A tall man walks into a silent room. Floors, walls, and ceiling are all white, except for a large mirrored window pane on the far side. His arms were full of papers and binders. All haphazardly filling his arms. Round spectacles sit low on the nose of his long, unshaven face. The man's hair was pasted back with salty white strands speckled, showing late middle age. His thin goatee surrounded his mouth and was unevenly trimmed. Dr. Furlow plops the stack onto the table with a minor thud, then drops into the chair behind him.
"Corey Iverson, right?" he asks nervously.
The girl opposite the doctor sits quietly. Her long dark brown hair concealing most of her face, blocking much of her blood-stained face as she looks down at her fingers. Wrists bound by handcuffs and chained to a thick loop on a cold metal table. Picking bits of flaky skin away from her freshly cut nails. She does not respond to the doctor.
The doctor pulls out a small digital audio recorder checks the tiny LCD screen. He then gently stands it up after hitting the record button.
"Thursday, December 7th. Dr. Issaic Furlow, Session 1 with Corey Iverson, age 24." The doctor says in flat monotone words.
"My name is Megan, not Corey." She says under her breath. She picks off another tiny sliver of hanging skin from her thumb and flicks it onto the floor under the table.
"So, you can talk. The officer that brought you in said you hadn't spoken a word since your arrest," he said casually, trying to hide the fear in his voice. "You slammed his partner's head into the hood of their squad car. Apparently, you can be quite violent when you want to be."
Still whispering, "I don't want to talk about it," she says.
Dr. Furlow leans back in his chair takes a deep breath before continuing. "You were picked up in an alleyway, bodies…in pieces all over the place. We assume it was their blood you are wearing." He takes another deep breath as he runs his left hand down his face and over his mouth. "Look, I'm here to help you, not to judge you. I need to make sure you aren't going to hurt anyone here." He continues. "Most importantly yourself. The police found you, bodies everywhere, attacking one of them, trying to escape. Can you see this from our point of view? "
The cuticles of Megan's right thumb, now bleeding from all the picking, now makes a fist. She closes her eyes and rolls her head around. Neck gently popping as she tries to ease the tension. "I don't wa--" She stops herself. She then continues, "Do you have children, Dr. Furlow? A wife, husband, lover, anyone near and dear to--" Dr. Furlow interrupts, "That's not important; we aren't talking about me right now!"
Megan quickly lifts her arms and slams her palms onto the table. "IT IS IMPORTANT!" she snaps. Standing to her feet. Her eyes are wide and wild. Now beaming directly into his. The loud bang of the table reverberates around the room. Dr. Furlow kicks himself away from the metal table, the chair almost falling back with him in it. Bright sparks dance across the table, spilling onto the floor, then flickering out. A few land on the stack of papers as faint strands of smoke rise from blackened holes.
Megan slowly lifts her shaking hands, streaks of electricity jumping from them onto the handcuffs and bouncing across the hairs along her arms and around her eyes. Pupils have changed to opal white.
The door behind the doctor slams open, several police officers spilling into the room with their 9mm handguns drawn toward her. "Sit down, Ms. Iverson! If you don't, we will be forced to restrain you further!" an officer in the doorway demands. Megan looks down at her hands as electricity continues to bounce between her fingers. "What the FUCK IS wrong with me!?" she asks as tears begin pooling in her eyes.
Dr. Furlow's jaw opens then closes, unable to muster any words from stunned silence. "I didn't want this!" Megan yells, her throat crackling under strain. "That's it, tase her down!" suddenly, metal barbs strike Megan in the chest, she screams out in pain. Streaks of lightning begin to arc off of her into the ceiling and down to the floor. The policeman triggers the taser. Megan's skin around her wrists begins to burn as the handcuffs turn white-hot and melt away through the table and onto the floor. Lights in the ceiling are hit with electrical charges from Megan and explode in an array of bright sparks. Power quickly streaks along the metal lines still hanging off the tip of the barbs. The taser explodes in the officer's hands, electricity arcing through the other policemen. Their muscles begin convulsing under the extreme shock. The spasms trigger their weapons. Gunfire repeatedly rings out in deafening concussive blasts. The mirror window explodes behind Megan as the detectives try to drop in cover. One detective's head snaps back as red mist flairs out from behind him. Dropping limp to the floor. Bits and pieces of the brick fly from the walls in all directions. Suddenly Megan is violently thrust backward as bullets impact her right shoulder and forearm. Twisting from the force of impact, she is thrown on the floor and bounces off the wall. White-hot pain flashes her eyes as her head ricochets hard against the concrete.
The room falls into darkness; the sound of officers moaning is muffled in Megan's ears. Light from the hallway spilling through the room exit is an enormous blur. Megan shakes her head, trying to clear the fog from her mind. Pulses of burning fire shoot through her shoulder and arm. She can feel the cloth of her clothes wet and get heavy. The fabric soaking up the blood before it spills onto the floor.
Suddenly strong arms are positioned under her legs and under her back. Large hands locked her tight against a thick chest. Her head is too heavy with fog to fight, but she is quickly relieved when she hears a familiar voice. "It's OK, Megs, I got you. We're getting out of here." A deep voice rumbles against her as she buries her face into his neck. Megan's tears now flow heavily as she chokes back heavy breaths.
"I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry I didn't believe y.." Megan is cut off. "It's OK, no talking now." He says gently to Megan. “Nebuchadnezzar’s Dream…the Denarii. It's- It's all-" Megan tries to speak through the waves throbbing pain shooting from her shoulder. "Shh, enough talk." The large man stands up, long black hair held slick back into a ponytail. Tribal tattoos dance around the edges of his face and down his neck. Bending, twisting, and flowing as if they have their own mind. The same tattoos are visible down his arms and hands. His white shirt now with large red spots growing in size.
"Wha- wha- what are you!?" Dr. Furlow shakily asks. "Go home to your wife and kids, doc. This world may not have much time left," the large man says. The room is lit up again, with a white glow forming from thin air. Megan, in his arms, walks through a faint silver portal, and it quickly dissipates like steam when they disappear.
Dr. Furlow crawls to the table. Reaches up and grabs the recorder, the record light still bright. He stops it and rewinds it, quickly hitting play. Megan's voice is heard through the tiny speaker. “Dnezzar’s Dream- the Denarii. It's- It's all-" A small click snaps out as the doctor stops the recorder. "Denarii?" he asks under his breath. "It's all what!?" he continues as additional officers rush in to check on their fellow policemen.