Chapter 7 #2
Once in the main portion of the lower part of the gatehouse, my mouth drops open.
A large chandelier hangs from the vaulted ceiling.
There is a school crest in the marble floors, and scattered seating of plush leather chairs is interspersed among large ferns.
Soft classical music plays in the background, accompanied by the scent of plumeria. Every inch screams upper crust.
One other person is seated in the corner. Otherwise it’s empty.
For twenty minutes, I sit waiting to be told I can proceed to Regents Hall to meet Dr. Fraine, watching the time and wondering what’s taking so long.
“Ms. Ahrens,” another uniformed officer approaches. “Follow me.”
At the oversized double doors leading into the campus, he points to a large sign. “Please read this.”
Refrain from taking pictures or video.
Wait for an officer to escort you to and from your destination on campus.
Do not speak to students or faculty unless spoken to.
Breaking any of these rules results in a lifetime ban.
Good God.
I should’ve just canceled like I’d wanted to a couple days ago. Is it too late? I thought this was a higher learning institution, not a club of insane privilege and exclusivity.
My shakiness ramps up as I follow the no-nonsense guard from the building onto the property, walking along a wide stone path. I’m in awe as I look around me.
How is this real life?
Cornell University is arguably one of the most beautiful campuses in the country, but this eclipses it.
The stone buildings, covered in ivy, are tucked among mature, towering trees.
A stream winds through the campus, which is set up in a figure eight.
Flowerbeds with perfectly curated blooms look almost artificial; they're so immaculate.
The Regents building rises tall at the center. Unlike the bustle of Cornell, this campus is eerily quiet. We pass only a couple of students in their world-famous green blazers.
By the time we reach the reception area outside Dr. Fraine’s office, I’m jittery. The officer instructs me to wait here after the appointment is over to get escorted off the campus.
I nod at him, wide-eyed.
Taking a seat next to a red-eyed student clutching her green blazer draped over her lap, I’m not put at any ease when she starts sniffling.
She hangs her head, crying harder.
“Um, a-are you okay?”
Of course she’s not, idiot.
Damnit… it didn’t take long to break one of the rules. Do not speak to students or faculty unless spoken to.
But no one jumps out of a corner to arrest me, so…
My inquiry is met with a portion of her life story.
She’s been throwing herself at a guy who doesn’t know she exists.
Her parents are angry at her for falling behind in her classes.
She’s lost the only two friends she’s made because she hates pretentious food bloggers.
She’s here to see her advisor, Dr. Fraine, in hopes that she’s not booted.
I chew my thumbnail while patting her back with my other hand. Each time I open my mouth to offer her encouraging words, she starts in about something else.
“You’re sweet. What did you say your name is?” she says between hiccups.
Well, I didn’t get a word in edgewise.
“You can call me Bizzy.” We’re not likely to ever cross paths again, but I don’t want to seem rude by pointing that out to her.
“Really? Is that a nickname? I’m Jen, by the way.” She never lets me answer any of the questions before launching into how crushed she is that one of her former friends called her too emotional.
The doctor’s assistant appears from the short hallway outside his office. “Elizabeth Ahrens?”
Jen stops mid-thought in confusion, “Is that you?” She sniffs, bringing her hand up to wipe the tears on her cheek. My eyes snag on the bracelet adorning her dainty left wrist.
A unique figure eight gold chain with an infinity symbol and a green stone. My stomach plummets at the mere sight of it. It has to be the one I passed off at the airport.
As the smartly dressed, middle-aged woman calls my name a second time, I can’t pull my eyes from the jewelry.
Why does it freak me out?
Jen taps me. “Hey, is that you?” She points to the woman walking our way.
Murmuring yes, I snap to attention.
I turn to wave at Jen, but she’s busy texting when I look back. The damn bracelet draws my eye again, sparkling under the light coming in from the window.
Dr. Fraine’s office, tucked behind French doors, is all dark wood, deep greens, with touches of purple. Regal is the word that comes to mind. The accolades and degrees dotting his walls reassure me that I’m in experienced hands, even if my stomach is rioting from being on this campus.
“Have a seat. I’ll send Emily, Dr. Fraine’s nurse, to check you in.”
She opens a door off his office that reveals a clinical exam room with a rolling blood pressure machine and a large computer screen on one wall. I see the painting of a stone bridge over a stream, my mouth drops open.
I know that… I think?
