Dirge - Alan Dean Foster [100]
“I do not think even if you were healthy you would be physically capable of such a feat,” the much taller Dmis replied calmly. “As it is, you are weakened from your misfortune, and I am considerably larger and stronger than you.”
“I can see that, but you’ve never experienced the kind of strength that uncontrolled fury can give a human being.” He glanced at the anxious psychiatrist. “Don’t worry, Doc. Much as I’d like to I’m not planning on leaving this bed for a while. Not even for the sheer pleasure of feeling a Pitarian neck under my fingers.” He turned his attention back to the alien. “I’m saving myself, you see. I want to kill many more than just one of you.”
Dmis looked to his escort. “I hope Mr. Mallory is receiving appropriate medication for his condition. It would distress me to think that he might one day attack someone else, perhaps believing that they were Pitar.”
“I can assure you that his treatment regimen takes all possibilities into account,” Nadurovina told the alien, succeeding in answering him truthfully without committing herself to any specifics.
“This has been most interesting.” The Pitar leaned slightly over the foot of the bed in Mallory’s direction and beamed benignly. “When you have invented some proof to give support to your expressive delusions, you must see to it that I am notified. It would be educational to continue this discussion. In the absence of anything additional, however, I must return to my mission and make a report.” Stepping back, he turned his full attention to the psychiatrist.
“I would like to be kept informed of Mr. Mallory’s progress, as a matter of personal interest. It is distressing to see any sentient being slide so far into fantasy. But it is quite understandable. Among my kind it is also common to build a mental wall around a terrible experience as a way of dealing with the consequences. In the absence of truth, the patient has invented elaborate imaginings to avoid having to deal with a large, threatening blank spot in his memory. I am sure that with time and your good offices these delusions will gradually begin to fade away.”
“I’m sure he will continue to improve,” she replied noncommittally as she gestured toward the doorway. The Pitar preceded her into the hall.
Nine and a half hours later Irene Tse burst from room fifty-four in panic. From behind her and within the room came a cacophony of instruments shattering and furniture breaking. Above it all rose an inhuman howling, the piteous shrieks of an unhinged mind teetering on the razor edge of sanity.
Nadurovina was interrupted in quarters where she had just sat down to dine with her husband. Tearing back to the hospital at velocities that threatened to send her vehicle spinning out of control, she blew through the entrance and past startled hospital personnel in her race to reach the building’s top story.
Shoving her way through the crowd that had gathered at one end of the floor, she espied Tse and ungently forced a path to where the nurse was sitting. Though the psychiatrist was not in uniform, the medtech who was attending to the nurse recognized the officer and gave way.
Trembling, Tse was holding her face in her hands. Blood from a deep scratch had welled up to stain the upper right sleeve of her duty blouse. Settling in behind her, the medtech began to treat the wound.
Nadurovina had no time for niceties. “What happened?” Reaching forward, she grabbed the younger woman’s wrists and roughly pulled them away from her face. “Look at me, nurse!” Tse’s tear-stained face lifted to meet the psychiatrist’s.
“I…I don’t know. It just happened. One minute everything was fine. I was just clearing away the dinner tray when it happened.”
Nadurovina glanced in the direction of the room but was unable to see anything but surging, swirling bodies. If it was this confused and chaotic now, she reflected, what must it have been like ten minutes ago?
“When what happened? Talk to me, nurse. Was