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Panakeia stumbled out of the theatre, hand over an aching wound in her chest. How she had managed to laugh during surgery was beyond her. Laughing gas, one of the Orcs explained, but Panakeia was not convinced. The mysterious materialization of the extra heart stumped her as well. Did its removal mean that her conscience was gone, vanished with the blue tray that had borne her second heart out of the operating room?
Hello? Are you still there? Silence. Was she gone? Panakeia decided to make a test. She retrieved her sample case, stowed carelessly at the theatre door by the Orcs, and set it up in the hallway. She tried to call out "Age Reducing Serum! Fountain of Youth in a Bottle!" But the words died in her throat.
Don't you see? I told you the extra heart was just a metaphor. The symbol of my return, if you will. I'm not located in your heart, but rather in your head. If anything, the surgery has brought us closer together. One heart will do for the both of us now.
"Time for your psychological testing! Here we go." An Orc caught her by the arm and led her away to an office and ushered inside. As she entered, she noted an odd sludge and a spot on the ceiling.
"Hello. I'm Dr. Jung."
"Wait. I thought I was supposed to see Dr. Sigmund."
"He is indisposed at the moment. Please, have a seat." Panakeia sat down.
"Tell me, do you dream?"
That was a dangerous question. It would lead straight to the voice that still echoed in her head if she wasn't careful.
"No. I never dream at all. Ow!" Panakeia had kicked her ankle. "Well, sometimes."
"What you do dream about."
"Oh, not much. Ouch!" She had kicked herself again.
Stop that. You'll get us committed.
Stop lying.
What do you expect me to do? Say that I carry on running conversations in my head? And that I've now started to assault myself? Her hand flew at her wrist and slapped it, leaving the red imprint of five fingers behind.
Jung watched Panakeia, eyebrows arched. "You seem evasive. But I think you want to tell me something. You're fighting yourself. Why is that?"
"Don't (ouch) be ridiculous (ouch)." Panakeia was pulling her hair.
"We are getting nowhere. If you want help, you must be willing to talk to me."
Help? Maybe she did want help. If it would make the voice go away and let her return to her old ways. So close to leaving Mordor, Panakeia had started to think about her future. Scamming was the only way she knew to support herself, and her new friend would make that difficult. She told her story, beginning with her dream on the BilddyUnnergrind and ending in the office (what was that slimy mess everywhere?). All the while, Jung nodded and made notes in a black binder.
"Yes, yes. It is very clear. You dream of archetypes. You see a ruined house in the dark. You are hiding from something in your past, now it manifests in this new personality that torments you and these strange delusions. The haunted village…”
“Werewolves. Not ghosts.”
“Yes, werewolves. Interesting delusions. A very interesting case. I'm afraid you will need inpatient care until we get to the bottom of this."
"Inpatient care? For how long?"
"6 months, a year? Who can say? But we have made progress. At least now you will speak of these things. And so there is hope for your recovery." He pushed a button on an intercom. Several Orcs in white jackets appeared. "This lady will need to stay with us for a while."
"Wait, I don't like this at all. It's worse than surgery."
Neither do I. Get us out of this!
Me? You do it. This is your fault!
The psychiatrist shook his head. "You must be well before we can let you go." He nodded, and the Orcs took her off to the next room. A stack of papers sat on a table.
"Now then, we may begin. The Doctor said that you'll be with us for sometime."
"But I don't want to stay!"
"Involuntary?" The Orc shook his head. "Please don't say that. It's such a nuisance. All these papers need to be filled out, then we have to go to see a judge all the time, and, well, it gets complicated." Panakeia was shocked. She seemed to have found the one Orc in Mordor with a distaste for paperwork. "But look here!" He pulled out a single sheet and handed it to her. "If you'll just sign yourself into the hospital, it's just one page to copy and file. It would make me so much happier. Please, think it over."
Panakeia skimmed the document. Patient may leave at any time by giving 72 hours notice. Beautiful. That's our ticket out of here.
"Alright, I'll do it."
The Orc beamed and handed her a pen. "I knew you'd see the light."
Panakeia quickly edited the 72 hours notice line. With a swift stroke of the pen, it read 0.12 hours.
What are you doing?
Do you want me to get us out of this or not?
A smile spread over Panakeia's face. "Okay. I'm giving notice that I'll be leaving now. Which means I'll be going in approximately 7 minutes."
"What? No, you mean 72 hours."
"Think again. Look at the papers." Panakeia pointed to her editing job. "There you have it."
"But that's a mistake!" The Orc's eyes went wide.
"Even if it is, think of all the paperwork you'll have to go through to correct it. Besides, do I look dangerous? Just let me go."
The Orc stared at the pile of commitment papers, then at another pile of administrative procedure manuals titled "Correction of Official Document Errors - Volumes 1 to 15" and rubbed his eyes. "You got me. Just go." He opened the door.
"Thanks. See you around - not!" Panakeia was off like a bolt. Only a throbbing pain in her chest, the reminder of her recent surgery, stopped her from running all the way to the registrar’s office.
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