A Scripta

Dr. Edward Feinstein looked at his appointments for the day and tilted his head in confusion. “Patty, I don’t remember scheduling an assessment for this morning.”

“Your first four patients cancelled on Friday and this was flagged as an emergency case,” she said.

“Don’t you think that’s unusual that they all seem to cancel for a four-hour block of time?”

Patty, usually pretty much on the ball, looked up at the doctor. “No…?”

“Did you see them yet?”

“Nobody’s come in yet.”

He nodded and headed off to his office. He had to pass by the waiting room, and he peeked in. A man in a black trench coat sat with a little blond-haired girl who looked about nine or ten. Feinstein glanced at his appointment sheet. The blond-haired girl looked around and caught his eye. “Grim!” she said, and tugged the man’s sleeve.

The man called Grim looked up at the doctor. “Are you Dr. Feinstein?”

“Yes, are you…” He looked at his appointment sheet. The assessment was for a Rorri Starkweather and the contact person was Michael Labonte. “Mr. Labonte?”

“I am,” he said. The little girl stared at him in disbelief.

“Just give me a minute. I wasn’t expecting an assessment this morning so I don’t have everything set up.”

“No problem.”

He went back to his office. Grumbling, he got out the forms and games that he would use to assess her IQ and psychological profile. He hated doing Monday morning assessments. His mind usually wasn’t clear enough from the weekend to do it properly. He took a form for the child to fill out and went back to the waiting room.

“You’re Rorri?” he said, getting down to her level.

She looked at him, keeping her gaze steadily on him to the point it was uncomfortable. She didn’t say anything for a long while. Finally, after a good two minutes of this, she said, “Yeah.”

He got up, slightly disturbed, and looked at Lebonte. “Do you mind if I take Mr. Lebonte into my office to answer some questions?”

She shrugged. Feinstein looked at Lebonte, who got up. “Don’t destroy anything.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Oh, can you fill this out?” He handed her the form and a pencil. She looked at it, looked up at him, and then bent her head to the form.

“Mr. Lebonte.”

“Call me Grim.”

“I’m sorry?”

“A nickname.”

“Oh.” He wondered if that was indicative of this man’s mood. They sat down in his office, and Grim proceeded to weave a tale that he had never thought possible in all his years of psychiatry. She was a clone, created by a madman to be used as a weapon – to be constantly used as a weapon. She was a shape changer, regenerated almost instantly, and had grown up pretty much without a parent or guardian in her first nine years of life. She’d never gone to school. Never had a normal childhood.

This was beyond Feinstein’s expertise, and he knew it. However, all Grim seemed to want was a basic assessment, IQ, psychological issues. He believed they were “legion” in his words. “I want to know what I’m dealing with,” he said.

Feinstein sat back. “I can do that, but as for treatment…”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Feinstein looked at Grim. “Do you feel she’s in need of treatment?”

“Certainly,” he said. “But, believe me, she’s not your average patient.”

They rose together, and went to get her. She had filled out the form and sat tapping the pencil and her hand on the arm of the couch in a beat, adding sound effects. Label one: ADHD.

“Ready, Rorri?”

“Uh huh!” She jumped up, and walked by Grim.

“Be nice to the good doctor,” Grim said, and sat down on the couch.

Feinstein said, “This will take about four hours.”

“No, it won’t.” Grim pulled out a book from his coat and put his feet up on the couch, settling in to read. He looked at Rorri and winked. She giggled, and followed the doctor to his office.

Two hours later, the doctor returned, haggard. Grim looked at the clock on the wall. “Wow, you did better than I thought. I thought you would have brought her back an hour ago.”

“Mr. Lebonte,” he said, forcing himself to be calm. “Rorri needs to be…inpatient.”

Grim looked at Rorri and smiled. Rorri smiled back. “I answered all his questions. You told me to be honest.”

“I know you did, and that’s good.” He looked up at the doctor. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. Did you at least get through the battery of tests?”

“Most of them, but when she started talking about where to put bombs to blow up Galaxy City, we stopped right there.”

“I want to know her IQ.”

“It’ll take some time to score it—“

“We’ll wait right here.”

“More than—“

Grim looked up at him. “If you start now, she won’t get impatient and start wandering around the hospital. You really don’t want that.”

Feinstein never scored an IQ and psychological assessment so fast in his life. As he did it, he knew this girl’s treatment was beyond him. He picked up the phone and called the only two physicians who had worked with disturbed mutants in the hospital. He explained the situation, and they both actually rushed right down, something that surprised even him.

Felicia Goduti was a mutant herself, with the ability to walk through walls. Also a mutant was Dr. David Bostrom, a small wiry man who could build himself up to a huge bulk by using the air of the area. Feinstein saw Bostrom in the waiting room, while Goduti he met in the hallway. He showed her the scoring thus far, and she nodded. “To be expected,” she said, and went to the waiting room.

Bostrom was talking intently to Rorri. “You don’t feel the need to hurt yourself?” Feinstein noted he had left off the “or others” that usually went with that question.

“Why should I?” she asked.

Bostrom looked up at the entrance of the other two people. He looked at the scoring and also nodded. “Well?” Grim asked.

“Her IQ is off the charts,” said Goduti

Rorri beamed. Grim also did.

“But she has a multitude of psychological disorders, and we’re not done with the testing yet.”

“ADD is but one of them,” said Bostrom. “That’s the most severe. She really should be brought in for more testing.”

"What do you have so far?"

"Bipolar, ADD, conduct disorder..."

“That's what I figured,” said Grim. “I would much rather she continue outpatient.”

“I’m sorry, but we may have to commit her without your permission.”

“Commit me?” Rorri looked horrified. Grim stood up, put a hand on her shoulder.

“That won’t happen,” he reassured her. “Thank you for your time.”

Then they both disappeared.

Feinstein realized he wasn’t holding onto any paper any more, and saw dust on his hands, and a small pile on the floor. The doctors looked at each other. “Your documentation,” said Bostrom, and the three doctors almost ran to Feinstein’s office. On his desk were small piles of grey dust. He checked on his computer – her name had been erased from the appointment program, and his other patients who he hadn’t seen were replaced there.

Feinstein looked up at the doctors. They both sighed. “You were dealing with a wizard,” said Bostrom. “Do you remember his name?”

“LeBon…no.”

“Dammit.”

Feinstein said looking confusedly at Bostrom and Goduti, “Why did I call you in here, again?”