Merman 6
A hand tapped Dave’s shoulder.
He jolted awake, the stale clinic air still clinging to his throat.
“Mr. Lannister? Doctor Resnier will see you now.”
Dave rubbed his eyes. He couldn’t believe he’d dozed off again.
Lately, exhaustion felt like a second skin — a fog that never lifted.
He checked his watch. 1:58 p.m. His phone buzzed.
“Sorry, just a second.”
The clerk gave a polite nod.
“Hello?”
John’s voice crackled through, furious and sharp.
“You sold the house, Dave. Without even telling me. I convinced my wife for a
week—then you go and update the damn listing?”
“John, wait—”
The line went dead.
“Everything okay?” The clerk’s tone softened, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder.
“Yeah. Just... work stuff. Nothing major.”
She smiled faintly. “If you’ll follow me.”
The corridor stretched long and narrow, painted an olive green that had seen better days.
One of the ceiling lights flickered, humming in a broken rhythm.
She stopped before a door, opened it, and gestured him in.
“Please, take a seat, Dave.”
Inside, the air smelled faintly of antiseptic and metal.
A low hum — maybe from an unseen vent — buzzed in the background.
“You can remove your shoes if you like,” said the man behind the desk.
“This is a safe space. You can relax here.”
Dave froze.
The man’s face was familiar. Too familiar.
“Lawrence?”
The doctor looked up from his clipboard, brow furrowing slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“You’re the property lawyer,” Dave said, his voice trembling. “We met. A few days ago. I mean, I didn’t know,
you’re like…what…a doctor?”
Dr. Resnier tilted his head, expression unreadable. “Go on. So, we met few days ago, and I’m what…your
property lawyer? Tell me more….how exactly we met, and what did we talked about?”
“You’re playing with me, aren’t you?”
“In what way?”
“You were there. You helped me file the papers.”
Resnier wrote something down, the scratch of pen on paper almost deafening.
“Dave, you came in two weeks ago to my office, you said you needed help,
at first I thought, it’s just stress that leads to confusion and from there,
things gets a little messy for you, but I can’t take your word for that…” he said finally. “We ran some tests.”
Dave frowned. “Two weeks ago? That can’t be. I was—”
“And I believe I have an explanation.”
The doctor shuffled through a folder and pulled out several sheets.
“These results suggest what we call schizophrenic blocks — short episodes where
your perception of time and reality may... overlap.”
Dave’s throat tightened. “So what are you trying to say, I’m insane, I’m fucking crazy?”
Dr. Resnier smiled faintly, almost pitying. “Aren’t we all, in our own ways?
Some mornings more than others. But we can try some treatments, meds you can take
that can ease out the episodes, not fix them, just help you feel…way much better”
Dave exhaled, pressing his palms to his temples.
For a second, everything wavered — the sound of the vent grew deeper, like distant chanting.
When he opened his eyes, the room had changed.
The olive walls were gone, replaced by cracked plaster. The hum of electricity was replaced by the bark of German commands.
Dr. Resnier stood before him, now in a brown SS uniform.
A red armband gleamed on his arm — the black swastika stark under the fluorescent light.
“So,” the doctor said, his voice shifting into a crisp German accent.
“An American, ja? Tell me—are you here to harm the Führer?”
Dave could only stare, his pulse roaring in his ears.
The smell of antiseptic had turned to smoke and gunpowder.
And just like that, the walls of the clinic were gone.
How he wished he can go back to the Resnier who’s about to prescribed some meds for all the craziness
that’s going on inside his head, instead he had this Resnier in Nazi Germany.
Dave turned, breath shallow, the walls melting around him like a fever dream.
A fractured mirror hung crooked on the far wall — something he swore hadn’t been there before.
He stepped closer. His reflection stared back, splintered across the cracks —
not in his rumpled shirt, but in a khaki uniform stained with dirt and blood.
He’s wearing their uniform.
A helmet rested on his head.
For a heartbeat, he couldn’t breathe.
The man in the mirror raised his hand before he did —
Resnier, slapped his face and screamed at him with full force.
He’s asking him why he’s in Berlin and why he’s wearing their uniform.
oh my….Dave knew he’s in trouble. Like huge….trouble.
