Dr. Moore Will See You Now

4,500 Words

"Dr. Moore Will See You Now"
by Travis M. Corter

Ricky parked his motorcycle across from his old high school and watched the house across the street less than twenty-four hours before he came face to face with his own mortality.

"Come on, man, she's never coming out of that house. She probably doesn't even live there anymore."

Ricky shrugged off his best friend, Michael, and said, "She still lives there. She's got to come out sometime."

"And what if she does? What exactly are you going to say? 'Hey, how's the last six years of your life been'? No way she even remembers us from high school," Michael said.

"I haven't given that much thought."

Five minutes went by before Michael said, "Not today, amigo. Maybe tomorrow."

Ricky responded with his usual, "We'll see." He mounted his green Kawasaki and turned the key while his best friend crossed the street to his blue Beetle.

"Hey, are you still meeting us down at the club tomorrow night?"

Ricky smiled, strapping on his helmet. "I never said I was coming."

"There's no shortage of women at those hangouts. Even if you just come for the drinks, you might meet someone, take your mind off Tracy for awhile."

Ricky shrugged and revved the motor. "I don't know."

"Well I might be a little late. I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon, so don't have too much fun until I get there."

"I won't."

Michael drove off, leaving Ricky to watch Tracy's old front door. He wanted to go there, to see if she was home, maybe take her in his arms and tell her how much he still loved her.

Maybe then things would have been different. Maybe he wouldn't have found himself fighting for his life trapped in some strange building. But hindsight's always twenty-twenty.

#

Ricky turned the card over with his fingers the next morning. The card reminded him of an appointment with Dr. Moore-whoever that was. Ricky searched for the punch line, but found none.

He called the number on the card and picked up a deck of cards from the end table. Ricky gave the deck several one-hand cuts. Three unanswered rings later, and still no machine picked up.

"That's funny."

Three rings later, he disconnected and redialed, figuring he just got the number wrong. When no one answered, he checked the time and grabbed his helmet, doing a double-take when he saw the address printed in block letters on the business card: 2003 FRANKLIN AVE. He threw the card in the trash and headed back to the high school.

Tracy still wasn't around. For all Ricky knew, she didn't even live there anymore. This time he shut his bike off and crossed the street to her side of the block. He would never know if he never checked.

Gray boards still lay in the side yard, the two beams next to the steps splintering
even more than Ricky remembered. A breeze knocked a hanging gutter against the side of the house, the only sound in the summer stillness. Ricky's hand was an inch from the door when someone gave a sharp whistle.

Ricky spun around. A young man in jean shorts and a bleached-white T-shirt walked up the steps and into a red brick building Ricky had never noticed before. It sat a block away from the high school, and it didn't take him long to notice the blue Beetle parked at the curb.

That must be the doctor's appointment Michael was talking about, Ricky thought, realizing the brick building sat at the corner of Maxwell and Franklin Ave. Ricky peered through dirty windows for a peek at Stacy or her parents; the last thing he wanted was to knock on some stranger's door and interrupt them. When he saw no sign of Stacy or the house he remembered, Ricky made his way to the brick building and confirmed the address. The place had always been there, but Ricky never had a reason to visit.

Well, I guess I could tell them to get rid of my address. Besides, Michael was there. Maybe Ricky would even join him at the club afterward ... all right, there was no way that was going to happen.

Ricky opened the heavy door to see two vending machines sitting in a lobby that seemed to swallow all other light. Something about the steady hum and stillness made him regret letting the door shut behind him. Cobwebs hung from the corner next to the machine with a picture of a water bottle adorning its front.

A siren pierced the thickness. The more Ricky strained his ears while it faded, the more he realized this was no siren; someone was wailing. It would have been easier to shrug off if it had come from a child.

Ricky headed to the elevator on the opposite wall only to find a sign taped over it that read: TAKE THE HARD WAY. "Charming," Ricky muttered, heading for the stairs. A puke green carpet with holes covered the stairs, and while windows lined the wall next to them, they might as well have been painted black; twice, Ricky stumbled for lack of sight.

The first landing's doors revealed no Dr. Moore-no sound came from behind any of the doors, either. Ricky couldn't even see into the rooms. On the third floor, Ricky found what he was looking for and headed down the hall to the office. There must have been a design flaw with the hallway, because Ricky's elbows were brushing the wall by the time he opened the door to the waiting room.

