Hospital life was boring but the antidepressants made it bearable. At least now Cat and Catherine didn’t have to worry about overwhelming anxiety and existential dread. As they acclimated to the psychiatrist’s prescription, the side effects lessened. Cat was almost making good on Catherine’s offer to explore their body for the first time but she was saving it for when they got home. Discharged from both hospital and criminal prosecution.
Two days before their surgery to remove the titanium implants (the bone itch – one of the worst kinds - was growing rather unpleasant), Oliver arranged the TASC assessment. The educational board examiner came and took over one of the meeting rooms on the hospital ninth floor, two above Cat’s room and she would have two sessions of four hours over one or two days to complete it, up from the normal eight. It all depended on how well she could endure the exam. Should she grow too tired during the first four-hour session, the second one would be postponed to the next day.
“I can’t believe you got my application through in two weeks,” Cat said, excited.
“I have some people I know at the educational board. I told them you were undergoing a delicate surgery and wanted your diploma should anything go wrong. I won’t lie to you, taking out the implants will be dangerous. Your body needed more time to recover.”
“I can heal fast,” Cat grinned. “The nurses call me wolverine-girl behind my back. Look, Oliver. The implants have to go. My bones itch. It’s the worst kind of itch.”
“Then, let’s get the show on the road. The examiner is eager to see you.”
Escorted by two cops – she was in custody after all – Cat went to the meeting room. The examiner and an assistant waited for her. After everyone introduced themselves, Oliver gave Cat his wishes of “good luck” and left the room. She was alone with the examiners and cops.
The female cop approached her with a sketch here her implants were drawn on a paper doll and a metal detector. She searched Cat’s body for anything that could be used to cheat on the exam. She submitted to the scan willingly, knowing it was the least invasive alternative. The detector beeped angrily at each implant and the cop had to stop and match it with one on the drawing.
Not that she had anywhere to hide a cheat. She was still wearing only the hospital gown over her underwear and some EVA slippers. Not to mention she would take the exam under four pairs of trained eyes.
Once cleared, she sat on her designated chair and the assistant gave her a tablet locked on the test form. He gave her basic instructions and had her sign some forms with a stylus on the tablet before starting the timer and letting her tackle the questions.
Together, the two of them rushed through the questions. They complemented each other very well. Catherine was good at English and social studies while Cat had a STEM college degree. She even mumbled to herself to disguise talking to Catherine as they discussed the questions. Nobody would suspect her of cheating and the cops already knew of her mumbling issue. Since no other test-takers were nearby to overhear her talking about the questions, the examiners didn’t raise an issue.
With her cheat-like reincarnator test-taking powers, Cat finished all subjects but the written essay in less than four hours.
“How much time do I have left?” She asked the assistant.
“A bit more than half an hour, miss.”
She stretched and pushed the tablet away. Cracking her neck, Cat sighed with relief.
“I’m done here for now. I’m sorry but I’ll do the essay after lunch,” she said as she called the examiner to take the tablet.
“Are you feeling okay?” the young man asked. “The doctors said to return tomorrow if you are tired.”
“I’m a bit tired, thanks for asking. But I’ll have two and a half hours before I return at two in the afternoon,” Cat replied. “I can even take a nap.”
“That’s okay. Let me check the test,” the examiner walked away and fiddled with the tablet to check if she had left anything undone. She couldn’t do the same subject in two periods to avoid cheating. If she started one subject, she had to finish it within the given time or forfeit. “It’s all right here. You only have the essay left. Good luck, miss Wallenstein.”
“Thank you,” she nodded back and addressed the cops. “Gentlemen, we are done here. Would you please escort me back to my room?”
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
They didn’t answer and led her back to her room. Cat’s lunch was a protein-rich porridge that tasted like cardboard and a slice of chicken pie with no spices whatsoever with an apple for dessert. She wolfed everything down and laid down to sleep.
The essay was a walk in the park. Not only she had four whole hours to write it but she also bounced ideas back and forth with Catherine. She finished in less than two and ticked that box off her to-do list. She only had the surgery, recovery, and maybe a trial before she could start her new life for real now.
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“I’m sorry, Catherine, but we won’t remove all the implants in one session. It’s reckless and would endanger you beyond what we are comfortable with,” the orthopedist of the clinical team taking care of Cat told her.
