FLASHBACK by Gary Braver

unfolded a photo of a large-format Mamiya camera. In what spare time he had, Nick liked to take nature photos and talked about taking time off to do a photo safari in the Canadian Rockies or the Grand Canyon someday. His office walls were covered with shots from Switzerland and Hawaii. “But it’s how I plan to enjoy the overrated golden years. And speaking of pictures, I’d like you to drop in at my office at the hospital. Got some interesting images you might like to see.”
    “And, of course, you’re not going to tell me until then.”
    “The next time you’re in Boston.” He checked his watch. “Thalia’s expecting me.” His wife of thirty-five years was suffering from Parkinson’s disease.
    “Okay.”
    “If he touches you I’ll kill him,” he whispered.
    “You won’t have to.”
    They double-cheek kissed and he headed for the parking lot. She watched him go, thinking how happy she was to have him in her life. Thinking that if
he were a dog he’d be a graying black Lab—solid, strong, smart, loyal, and affectionate.
    Across the crowd she spotted Jordan Carr holding forth to several admirers clustered around him. And you, a Doberman, she thought—sleek, angular, and a little dangerous.

11
    “HIS EYES ARE MOVING.”
    “That’s good, he’s dreaming. See those spikes? There’s activity.”
    “Jack! It’s me, Beth. Wake up. Please.” Gently, she tapped his hip, one of the few places where he had not been stung.
    “I think we’re ready to take him now,” the nurse said. “We’ll be back in an hour.”
    They were preparing to take him to the Magnetic Resonance Center to record images of his brain for signs of strokes or other structural abnormalities. Also to check blood flow in the occipital and neotemporal lobes to be certain there were no occlusions. That was the nurse’s explanation to Beth.
    And Jack could hear them.
    They were on the other side of the door. Beth and the others … The door near the big window.
    Don’t look out. Don’t look out.
    Bad stuff …
    “But he’s so agitated, he’s having a nightmare,” Beth pleaded. “Can’t you do something? Jack, wake up.”
    That awful creature with the pointy head …
    “They’ll give him some anesthesia so the images won’t blur. But his brain’s still active, and that’s what they want to capture.”
    If this was a dream, he didn’t like it. Not dreaming. No way. This was too real. As real as those feet. Those horrible twitching feet. And the big brown mouse.
    (That’s one smart mouse.)
    Nice mouse. Big mouse.
    They lifted Jack onto the gurney and wheeled him down the hall to the elevator and up to the MRC.
    And the noise. Don’t tell me that’s a goddam dream … explosions rattling the dishes in the hutch … and that sound …
    That sickening terrible sound …
    And don’t telling me to stop screaming …

    “Jack, I’m right here. It’s going to be all right. They’re just going to take some pictures.”
    He could hear her through the door … Beth …
    “You won’t feel a thing.”
    His body was a cross-patch of slashes from scalp to foot and covered with antibiotic ointment. But as if by the snap of a magician’s finger all that was gone … and his body was clean, whole, pain-free.
    He grabbed the mouse and climbed out of the cage. The floor was cold and wet. Beth, it’s me.
    “Almost there.”
    I’m coming.
    He padded toward the door by the big black window …
    Don’t look out.
    He could feel the night watching him, pulling him to climb up and take a peek. To see the bad stuff out there.
    Don’t do it … The door. Go to the door. It’s Beth.
    He made his way to the door feeling all the eyes scrape him as he passed, feeling the jelly stuff making his feet sticky.
    He was scared. So scared that he was panting … making queer noises. So scared that he pissed himself.
    Bad sounds. Bad sounds.
    “Stop that screaming. Stop that screaming.”
    The door. The brown paneled door with the little windows. He