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Doc Rochelle's Log:
I was getting my daily rub-down in Physical Therapy from Manuel (a wonderful masseur, who looked almost exactly like Gabriel Byrne-he's always able to work out the kinks. It was the only way that I could continue to work, after the minor back problem that developed after giving birth to the "Little Demon", as my husband liked to call her.) when it happened. I felt a sharp stab in my shoulder muscles, and then my body went numb.
"Doctor."
It wasn't Manuel. Miraculously, I found that I could speak, but not above a whisper.
"Who-who are you? What HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!?"
"Calm yourself, Doctor, I mean you no harm."
"Funny way of showing it."
"You have taken over the Junk Yard Dog case." A statement, not a question.
"Yes? AND?" Whoever he was, his voice had a flat, near- familiar sound-like I've heard before, but couldn't place.
"I need to know some things."
"Ha! The doctor-patient-"
"-Confidentiality relationship does not interest me. Can he travel? I may have need of him."
"You're nuts, there. I can't authorize-GOD-DAMMIT!! What am I doing?!? YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM MY PATIENT!!!"
"Doctor, you're making this more difficult than it has to be. Do you wish to walk, or speak above a whisper again? I have a use for Junk Yard Dog."
"You can't be serious!"
"Oh, but I am. The jellyfish toxins (one of the last batches in existance) that you've been injected with will become permanent, unless I use this."
I saw a hand, with an excessive amount of orangy-yellow hair on the back, set down a syringe in front of my face. It was filled with a material that was roughly the same color as Wild Turkey.
"one shot of this in the right buttock will serve as a cure. Think of your husband. Think of the Little One that you have at home..."
(TBC)
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