I keep having these strange dreams lately...*
Posted: Thu Jan 24, 2019 9:47 am
((Continued from: A Name Which Lives in Infamy))
You know how some days, you can just tell it's going to be a good day? The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, there isn't a cloud in the sky -- you wake up on the right side of bed and you just know. You know that the day is going to have something great in store for you. Well, for Eric Silvstedt, this day was far from being good. In fact, over the course of the sleepless night he'd had prior to the day's beginning, events had continued to spiral downward, spinning the proverbial "good day" odometer into a one-eighty.
When you have a day like that, sometimes, it's just nice to vent to somebody. Anybody. That was Eric's motivation for going to St. Mary's Mercy Medical Facility on South 62nd Street. Being on the south side of town, otherwise known as the classier, ritzier side of Denton, it was quite the journey from Eric's home on the west side. He'd set off roughly half an hour ago in the truck, and was just now pulling into the hospital parking lot.
As he stepped out of the truck and shut the door, Eric couldn't help but absent-mindedly adjust the black button-up overshirt he'd put on over his white wifebeater. Of course, he'd been forced to shower again after the incident that occurred in the early hours of the morning, and after deciding to head down to the hospital, he decided that the ratty attire he'd adorned earlier that morning wasn't exactly appropriate given the circumstances. He'd thrown on a white tanktop, the nice black overshirt he currently wore, a nice pair of jeans, and he'd actually ditched the baseball cap and made an attempt at fixing his usually frizzy and unmanageable locks.
Of course he had, he was going to see her.
As Eric entered the quiet corridors of the medical facility, the silence of the hallways cut Eric's normally exuberant personality down to a tee. Even someone as thick-headed as Eric knew that a hospital was a place to show some semblance of respect for others. His eyes remained fixated on the ground as he walked down the corridors of the hospital, his hands in his pockets. Every once in a while, he would nod in acknowledgement of an occassional passerby. Finally, Eric came to a stop in front of the door labelled "226 - Dr. Silva". He had reached his destination.
He knocked tentatively on the door and, after receiving a response from the other side of the large wooden structure, turned the brass handle and entered the room. Behind the large mahogany desk sat the smiling face of one, Dr. Silva -- a woman who held a beauty all her own. Her dark chocolate colored hair hung freely around her head, framing her face perfectly. Deep chocolate eyes that held a fierce intelligence behind them peered out from behind small, square glasses which sat atop her nose. For someone in her late twenties to early thirties, Dr. Silva was quite the impressive woman.
"Eric!" she exclaimed, the smile still alighting her features, "What brings you here?"
"Can I... can I talk to you?" he inquired in a manner not becoming of the Eric Silvstedt that everyone else had grown accustomed to.
"Of course," the woman stated curtly, "You know you can always talk to me."
That much was true. Dr. Silva had been a part of Eric Silvstedt's life for a long while now. She was, perhaps, the only thing his lousy excuse of a mother had ever gotten right. Ever since he was a child, ever since his anger issues had been uncovered, he had been seeing Dr. Silva. Sure, paying for a psychiatrist was expensive, but it was worth it, at least in Eric's mind. She even gave the Silvstedts quite a large discount after discovering their financial situation. She was an amazing woman all around, and probably the only person that Eric felt like he could really sit down and talk to... connect with. She wasn't like other people -- like other doctors -- she really listened to what he had to say, and she showed genuine empathy and concern toward him. It was something that Eric was silently grateful for.
"Dr. Silva, I keep having these weird dreams..."
You know how some days, you can just tell it's going to be a good day? The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, there isn't a cloud in the sky -- you wake up on the right side of bed and you just know. You know that the day is going to have something great in store for you. Well, for Eric Silvstedt, this day was far from being good. In fact, over the course of the sleepless night he'd had prior to the day's beginning, events had continued to spiral downward, spinning the proverbial "good day" odometer into a one-eighty.
When you have a day like that, sometimes, it's just nice to vent to somebody. Anybody. That was Eric's motivation for going to St. Mary's Mercy Medical Facility on South 62nd Street. Being on the south side of town, otherwise known as the classier, ritzier side of Denton, it was quite the journey from Eric's home on the west side. He'd set off roughly half an hour ago in the truck, and was just now pulling into the hospital parking lot.
As he stepped out of the truck and shut the door, Eric couldn't help but absent-mindedly adjust the black button-up overshirt he'd put on over his white wifebeater. Of course, he'd been forced to shower again after the incident that occurred in the early hours of the morning, and after deciding to head down to the hospital, he decided that the ratty attire he'd adorned earlier that morning wasn't exactly appropriate given the circumstances. He'd thrown on a white tanktop, the nice black overshirt he currently wore, a nice pair of jeans, and he'd actually ditched the baseball cap and made an attempt at fixing his usually frizzy and unmanageable locks.
Of course he had, he was going to see her.
As Eric entered the quiet corridors of the medical facility, the silence of the hallways cut Eric's normally exuberant personality down to a tee. Even someone as thick-headed as Eric knew that a hospital was a place to show some semblance of respect for others. His eyes remained fixated on the ground as he walked down the corridors of the hospital, his hands in his pockets. Every once in a while, he would nod in acknowledgement of an occassional passerby. Finally, Eric came to a stop in front of the door labelled "226 - Dr. Silva". He had reached his destination.
He knocked tentatively on the door and, after receiving a response from the other side of the large wooden structure, turned the brass handle and entered the room. Behind the large mahogany desk sat the smiling face of one, Dr. Silva -- a woman who held a beauty all her own. Her dark chocolate colored hair hung freely around her head, framing her face perfectly. Deep chocolate eyes that held a fierce intelligence behind them peered out from behind small, square glasses which sat atop her nose. For someone in her late twenties to early thirties, Dr. Silva was quite the impressive woman.
"Eric!" she exclaimed, the smile still alighting her features, "What brings you here?"
"Can I... can I talk to you?" he inquired in a manner not becoming of the Eric Silvstedt that everyone else had grown accustomed to.
"Of course," the woman stated curtly, "You know you can always talk to me."
That much was true. Dr. Silva had been a part of Eric Silvstedt's life for a long while now. She was, perhaps, the only thing his lousy excuse of a mother had ever gotten right. Ever since he was a child, ever since his anger issues had been uncovered, he had been seeing Dr. Silva. Sure, paying for a psychiatrist was expensive, but it was worth it, at least in Eric's mind. She even gave the Silvstedts quite a large discount after discovering their financial situation. She was an amazing woman all around, and probably the only person that Eric felt like he could really sit down and talk to... connect with. She wasn't like other people -- like other doctors -- she really listened to what he had to say, and she showed genuine empathy and concern toward him. It was something that Eric was silently grateful for.
"Dr. Silva, I keep having these weird dreams..."