Blast from the Past - coming tomorrow

 Tomorrow, I'm going to release this month's 'blast from the past', where I look back at a classic Sebtomato tale. 

Here's an excerpt - see if you can tell which story it is :)

“You’re up.”

“I’ll leave you my address details, you can bill me.”

“I must advise you to stay.”

“Thank you. I have to get back to work. People to see, fish to fry.”

She has nothing. Not even the blouse on her back. Polyester hospital clothes, courtesy of the private clinic.

Dr Sucette puts up her hands,  pleading. “You need to recuperate. There’s a special halfway-house here in town. They’ll set you up with wireless, laptop, whatever you need, but also keep an eye on your recovery.”

Those open palms are meant to encourage trust. Nothing up the good doctor’s sleeve.

She doesn’t buy it. The clinic has good medicine, to dull the pain with the classic side-effect of dulling her thoughts as well. Such good medicine, healing her scratched-up body, but it’s done more than that. It’s worked like magic. Where did the lines, the years around her eyes go? She looks more than refreshed: She looks like she’s had a miracle spa.

She doesn’t look forty. She looks fifteen years younger.

Is this a bad thing?

(Yes.)

There’s no rhyme, no reason. She can’t control what she can’t explain. Her fresh face, her vanished physical history. This is dangerous.

There is a lie here, there is a truth not told.

“I just need a phone call, order a taxi,” she says.

“You should stay.” Dr Sucette places her hand on her arm.

Is this closer to the truth? She tilts her head. “Are you going to keep me here against my will?”

Dr Sucette gives her head a shake, movement that shudders down to her shoulders as if someone has walked over her grave. “Of course not.” She waves a hand at her hospital gown. “At least let me find you some clothes.”

“All I need is a taxi. Please.”

A sigh. Another shake. “Very well.” Dr Sucette leaves the room to make a phone call.

Dr Sucette returns with a tray. “I called your taxi. A snack before you leave.”

She nods. “Thanks.”

Dr Sucette leaves the room.

She looks down at the sandwich. There’s something about the clinic food; it’s too filling, it’s the opposite of food for thought.

She takes the sandwich into the bathroom and flushes it down the toilet. It’s not the first time she’s had to play with her food like this.