To Tame A Spark 01

There was a lot to be said about a person by the shoes they wore. And hers were of the white orthopedic variety complete with inserts. They were her best purchase despite all the protests of her more fashionably stable and secretarial friends. Dr. Maria dos Santos, however, did not have a desk job, nor did she want one. Even if by the time her day ended her feet were the most used and abused part of her body,  she would  not swap a sturdy comfortable sensible pair of shoes for an occupation that allowed a more stylish model.

At least that was what she told herself as she studied the floor on the way to her latest assignment. After a moment she had to face the rather dismal conclusion that her shoes were indeed lacking personality, much like herself. She sighed, when had she become so drab? Was it her medication? Perhaps it was time to adjust the dosage? At thirty-two, wasn’t she supposed to be in her prime?  Dating men and then turning around to gossip with her girlfriends? This had nothing to do with medication and everything to do with having no life outside of work.

Stopping for a moment in the sterile hallway, she rubbed at her melancholy thoughts and  tired eyes. Sleep was also a fleeting factor ever since she’d come to the attention of Director Hooter, or rather his senior doctor on the SHUSH staff, Dr. Lance McCain. The Brazilian mouse credited her sour temperament to him, and to the manila envelope clutched ever so tightly between her hands. Inside was limited information on her newest patient, there was barely enough to even bother a glance. She’d been reassured that she’d receive more information once things were in order. Knowing the way things worked or rather didn‘t work, she doubted that order would ever be achieved.

Try as she might, Maria even found herself blaming the director for his rare, utterly rare to almost non-existent ,show of idiocy. What could Dr. McCain, a man she’d never even met, have possibly said to Hooter that would have warranted her the credentials necessary to work with the criminally insane? A few were blatantly obvious, but she wrote off her dabbling in developing new medicine as reckless and her psychology skills as rusty at best and utterly forgotten at worst. And if they expected her to use her other “talents,” they were to be sorely disappointed.

Two guards greeted her as she reached her destination. She allowed them to use their wands and to hand her a tranq gun. It’d been awhile since she had to use one. That fact that it might be necessary darkened her day even further.

“Have the other doctors been in to see him today?”

The hulking canine gave her a kind smile and tipped his hat in a gentleman-like fashion, “Just you so far, Dr. dos Santos. Dr. McCain won’t arrive until later this afternoon.” The rest of his sentence dropped into a mutter she couldn‘t quite hear, “That is if he shows up at all.”

This startled her to say the least, “But this patient has special medicinal needs!”

The guard was sympathetic as he picked up a tray loaded with meds and some paper work. “Dr. McCain seems to have confidence in your abilities, ma’am. I’m to follow you in. This one’s a little cranky in the morning.”

Maria pushed her light framed glassed up her nose not trusting herself to speak. This Dr. McCain was gnawing on her last nerve leaving her in such a situation so poorly prepared. What little she knew of her purpose here was that they were exploring a new method of rehabilitation. Either Dr. McCain saw this as beneath his expertise or he flat out didn’t care. Her only comfort was in that she could include such opinions in her reports to the director.

“Um, doctor?” The guard was waiting.

She gave him a tight smile, “Forgive me, I was merely indulging in a slight fantasy.”

“About Dr. McCain?” the canine kept his question neutral.
“Yes,” she snapped as he punched in the code,” And how I plan on giving him an earful the moment I meet him!”

The guard grinned, “I suggest you take a number, ma’am, there’s quite the waitin’ list.”

“Beleza,” she muttered as the doors whooshed open, “So, Quinton,” Maria asked finally reading his nametag, “What can you tell me about Elmo Sputterspark? You‘re professional opinion seems to be the only one I‘ll be receiving.”

Quinton sobered as he raised an eyebrow. “That’s what they’re callin’ him now, eh?  Well, I guess it don’t matter what they call him, he’ll still be waitin’ on the other side of these doors ornerier than hell and nuttier than last years fruitcake.”

Curiosity got the better of her, “What did they used to call him?”

He stared hard at her face, “You really don’t know?” She shook her head wondering now if she really wanted to. He let out a sigh and said more to himself than to her, “They really are throwing you into this blind.” Then after a moment Quinton looked at her again and said something that chilled the blood in her veins, “Dr. dos Santos, I guess there’s no way to sugar coat it, but, for the past fifteen years the world has known Elmo Sputterspark as Megavolt.”