"Hi Linda," she murmured.
"Sofia, this is Dr. Mallard. We were expecting you at seven-fifteen."
She glanced at her watch. It was nine. "I'm sorry, doc. I overslept."
"It's important Dr. Czerno sees you this morning. Can you come in?" he asked.
"No, no, my eyes are too sensitive."
"Why don't we do an old-fashioned house call and come to you?"
"Well …" She hesitated, surprised at his persistence. She could see a shredded couch cushion and broken glass in the hallway outside the bathroom door and recalled the shape her apartment was in. "Doc, I'll come in tomorrow. I'm not having a good morning."
"Hon, this is important. Dr. Czerno believes you'll begin to have more symptoms soon, ones that might indicate the disease is accelerating."
"Symptoms, like what?"
"Hallucinations. Paranoia. Sense of doom."
"Doc, I…" She couldn't bring herself to tell him about the visions.
"Here, let me put you on with Dr. Czerno." There was the sound of a phone being shuffled from one person to another, then a flat, deep male voice.
"Sofia, this is Dr. Czerno. It's imperative you see me at the earliest opportunity."
"Doc, what's wrong with me?" she asked.
"I can explain in detail in person, but it's important I see you now." There was something about his tone-flat and free of human warmth like the talking computer her blind coworker used-that made her uneasy.
"I'll be in when I can, doc," she murmured. "Can you tell me what other symptoms I might have?"
"Have you experienced any of the symptoms Dr. Mallard described?"
"Yes."
"And more?"
"Yes."
"Tell me about them," he ordered.
No. Her instincts were restless, and every fiber in her body warned her not to respond.
"I'll come see you right away," she said, suspecting this alone would pacify him.
"Very good. I will be here. How far out are you?"
"About an hour."
"I will see you soon. And Sofia, I don't appreciate being stood up." There was a warning note in his voice that made her more uncomfortable. She hung up. Her last hope for understanding what was wrong with her was someone she innately knew she didn't want to meet.
"Who was that? Dr. Bylun?" Jake asked hopefully, reappearing in the bathroom doorway.
"No. Dr. Mallard. He flew in a specialist," she responded, pulling the blanket over her head to shield her further from the sunlight. "I don't think I like him."
"I thought Dr. Mallard was the only doctor you hadn't fired yet."
"Not him. The specialist. He sounds like he's from Russia. His name is Dr. Cicero. Or Zirno. Or something."
"Czerno?" Jake asked in a hushed voice.