"Ricky!"

The sudden sound made his blood pressure soar, even though it was only Michael who'd called his name.

"What are you doing here?"

"These guys sent me an appointment reminder by mistake. It's probably yours."

"No, I got no clue who this guy is. My family doc set me up with a specialist for my back, so I figure this is the guy."

"That's weird." Ricky felt like his voice was coming out the other end of a tunnel, and it was hard to believe he was saying anything. This place made him uneasy, although he didn't yet know why.

A painting hung in a small rectangle from the gray wall in front of him; one hung
to the right. The first picture depicted a violent thunderstorm assaulting a field, while the other showed a sailboat sailing across calm waters.

The only other patient in the room was a short woman wearing glasses. Her nose was buried in a black, leatherbound book.

Ricky went to receptionist's window. He wasn't surprised to see no one sitting there. He rang the bell twice. When no one came at once, Ricky sighed and glanced at the magazines in the rack below. He picked up a wrestling one he used to read in high school and peered as far into the room behind the glass as he could before taking a seat next to Michael.

"I didn't know something was wrong with your back."

"Only complained about it twice a day for the past year," Michael chuckled, checking his cell phone for messages.

"Must have forgotten ..."

The other petient, who wore owl glasses, creased out her faded blue blouse across the table from Ricky. She smiled when she caught his glance, picking up a book from the table and slapping the cover with her hand.

Ricky noticed it was the only book on the table, save for a kids magazine and some book with a dusty black cover-another Bible, perhaps?

"Ever read this book, child?"

And so began another sermon for which Ricky had neither the stomach nor the patience. "Some of it," he muttered, flipping his magazine open.

"The Good Lord has blessed me so much in this life, but I'm quite ready for another."

Michael's eyes were about as wide as Ricky's. Ricky had never heard someone so open about their faith with strangers, especially in a doctor's waiting room.

A few awkward minutes later, Ricky returned to the receptionist's window and tapped on the glass. Then he rapped on it. Finally, a woman in her forties took a seat at her desk and glanced at Ricky. She opened the window.

"Name?" Her lips sat in a straight line, and her face looked so creased with wrinkles that she couldn't smile.

"I'm sorry, but I received this in the mail, and Dr. Moore is not my doctor."

"Name," the receptionist sighed. Her jaw was set, and judging by her size, this wasn't a lady who lost many arguments.

"No, you sent me this card by mistake. I'm not supposed to be here. I just wanted to let you know so you can take my name and address off your mailing list."

"What is your name, sir?"

"Ricky Miles."

The receptionist-Karen, according to her nametag-flipped through an appointment book and nodded. Then she looked at her watch. "You're late."

"I'm not supposed to be here."

For the first time, she met his eyes. "She's not home."

Ricky forgot how to breathe. Time stopped. His palms started sweating. Deep in his pants pocket sat his cards, and he grabbed the deck tight as he could. Karen kept staring.

"I'll talk to the doctor."

"Thank you," Ricky somehow managed. His feet took him back to the chair next to Michael, but Ricky was still dazed from the exchange.

"She wouldn't budge, I take it?"

"You don't sound surprised by that."

"She's a tough cookie to crack." Michael leaned closer to Ricky. "If you ask me, I don't think she's cracked a smile twice in her whole life."

Ricky glanced at the wall. "She said I was late, but-I don't even see a clock in this place."

"I guess you never smile either," Michael muttered.

"Where's the clock?"

"There isn't one, but my watch says it's 3:30. I'm getting hungry. Hey, you've got no excuse to bail out on the party now. We can go together."

"No clock in a waiting room? These doctors are getting smarter and smarter."

"Come on, man."

"You never told me whether you know God," the woman said.

"I've got a lot of work to do on my bike tonight. My headlight's on the fritz."

"I'll say."

"He loves you."

"Beg your pardon?" said Ricky, meeting the Christian's gaze.

"God loves you."

He shrugged. "All right. He loves me."

"Don't either of you know why you are here?" she asked.

Michael raised his eyebrows at Ricky when the woman reopened her Bible.

"It's all in Revelation."

"And you think we were ... chosen for something?" Ricky asked, glancing back at the receptionist's window; she hadn't returned.