Her hopes of leaving the hospital before summer ended were dashed. To someone who had, on celestial authority, a lifespan at least twice as big as anyone ever had on this planet, she still had that impetus to solve things quickly all teenagers were plagued with.
She opened her mouth to protest but closed it. After giving it some thought, she asked, “How long?”
“That depends on your recovery. We’ll have to give your body time to recover its strength before we cut you again. Usually, the implants stay for life, we don’t recommend removing them. But your body is growing bone tissue over them and putting pressure on the surrounding bone and muscle tissue. The itch you complained about is inflammation of your muscles and tendons. We’ll have to do some damage to remove the pins and see how you react to them. That’s why we’ll remove only the easiest ones this time.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t be dismayed. The x-ray showed your fractures healed perfectly. I don’t want to raise your hopes but I don’t see any complications arising from the surgery. If you recover as fast from this procedure as you did the others, you won’t have any issues and will live your life without needing to show a medical report each time you go through a metal detector.”
“You tell me. Let’s do it then. But please, try to remove more implants with each procedure. I can take it.”
The doctor shook his head. “We can’t. Your case became too high profile, Miss Wallenstein. Sorry, I can’t say anymore.”
She tried to coax some information but the orthopedist became mute. He apologized profusely and left.
“What was that?” Cat asked out loud. She was alone in the room.
Cat crawled deeper underneath the blankets and resigned to her fate. Worst-case scenario, she would spend four years at the hospital and walk free because that was the maximum jail time she could get. She would probably go on trial or have the prosecution abandon the case before that, however.
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Prepping for surgery and actually undergoing it went in a blur. She woke up in mild pain, feeling miserable and with her left shoulder on fire. She groaned and a nurse came to check on her. She couldn’t tell where she was as by some cruel joke the architect seemed to have designed every section of the hospital roof to look exactly the same. Only when the nurse injected some painkillers in her IV drip did she quiet down.
The shoulder still burned, however. It didn’t feel like pain. Her other bones that received implants still itched but the situation on her shoulder was different. She made more noise and finally blacked out. The only thing she remembered hearing was someone saying, “morphine.”
It sucked a lot. They bandaged her shoulder and her torso now looked like a mummy. Lying on her hospital bed, Cat resigned herself to whatever her fate was. She was literally living on borrowed time, after all. Maybe all this torment was karma being flushed from her being, her spirit and Catherine’s being purified by the pain. Yeah, right. She would laugh if she could.
The doctors came and told her her shoulder was alright. She should heal completely but Cat couldn’t find their words reassuring. She suspected something went wrong.
Days went by. Oliver visited every Tuesday and Friday, while detective Martinez came once a week on varying days. She heard some reports regarding the investigation of her sexual assault case. It seemed the perpetrator was arrested then released on bail. Oliver wanted Cat to retake her statement, record it on video and do a cross-examination with the defendant’s lawyer present. She would be subjected to the same questions she would at the trial (the sexual assault one, not the homicide) but she wouldn’t need to show up and they would replay the video. It gave them two shots at nailing her testimony for the trial since she could show up and discard the video but it also safeguarded her life because murdering her after the video shoot wouldn’t stop her testimony from being accepted in court.
As if she hadn’t enough on her plate, she now needed to worry about being killed. Detective Martinez assured her the extra security detail outside her room was to keep her safe.
One day she had a nightmare. The grim reaper was coming for her, regardless of their previous agreement. She saw the hideous skeletal figure in all its glory from the moldy robes to the rusted scythe caked in dried blood. It was so scary she woke up screaming. Were Catherine’s memories seeping into her being? Where did whatever she had left of William ended and the real Catherine started? The dread of losing one’s identity was even greater than the lingering fear of the reaper.
Two weeks after the first implant removal, she regained movement on her left arm and the bandages came off. She would still need physical therapy and recovery to fully heal but another x-ray showed the bone healing perfectly. Then she went to the OR again, to remove the implants on her legs and hips as these were the ones itching the most.
Recovering from that intervention, however, was a bitch. Her mobility became zero and the urinal catheter came back. She started taking alprazolam [A.N: Again, seek a real-life physician if you need help] to cope with the depression. The potent medication cut her anxiety but dulled every other emotion, turning her into a zombie.
She didn’t even cheer when the TASC results came in. Catherine had officially put high school behind her.