Mirtis Tod

By K. Wodke

Mirtis Tod is unwell. Her friend, Chet, convinces her to see a doctor. Dr. Olum is intrigued by her condition, so much so that he wants to keep her hospitalized against her wishes. Mirtis fears the medical staff and escapes. But doctors aren't the only ones stalking her. A dark, hooded figure pursues her as well.

If you like your tales a bit on the odd side, you will enjoy this novella.
Approx. 16,000 words.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. Wodke
• Release date: Feb 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311493194

Book preview

Mirtis Tod

A Novelette by K. Wodke

© 2013 by K. Wodke

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations and events in this work are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

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Chapter 1

Mirtis Tod did not feel well. Her limbs were so heavy she almost checked to make sure she wasn’t wearing concrete sneakers. This wry thought did not bring a smile to her stiff lips as it normally might. It seemed her sense of humor was as tired as her body. Breathing was an effort.

Out of habit more than any real urge for coffee, she entered one of her favorite haunts, The Grindstone. She struggled with the door momentarily, her arms nearly too flimsy to push it open. What was wrong with the world?

Chet waved at her. Mirtis! Honey, you look terrible. I was about to come check on you. He scooted his chair over to make room at the small table. Must be that flu, huh? Haven’t seen you around for days.

Mirtis flopped into the seat and put her elbows on the table. She signaled wanly toward the counter and Kifo rushed over to take her order.

The usual? he asked, hands clamped together in his customary nervous fashion.

Mirtis sucked air into lungs that felt thick and unresponsive. No, she rasped finally, pushing hard to engage her vocal cords. I need something strong today. You choose. Speaking left her weary.

Very well. The Manic Slam it is then. He hastened away, movements quick and jerky, as if he had imbibed too much of his own product.

Mirtis turned her gaze to Chet, her friend since high school. His round, pink face was creased with worry. He fussed over her like a mother, patted her hand, and touched her forehead with plump fingers. You don’t have a fever; in fact, you’re cool. Do you have a chill? You’re so pale! Really, Mirtis, you should be home in bed. Is that where you’ve been?

What? Her throat nearly seized as she coughed out the word.

Where have you been? Chet repeated.

Mirtis stared at him from sunken, puzzled eyes. I don’t know.

Chet frowned but held his silence until Kifo had placed a frothy steaming mug on the table and walked away. What do you mean? Can’t you remember anything about the last few days?

Miserably, Mirtis shook her head. She attempted to lift her cup but it was too heavy. Pulling a straw from her purse, she peeled the paper off and inserted it into the drink. Sipping slowly, she forced the hot liquid down her throat with a gulp. I’m drawing a blank.

Oh my god! That’s terrible! Chet placed a hand over his heart. You have amnesia! What’s the very last thing you remember?

Mirtis cleared her throat with a wet gurgle. It’s unclear.

Try to focus.

Work. She tried to push the cup away. It felt like she was shoving a brick. And then...walking. No, wait. Lights. Very bright. And people.

Was it a club? Did you go out? Chet leaned forward and lowered his voice. Do you think somebody slipped something in your drink?

She shrugged slightly. No. It was bright. Maybe a mall. Or... Her eyes closed for a moment as she dozed. They opened slowly. A hospital, I think. Yes.

And then? Chet’s expression was intense.

And then here. Talking exhausted her. Mirtis took another sip from the straw and then rested her head in her hand.

You must have been in an accident. Before the hospital, what do you remember?

Work.

Work. Okay, that’s good, honey. What day was that? Chet was warming to the subject. He loved a mystery.

It’s vague. Thursday, I think.

That’s three days ago!

Mirtis rolled her shoulders as if they ached and a rank burst of air was expelled from her lungs. I have to go home. I’m tired.

Chet looked appalled. "Home! No way. You look awful and your breath, well,