"Our time is at an end. You probably don't remember how you died, but you will, in time."

Ricky barely heard what she said. Nutcases like this belonged locked up somewhere, anyway, as far as he was concerned.

But Michael bit. "So you think this is a waiting room for ... the Final Judgment?"

"I knew you weren't as dumb as you looked," the woman teased. "I'm Mary."

"Michael. Pleased to meet you."

Ricky glanced at him long enough to see he was just humoring the old lady for his own amusement.

I've had enough of this, Ricky thought. He marched back to the window and rapped on it as hard as he could. The bell was for pleasantries, and those were over.

"Calm down!" Mary gasped. "Time does not exist here. Why else would there be no clock on the wall?"

Ricky ignored the part of him that admitted she had a point. He pounded again.

Karen took her time coming back to her chair. She kept her eyes glued to her desk calendar as she took her seat. "Sorry, Mr. Miles. Dr. Moore is busy at the moment, but he assured me you are scheduled to see him."

"Well he's wrong." Ricky snatched one of the playing cards from his pocket and scribbled off his name and address. "Give this to him and take me off your list."

He nodded to Michael before leaving the office. In his haste to descend the stairs,
he didn't notice the windows were gone. He yanked the front door just past the vending machines. Only it didn't open. He tugged harder-nothing.

Come on, Ricky thought. The last place I want to be is stuck in Dr. Jekyl's waiting room. But the door wouldn't budge; it was sealed tight. I never should have left that house, she still lives there, I know it!

The peephole was gone, too. Ricky took a deep breath and leaned his back against the door. He'd try again in a minute. There was no need to panic. Something looked out of place. A second elevator sat directly across from the one Ricky saw when he came. I need to get more sleep, Ricky thought, walking to the new elevator. Like the one across from it, the sign encouraged people to take the hard way.

Ricky tried the door again.

He let his feet give way and sat on the floor with his back to the door. He pulled out his deck of cards. Then he shuffled-and shuffled-until he didn't even know the cards were in his hands. Just focus on the cards, Ricky.

Someone bounded down the stairs at a dead run. Michael rounded the corner, eyes wide. "There you are. I was afraid I'd lost you."

"Something's not right."

"Yeah, no kidding, the windows are gone."

"What? No, I mean the door. It won't budge."

Michael joined Ricky at the door. They pulled with everything they had, planting their feet firmly on the sticky tile floor, but it was pointless.

"Just come back upstairs," Michael said. "When the doctor calls one of us, we can
tell him together, all right?"

"And how do we get home?"

"There's probably another hall or stairwell somewhere. I'm sure they'll tell us. One way or the other, I'm getting to that club tonight ... and so are you." Michael added the last part under his breath.

Mary was humming to herself when Ricky followed Michael back into the waiting room, but she'd put the Bible down. A frown creased her face; she looked older than before.

Ricky scanned the selection at the magazine rack under the receptionist's window. Who wanted to read about health at the doctor's office, anyway? He found a copy of Ranger Rick and shook his head at Karen the receptionist, who didn't seem to notice.

"That's the best thing you could find? I thought I saw something about business over there," Michael said.

"I like Ranger Rick."

"I did too, when I was eight."

"Nothing wrong with a little nostalgia, so long as we don't stay there long," came Mary's voice. Her storytelling tone was gone.

"Is this your regular doctor?" Ricky asked.

"My, no. I did meet him once before, though, when I was in my thirties."

"What for?"

Mary shrugged. "Just a checkup." She stared at Ricky's magazine. "My husband loved to read. He read everything he could get his hands on." She lowered her eyes. "I lost him just a few years back."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Ricky said, and he was. Life was short, and he knew her pain. He missed Tracy every minute they were apart; they'd gone on a few dates before she stopped returning his calls, and he'd been miserable ever since.

"How's the job hunt going?" Michael asked Ricky.

Ricky almost wanted to go back to talking about death. "Same old, same old. I put out an application to this newspaper in New York. Work at the garage is going good."

"I thought you wanted to start your own business."

"I did, but that was just a dream. You set high expectations when you're in college, that kind of deal."

"You could still do it."

Ricky chuckled.

"No, seriously. You've always had a head for business. Why don't you at least send out some letters of interest, read up on the subject a bit?"

