Chapter Two: The Doctor's Note
Felicia sat in the waiting room, her knees bouncing nervously as the sterile fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The air smelled of antiseptic and stale coffee, a scent that clung to the peeling wallpaper and the cracked linoleum floor. She tried to focus on the magazine in her lap, but the words blurred into meaningless shapes. Every time the door opened, her heart jumped, expecting the doctor to call her name. But the seconds stretched, thick with tension, as if the entire room was holding its breath, waiting for her to make a mistake.
She felt eyes on her—doctors, nurses, receptionists—all pretending not to notice her, but watching nonetheless. It was a silent game of ignoring her existence, but the weight of it pressed down on her chest like a physical force. The waiting room was crowded, yet she felt utterly alone.
When the nurse finally called her name, Felicia rose, her legs shaky. She followed the woman down a long hallway lined with closed doors and muffled voices. The nurse never looked at her, never spoke beyond the bare minimum, and when she reached the exam room, she simply pointed inside and left Felicia to face whatever was waiting.
The door clicked shut behind her, and moments later, the doctor entered. He was the picture of clinical detachment—white coat starched, hair perfectly combed, eyes cold and unreadable. He didn't smile. He didn't ask how she was feeling. Instead, he sat down and opened her file, scanning the pages with practiced indifference.
"Felicia Hook," he began, voice flat and impersonal. "You've been flagged in several systems. Your records indicate behavioral concerns, including paranoia and reports of hearing voices. There are notes about violent tendencies."
Felicia's breath caught. "That's not true," she said, voice trembling. "I've never been violent. Someone's changing my records. I'm being targeted by someone who wants to erase me."
The doctor raised a brow but didn't look up. "Your claims are unsubstantiated. These symptoms are consistent with paranoid delusions. You're experiencing auditory hallucinations."
"No," Felicia whispered, desperation creeping in. "I'm not hallucinating. I hear voices because someone is stalking me. They're manipulating what people see and hear. They're using government technology to control everything—my records, my reputation, even my family's perception of me."
The doctor finally looked up, his gaze sharp and calculating. "Ms. Hook, these are serious allegations. If you continue to make threats or disruptive claims, we may have to consider further psychiatric evaluation or even an involuntary hold for your safety."
Felicia's hands clenched into fists. "I'm not threatening anyone. I'm trying to tell the truth. Please, you have to believe me."
He shook his head slowly. "I'm going to prescribe medication to help with your anxiety and hallucinations. It's important you take it as directed."
She realized then that this was no medical consultation. It was a performance, a script everyone had memorized to keep her quiet. The doctor wasn't there to help; he was there to silence her.
As the doctor typed notes into her file, Felicia caught a glimpse of the screen: "Patient exhibits delusional thinking. Recommend psychiatric evaluation. Consider involuntary hold if symptoms persist."
Her heart pounded. She tried again, voice low but urgent. "Someone is paying people to ignore me. They're bribing doctors, nurses, even my family to pretend I'm crazy. They want me to disappear."
The doctor's expression hardened. "Ms. Hook, refusal to comply with treatment will only worsen your condition."
Felicia left the exam room, clutching the prescription bottle like a lifeline. At the front desk, she paused and asked the receptionist quietly, "You know what's happening to me, don't you?"
The receptionist's eyes flickered briefly, a flash of recognition before she forced a polite smile. "Have a nice day, Ms. Hook."
Felicia stepped outside into the harsh sunlight, the weight of the world pressing down on her. She knew now the conspiracy was deeper and more insidious than she'd imagined. It wasn't just about making her look unstable. It was about paying everyone around her to maintain the lie, to silence her voice, to erase her existence.
If anyone dared to listen, to believe her, they risked losing everything—their jobs, their reputations, maybe even their freedom. The man stalking her had money, power, and reach that stretched into every corner of her life.
Back home, Felicia sat at her kitchen table, the house eerily quiet except for the soft breathing of her sleeping children. Lillian and Gary had started to pull away, their eyes clouded with confusion and fear, influenced by the whispers and false narratives swirling around them. She kissed their foreheads, promising herself she'd keep fighting, no matter how alone she felt.
She stared at the pills in her hand, the bitter taste of betrayal rising in her throat. She would not take them. They were a tool to dull her senses, to make her compliant, to keep her silent. Instead, she began to document everything—the doctor's words, the nurse's silence, the receptionist's forced smile. She recorded conversations, saved emails, and sent encrypted messages to anonymous contacts, hoping someone, somewhere, would listen.
Her phone buzzed with messages from friends who had stopped returning her calls, their words cautious and distant. "Maybe you should get help," one said. "We're worried about you," another wrote. The poison of doubt spread like wildfire, fueled by the paid silence around her.
Felicia's mind raced through every interaction, every glance, every whispered conversation she'd overheard. She realized the man hunting her was not just stalking her body—he was stalking her reality, her identity, her very existence.
That night, as she sat alone in the dark, Felicia made a vow. She wasn't just a victim. She was a survivor. She would find a way to break through the wall of silence, to expose the truth, and to reclaim her life.
One day, they would hear her. One day, they would have to listen.
And when that day came, she'd make sure the world knew exactly what had been done to her.