I’ve been aggravated before over my unpredictable mind. The memories that have disappeared, and certainly the strange resurfacing of some. But the shock of seeing that picture brings on a vivid memory.
“Why would you do that?” I laugh at him, his hand tangling with mine. “No one is buying any of my work.”
“You underestimate yourself.” Kissing my hand, he pulls me close. His half smile and blue eyes make my heart flutter.
I can’t hold him tightly enough as he kisses the top of my head. The painting lying on his desk, of the stone bridge over the Untuga stream at Rock Am, has been wrapped with a silent auction tag on it.
The door to his office shuts, pulling me back to the present. Tears fill my eyes over these unexplainable memories. They don’t make sense. But neither does the connection I have to this mystery guy.
After taking my vitals and having me fill out a questionnaire, the nurse leaves me to wait for Dr. Fraine.
I slip out of my clothes as directed by the nurse, donning a scratchy hospital gown.
My heart pounds, the rhythm radiating up my throat as my nerves work double time. I just want answers… is it leukemia?
I find myself staring hard at the painting that made me remember him. The dark-haired, elusive ache. But it doesn’t trigger any more memories… or hallucinations, which leaves me frustrated.
The teasing snippets of memory are getting to me.
I hear the office door outside the exam room open as Dr. Fraine says, “Thank you for your patience.” He takes off his green faculty blazer as he walks in.
A distinct air surrounds me. Warm and all-consuming.
My mouth drops open when he looks up.
Dashing is the first word that comes to mind. Dr. Fraine looks to be around forty. His dark hair has a peppering of gray, his dark eyes inviting.
He smiles briefly before continuing. “I may have overbooked my day.”
I mumble, “that’s okay,” probably sounding dim, but his whole aura makes me feel… safe. Before he’s even examined me or talked about my health, I’m sure he’ll help me.
I’ve never felt that way since this all started.
His nurse comes back in while he uses his stethoscope to listen to my heart and lungs. He looks in my eyes with a bright penlight, all the while asking me questions. “...Okay, look straight ahead. That's it. You said this started almost a year ago?”
I forget about the lithe, scrub-clad nurse documenting things on a computer in the corner as I focus on the doctor. I explain everything I have told other health professionals, the episodes, the test results that never give answers, the memory loss, and I even admit to the vivid hallucinations.
“Hallucinations? Could you tell me what you mean by that?” He drops down onto a rolling stool next to the exam table. “Did that start right away, or develop over time?”
I suck my lips in, my eyes roaming the room before settling on his nameplate under a faculty picture: Dr. Christopher Erik Fraine.
How do I describe this? I finally focus on my hands resting in my lap.
“I have an episode… or a seizure? I’m not sure what they are.
I see and hear things that feel real, but I… I don’t think they’re real?”
Yes, I do. Why did I say that?
There’s no judgment on the doctor’s face, and his tone is kind when he responds, “I’ve looked over your medical history and tests. I’d say the previous doctors thought you were having focal onset seizures, but I don’t think that’s accurate.”
The reassurance in his words and demeanor makes me relax slightly. He’s paying attention… a tiny hope springs up. “The oncologist I saw a couple of months ago said it was leukemia.”
He folds his hands around one of his knees, a slight grimace escaping before he coughs. “I’ll let you get dressed, and when you’re ready, just step into my office, alright? We can discuss how to proceed.”
Even while skirting around my previous diagnosis, I’m still calm. Maybe too calm, considering the shit situation I’m in. But I trust Dr. Fraine completely. He exudes capability.
The nurse softly shuts the exam room door while I glance back at the painting.
Hopping down from the exam table, I don’t pull on my jeans and sweater.
Instead, I step closer to the painting, even running my hand over the gilded scrollwork of its frame.
I’m surprised to see it’s by the same artist as the drawings in JJ’s hatbox: E.B. Housman.
It shouldn’t… since the artist has ties to this university.
Once I’m done dressing, I note that I’m feeling healthy… healthier than I have for a while. No shortness of breath, no faint feelings, no pain.
Ironic, since I’m at the doctor’s office and none of my symptoms are plaguing me.
Dr. Fraine looks up from his computer when I walk in. He asks me to have a seat. “Ms. Ahrens, there are some tests I’d like done again: another brain scan, an MRI with contrast, and blood work, but it’s only to confirm what I believe you have.”
The smile I had melts away. His seriousness can’t be a good sign. “O-okay… yeah, I understand.”