Michael had good intentions, but sometimes being best friends blurred the line between what should be said and what should be thought.

"Too far," Ricky mumbled, and Michael turned on his MP3 player.

Mary laughed. "Oh, that takes me back. I remember every time I said something my George didn't want to hear, he'd say something like that."

"And you were always right, too, weren't you?" Ricky smiled back. Her smile was contagious.

"Sure was." She studied him for a moment.

"What are those scratch marks doing there?" Someone screamed again, a sound so haunting, so close, the chills that racked Ricky's body nearly sent him to the floor. Michael even pulled the plugs from his ears and stared at the door between the waiting room and the offices in horror.

Ricky couldn't breathe. He glanced at the table and noticed a set of deep scratches.

"They're the ones who don't believe," Mary said. "The ones who don't get to go with Dr. Moore."

Michael leaned forward. "Are you talking about ...?"

"Hell," Mary nodded.

The silence that hung in the room after the shout was heavier than the scream itself. Ricky fiddled with the cards in his pocket. He almost took them out, but this time he stopped himself.

A nurse opened the waiting room door. Her face was about as full of emotion as Karen's. "Mary, Dr. Moore will see you now."

Mary sighed and smiled, Bible in hand, and stopped at Ricky's chair. "Your eyes look so sad. Try to find the good in life. Sometimes getting what you want means working for it, and no one said this was going to be easy."

The door closed behind her, leaving Ricky with just his friend, his thoughts, and his cards. "What do you suppose that was all about?" Michael asked.

"I don't know. I just want to get out of here."

"To check out that house again? Ricky, I'm your friend. Listen to me." Michael
put his MP3 player away and picked up his friend's magazine. "This is no way to go through life."

"It's just a magazine."

"And I suppose you'll say it's also just a house. It's just an old crush. It's just the one that got away. Well while you sit around twiddling your thumbs and shuffling those damn cards, life is happening."

"I do plenty with my life. I just want someone to share it with."

"Then get out and meet new people."

"But I don't drink, so the bars are out. It's hard to meet any worthwhile women these days."

"Yeah, well, it's only as hard as you make it," Michael muttered.

"Michael? Michael Copeland?" The nurse had made her entrance silently this time.

"Yeah?"

"Dr. Moore will see you now."

"This shouldn't take long," Michael told Ricky, "and I still expect you to come clubbing with us tonight."

Ricky couldn't watch Michael go through the door, though he didn't know why. Instead, he shuffled his cards. The calming effect it usually had on him was lost every time he saw those scratches. This can't be Death's waiting room, Ricky told himself. This was real life. There were rules. Besides, wouldn't he have some recollection of an accident?

Shuffling, shuffling, always with the shuffling. Maybe Michael had a point ...

Ten minutes later, neither Michael nor Mary had returned from the other side of that door. The only comforting thought was that Ricky had heard no screams since they left.

Then it happened.

"Ricky Miles, Dr. Moore will see you now."

No walk felt longer in all his life. The most disconcerting thing was how there was only one room along the corridor the nurse led him down. Even worse was the stench. The only image that came to Ricky's mind churned his stomach and reminded him of a funeral parlor. The hall was almost pitch black; the nurse had to use a flashlight. Where's Michael? Did he clear up the confusion? Did he find some back way out of this funhouse?

The doctor was waiting outside the door, clipboard in hand. The smile on his face was typical. He ushered Ricky into the doctor's office.

"You look familiar," Dr. Moore said.

"Dr. Moore, I-Brad? Brad Moore? Student Council Vice President our freshman year?"

"Ricky, it is you! How have you been?"

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Ricky told Dr. Moore there had been a mistake.

"I already have a family doctor," Ricky explained.

Dr. Moore's eyes went blank. "I'm not that kind of doctor," he whispered. "I have
been doing this since I graduated from high school."

"That was just six years ago," Michael chuckled. "And what kind of doctor are you, exactly?"

"Please stop asking questions. This is my life. I am happy with my life."

"I never said you weren't. So you didn't go to college?"

"I didn't need to. Once this came along, I stopped having problems with my rent. Besides, this gives me more time to work on my script."

"Still working on the same screenplay?"

Dr. Moore sat down and scribbled something on his clipboard. "Still at it. I even got one of the guys to help me."

