few minutes before passing onto the next. All while Doctor Quack gauged my emotional responses to each picture. These ranged from pictures of fierce dragons to puppies with pleading eyes. I tried to keep my conflicted emotions under wraps while the machine assessed my responses.
When I was done. The doctor's face was unmistakably concerned as he observed the readings. "Something wrong, Doctor?" I asked as the monitoring equipment spewed forth a long list of feedback. Hopefully, I hadn't suffered anything exotic like a stroke, TIA, or a cerebral haemorrhage. The waterfowl's next words, however, would almost make me wish I had.
"You're a sociopath, Sally."
"What?" I asked open-mouth with shock.
"Your emotional responses during the picture tests are consistent with an individual in the middle stages of acquired sociopathy. There are two types of sociopathy, innate and acquired. Innate sociopaths are born that way. However, individuals with acquired sociopathy are typically transformed into sociopaths by their environment. Usually involving some form of prolonged abuse and neglect." Doctor Quack elaborated, shaking his head in disbelief at the revelation.
"I find it hard to believe that something like this could happen. Initially, you showed all the normal signs of an emotionally healthy young girl, with the ability to empathize." He pointed at the machine that was still spewing out streams of paper. "However, something triggered a sociopathic response in you. I won't hazard a guess to say what. I know things are trying as there are."
Hearing the Doctor's condescending tone proved to be the breaking point of my patience. I rose to my feet and left. I vaulted over fences and sprinting over rooftops. Taking every shortcut, I knew. I didn't look back. I didn't respond to the protests of rudely awakened residents. Soon, I heard nothing but the pounding of my feet, and the heavy thumping of my heart. It was such a relief spotting my familiar grey stone chimney, sticking up like a solitary erect ear listening for the rustle of a coming predator. Even more so when I stood before the entrance of my hut, heaving heavily from the strain of shifting from stock-still to a dead-sprint.
The rest of the night was spent trying to figure a way out yet finding none. It all kept coming down to the doctor. Eventually, I had to deal with him one way or another. Killing him and dumping the body was briefly considered. I thought of several dastardly ways to end the Doctor's life. But the idea failed to find traction within my torn psyche. The very notion of pre-meditated murder was revolting, even to my debased standards. No matter how eager I was to get his silence. I wasn't desperate enough to kill. There had to be a more diplomatic solution. But what?
Looking back, I'm amazed I didn't have a mental breakdown. I came close, though. But as philosophy books are fond of pointing out, life prefers balance. Tip too far to one extreme, and there will be a strong corrective action to restore balance. My own corrective force came when I found myself applying deadbolts on my normally unlocked door. Until finally, I found myself barricaded inside my own home.
My mind wandered in loops. I remembered thinking about how I couldn't trust my friends and how I needed to disassociate myself from them. I had heard a few knocks, but I had grown suspicious. What if they were getting ready to teach me a lesson by waiting till I cracked? "Shame on you, imposter," they would tell me when visiting my padded cell. "How could you have murdered the real princess?"
No, I couldn't trust them anymore. I would have to communicate with them through an agent. Someone I could trust to take their messages and give my own in return. That was the point when I cracked. It was as if someone had slapped me on the face. I was going to cut myself off from my friends. The ones who loved me, cared for me, and supported me. It was as if I had come out of a long nightmare. The sun was starting to peak up over the horizon. I looked around my hut and almost didn't recognize it. The normally immaculate room seemingly pulled apart like a storm had ripped through the place. All the locks, braces, barricaded doors, and escape plans. I realized just how many conspiracy theories I had built-up in my paranoia. I realized how it was only a matter of time until I believed that the entire village was after me and suicide was the only way out.
The realization hit me hard. So, I did what most other Mobians would do upon realizing they were guiding themselves to self-destruction: I drank. I went to the cabinet and pulled out the only bottle of moonshine I had from Rotor (extra-strong) and drank it all. Through the burning sensation of alcohol, everything became clear to me. It wasn't Doctor Quack who was driving me to destruction. It was Sally's … my conscience. The answer came to me when the bottle dropped to the floor. There was a way but it didn't involve telling the truth. No way in heck was I going to do that. It was much simpler.
Whenever Sally did something wrong as a child, her parents would make her think about what she had done. They believed that the only way to truly correct a mistake was to find out why you had done it. Solve that, and then realize that continuing to act as you did would only bring more pain.
Getting-up from my matted 'Pillow Fort'. I looked at myself in a cracked fragment of the mirror where it had lain from the night before. Sally's haggard face stared back at me. I wished there was some way of communicating to the real Sally. But her reflection would work just as well in her stead. Her committed gaze followed mine. I had to make an update to my vows. I said that from that day forth, I would never again harm any of Sally's friends to achieve my goals. No threatening, no assaults, nothing. It had taken the clinic fiasco for me to realize how deranged I had gotten. I finished my vow. The lesson had been learned, and I would not repeat the same mistake twice.
Just like that, it was done.