[sub][h3]Doctor Quinn Howell[/h3][hr][/sub]

[b]"Good luck,”[/b]

Dr. Kelodie’s wish played itself on repeat like one of those broken, black gramophones.  The elaborate and florally copper cylinder that used to rest on a small, ornately carved wooden stand in his family’s living room flashed before the comfort of Dr. Howell’s mind. It’s stereophonic device used to vibrate such nice and enchanting melodies through the rooms of the household.  He so much wanted to selfishly embellish on this memory like a child does his favorite stuffed animal for amenity in trying situations, but no, he did not have time for this, despite the juvenile notions that were beginning to dissuade him. There was no reason for this sudden infantile fear.  If anything, this fear — this cowardice, if that is what he should call it, was so similar to the thing that had lead to his accidental murder of the Duke.

A death of a patient was bound to happen sooner or later, but a distinction had been made between the Duke and his patients.  It was not gray, it was black and white and —

His thoughts stopped swaying to the repetition of Dr. Kelodie’s wish.  He had not been lost long in his contemplation, but how long was long when it was the sound of a woman’s voice desperately calling for help that was bringing him back to the present?  Golly, she was right. He did not have time for anymore of his monotonous thoughts to be studied and reorganized and categorized.  He was not here to fix or save himself.  As not just a doctor but a humane person, he had a duty to uphold.  His torso bent down quickly as his legs shifted, and with one swift movement, his hand had grabbed a small sack of stones in his other fist.  Again, as before, when he followed the flow of things through the present time, one foot pressed in front of the other, except this time, it was at a much more rapid and needy pace.  So needy that his conservative mind thought rather little of the loose garment tied around his frame.

The air outside was the only familiar thing about Sink he could truly understand, and that was merely the feeling of the air, not the scent.  He had no time to ponder this.  He was at the operating table, now, and had no time for something disheartened thinking, although a preparation would not hurt…  No, again, no.  

[i][b]Sqwaaak![/b][/i]  

Dr. Howell’s right arm was up and ready for pitching a rock at the creature clawing at the young woman.  The tendons twitched his muscles briefly at the deafeningly high-pitched sound before he willed himself to carry-out the action.  He had no real explanation for why he chose to throw the colorful stone aside from the small hint of instructions given to him by Dr. Kelodie.  His arm was not the best for such things — as he was not practiced in tossing and throwing objects, but if his athleticism and close-distance served him right, hopefully, this action would do some good.  The stone jetted from his open palm as Dr. Howell followed his body’s motions through the movement, and a little after the magical stone had made contact with the creature, he was able to pull the young woman towards him.  Her muddied hair pressed to his robe as he grasped her tightly and looked around in solemn distraught prior to taking in several calming breaths for himself and looking down at the woman, “Are you hurt?” His voice sounded nurturing as if he were speaking to a child as opposed to an adult, and  perhaps, it was not the time and place to be asking these questions.  However, the words spilled out of him like an old habit that would not die, much like himself, apparently, and he found himself thinking that there had to be more he could do.  Of course, there was.  This was why he was brought back to life. 

[indent][indent]Dr. Kelodie's voice spoke once more in his memory:

[indent][i][b]"…She's keeping watch over the crypt of the Third MODO,”[/b][/i][/indent][/indent][/indent]
Indeed, if he wanted to do more, he would have to keep moving.  Yes, but no, again, no. His mind was racing and trying to calm itself, to find a relaxing sequence of rational thoughts. The total chaos was frightening, and it made his lips tighten into a small, serious frown.  Sink was in dire trouble; and much hard work was to be done; but first, he should acquire better garments for travel; at least, after finding out if this poor woman was alright.