"Where's Rebecca?"
You think perhaps you entered the wrong office, but for the kitten hanging from a branch on the wall, with the words "Hang in there, baby!" under it. It still smells like her. Of pencil shavings and hidden cigarettes. The faint whiff of air freshener.
The mess of paperwork has been cleared off the desk, slotted neatly into folders in the half-open cabinet. A middle-aged man in a suit smiles tightly at you and says, "Miss McCarthy has moved on. I'm Dr. Melville and will be taking over your treatment."
He gestures for you to sit and you do so hesitantly.
"What do you mean by 'move on?'"
Dr. Melville's mouth doesn't change much from that solid pressed line unless he's speaking. The corners of his mouth droop slightly, but you need to look hard to notice. You're examining his face, now, like you'd examine a circuit, your mind racing to figure out why the one compassionate staff member here would have left you.
"You're not like the others, Mr. Sadler, so I'll be straight with you. The hospital has had some cutbacks, and we are consolidating all our caseloads. You'll be seeing me from now on, but it will be biweekly."
Not like the others. Not like the other schizophrenics. Smart enough to know the hospital's bleeding money and Rebecca's been fired.
"So let's get down to it, Mr. Sadler." He catches himself, meeting your gaze and narrowed eyebrows. He quietly chuckles. "Pardon me. Jason. I've been reviewing your file, and I see that you have still held on to some of your more...questionable beliefs."
You tilt your head and say, "Why do you think that? In, uh, in my last session..."
"We have eyes and ears all over this hospital, Jason," Dr. Melville says. "Your conversations with the other patients have been noted. You still believe in time travel."
You look down at your lap. You should have been more careful.
"I am upping your dose of Thorazine."
Your head snaps up.
"You can't do that! Rebecca just lowered my dose! She said I was getting better!"
"I'd suggest you watch your tone, Jason," Dr. Melville says, scowling. If you had stood up, if you had banged on the table like you wanted, an orderly would come in with a tranquilizer and who knows what you'd end up taking.
"This is for your own good. I am also confiscating your books. Science fiction has not helped your condition improve." He shakes his head, disappointed. "'The Time Machine,' Jason? Really?"
You cross your arms. "It's a classic."
"It's polluting your mind," he says, and Rebecca would never say something like this. "And we don't want that, do we?"
You take a deep breath. Stare blankly out the window behind him. There are people out on the lawn playing kick-ball.
"That'll be all."
You glance at the cat barely hanging onto its branch, seconds from falling. Cats land on their feet. What can humans do?