Chase
Director
Author’s Note:
The following was first drafted in 2010. It was recently revised and edited by both Sophie and myself. Hopefully, this theoretical and random situation serves as good light reading. I wanted to post this on February 12, 2015, Sophie's birthday (and honorary day of sign-up).
Have a good one, Sophie. Thank you for everything.
A high-pitched shrill, lengthy and unbearable in its alarm, was the first thing Chase Devineaux heard as he struggled to surmise his location. He could not assess every sensation, but he certainly recognised the scent of disinfectant. Wherever he was, it was clean -- or meant to be, in any case. When the thought struck that he was in a medical facility of some kind, other things began to appear: cold lights, brushed steel, and green-white tones that passed him by.
On the lapel of a uniform, he spotted a hospital logo and concluded that he was not at the ACME Medical Center, where he should be.
The discovery irked him.
“Where is this?” he asked a woman in white. She ignored him.
A flustered man, seemingly a doctor, appeared and began giving instructions to those around him.
This was not someone he trusted, and Chase became apprehensive.
“Wait,” he refuted, “I already have a doctor. You need to call ACME San Francisco and get Dr. Sophie Conrad.”
They began to move him, again paying no attention.
“You don't understand,” he repeated, “she knows me, she'll tell you exactly what I need.”
Working around him, no member of the staff catered to his words. He wondered if he had spoken too softly.
“You need to stop!” he commanded, “I’m not going anywhere until I know what's going on.”
A foreign female voice, disembodied from its owner, mentioned an emergency coming in and began to list random, inexplicable injuries.
“I have none of those things. I'm not your patient,” Chase interjected, “Get my doctor. She'll clear this up.”
No one replied.
“Is everybody deaf?” he started to tire, “I need my doctor.”
Less upset now than when he woke, the idea that he was isolated and virtually lost still felt unsettling. While remaining adamant about not agreeing to any procedures until his own doctor arrived, Chase began to ponder why they would subject him to this. He was not in any pain. In fact, he felt nothing at all.
The people around him lowered their voices to whisper amongst themselves until he could hear nothing. Then, they began turning out the lights, one by one. Deprived again of his senses, he sat in anger.
“I said, get Sophie Conrad!” he shouted into the darkness.
He needed none of this, and when Sophie arrived, he trusted they would correct their mistake. She'll teach them to ignore him.
Five thousand miles from San Francisco, a series of car bombs had ignited just past midnight, local time. A few hours later, ACME Headquarters received a call from a tertiary care center in Limerick, Ireland. With lilting English, the medical worker on the line informed the agency that Director of Operations Chase Devineaux was among the casualties brought into their care after. The report was that, although now stable, he had yet to regain consciousness since medics retrieved him from the scene of the incident.
Forty-eight minutes after the call was documented, Dr. Sophie Conrad and a small team of health professionals were accelerating up a runway at the Alameda Airbase, heading for mid-west Ireland. Director of Operations Chase Devineaux was coming home.
The following was first drafted in 2010. It was recently revised and edited by both Sophie and myself. Hopefully, this theoretical and random situation serves as good light reading. I wanted to post this on February 12, 2015, Sophie's birthday (and honorary day of sign-up).
Have a good one, Sophie. Thank you for everything.
-----
A high-pitched shrill, lengthy and unbearable in its alarm, was the first thing Chase Devineaux heard as he struggled to surmise his location. He could not assess every sensation, but he certainly recognised the scent of disinfectant. Wherever he was, it was clean -- or meant to be, in any case. When the thought struck that he was in a medical facility of some kind, other things began to appear: cold lights, brushed steel, and green-white tones that passed him by.
On the lapel of a uniform, he spotted a hospital logo and concluded that he was not at the ACME Medical Center, where he should be.
The discovery irked him.
“Where is this?” he asked a woman in white. She ignored him.
A flustered man, seemingly a doctor, appeared and began giving instructions to those around him.
This was not someone he trusted, and Chase became apprehensive.
“Wait,” he refuted, “I already have a doctor. You need to call ACME San Francisco and get Dr. Sophie Conrad.”
They began to move him, again paying no attention.
“You don't understand,” he repeated, “she knows me, she'll tell you exactly what I need.”
Working around him, no member of the staff catered to his words. He wondered if he had spoken too softly.
“You need to stop!” he commanded, “I’m not going anywhere until I know what's going on.”
A foreign female voice, disembodied from its owner, mentioned an emergency coming in and began to list random, inexplicable injuries.
“I have none of those things. I'm not your patient,” Chase interjected, “Get my doctor. She'll clear this up.”
No one replied.
“Is everybody deaf?” he started to tire, “I need my doctor.”
Less upset now than when he woke, the idea that he was isolated and virtually lost still felt unsettling. While remaining adamant about not agreeing to any procedures until his own doctor arrived, Chase began to ponder why they would subject him to this. He was not in any pain. In fact, he felt nothing at all.
The people around him lowered their voices to whisper amongst themselves until he could hear nothing. Then, they began turning out the lights, one by one. Deprived again of his senses, he sat in anger.
“I said, get Sophie Conrad!” he shouted into the darkness.
He needed none of this, and when Sophie arrived, he trusted they would correct their mistake. She'll teach them to ignore him.
* * *
Five thousand miles from San Francisco, a series of car bombs had ignited just past midnight, local time. A few hours later, ACME Headquarters received a call from a tertiary care center in Limerick, Ireland. With lilting English, the medical worker on the line informed the agency that Director of Operations Chase Devineaux was among the casualties brought into their care after. The report was that, although now stable, he had yet to regain consciousness since medics retrieved him from the scene of the incident.
Forty-eight minutes after the call was documented, Dr. Sophie Conrad and a small team of health professionals were accelerating up a runway at the Alameda Airbase, heading for mid-west Ireland. Director of Operations Chase Devineaux was coming home.
The only time in my "real" life that I've had the experience of trying to "understand" people with that accent are the few times in past years that I've gone to Irish (Celtic) Festivals at home in Ohio. Of course, in this story, they were ignoring Chase, whereas, if you are buying a Celtic pendant or hair clip, they tend to stand still and talk to you for a minute. That helps. Hahaha. 