"Man, I miss those guys," Ricky said. This all felt so bizarre. It felt more like a dream than anything else; they both knew the issue at hand.

"Well, now I have to do my job. Ricky Miles, you are here for an evaluation. This has more to do with your emotional health than your physical health. You see, we work for a Higher Power."

Ricky would have sworn he was asleep if his fingers hadn't hurt from gripping the arms of the chair so hard. "Excuse me?"

"Don't worry. This is not the Final Judgment. It is a way to look at how far you have come, and how far you can go. Let's start with your family. You are currently an orphan, correct?"

"Yes."

"And I see from your chart there is no woman in your life. You have a best friend
that is concerned for you. He told me himself that you are avoiding people on a regular basis, and have been doing so for the past two years."

"What else did he tell you?"

"Mr. Miles, this is the part of the interview where I ask what you feel you have accomplished thus far."

Ricky took his cards back out of his pocket, but Dr. Moore took them from him. The doctor laughed, fanning through the cards. "Do you remember the nights we played Holdem? Gosh, I must have lost at least twenty dollars a week. Do you think we could still get the old guys together?"

"I've accomplished a good amount so far," Ricky replied, itching to get his cards back. "I graduated from high school and got a Bachelor's Degree in Journalism. I work fulltime at a garage. I'm still close friends with Michael."

"What? Oh, the evaluation. Sorry ... and what do you have left to accomplish in your life?"

"There's Tracy. I want to prove to her that we belong together, maybe start a family somewhere down the road."

"And what else?"

"I'd like to work for a newspaper, I guess."

Dr. Moore sighed. "Ricky, you have to be honest with yourself. You can't hide anything here, anyway."

Ricky reached for his cards, and Dr. Moore shook his head.

"I want to start my own business. Maybe a small press, something to do with books or magazines. I just don't know how."

"It's not hard to find out how. Read a book."

Ricky opened his mouth, then shut it.

"Well, it looks like you still have a lot to live for. You are free to go."

"But wait, where's Michael?"

"You'll see him when you leave the building. He still has a long life ahead of him."

Ricky nodded and headed back to that dark, rank corridor. Dr. Moore stood, but stayed in the room. Ricky turned back before leaving the office. "Hey Brad, what happened to that religious woman, the widow?"

"I'm afraid I must respect the rules of doctor-patient confidentiality."

Ricky rolled his eyes and waited. "Come on, Brad, we go way back. I just want to know if she's all right."

Dr. Moore took a deep breath and shook his head at his old friend. "She went home. It was her time." Ricky nodded. "But don't worry. She wasn't alone."

The stench was gone from the corridor, and it was so well lit now that Ricky shielded his eyes the whole way down the hall. In the second before the nurse opened the door leading back to the waiting room, Ricky smelled a trace of homemade apple pie. He only made it a few steps through the waiting room before the world went black.

#

He blinked the sky into focus and pushed himself to his feet only to realize he was
standing outside of Tracy's door again. He shot a quick look at the block past the school; the building was there, but it was boarded up. The thing looked like it was abandoned years ago.

Ricky stared at the gray door. Was she in there right now? And Michael was right, what would he say? A blaring car horn jarred Ricky from his thoughts. He spun around in time to see a familiar blue Beetle packed with people, music blaring.

"Hey, man, perfect timing!" Michael called from the driver's seat. "We're grabbing a bite before the club. Hop in."

Maybe we were never really in that building. I must have been out cold. All Ricky could guess was that the excitement of facing Tracy made him faint. That explained the delusion and Dr. Moore ...

But there was one way to be sure. Ricky fished his cards out and spread through them, counting as fast as he could. Fifty-one.

"Whoa."

He had written his name and address on the King of Diamonds and passed it to the receptionist-the same King of Diamonds that was surely now missing from the incomplete deck.

"What are you waiting for?" Michael snapped.

Ricky looked at Michael. Back at the door. If he was going to do this, it had to be now. He'd wasted too much time waiting around for a miracle. This was it.

Then he remembered Dr. Moore and Texas Holdem. Nostalgia.

Mary.

A smile found Ricky's face as he gazed upon that old gray door. Then he went to the Beetle.

Michael smiled. "Welcome back, Ricky," he said.

And when that car took off, Ricky had no idea where it might take him. But for the first time since his parents died, he was alive.

THE END