Near-Death

Written 6/16/26

Short vignette from the perspective of a self-proclaimed doctor of psycho-physical therapy. Late 1970s.

Back to Warren

Dr. Jacob Webb leaned against the tiled wall of the large pool room, his eyes fixed on the area of splashing water in the center, four meters out. Just to think, this man used to win gold medals, he thought to himself, now look at him.

The patient of the hour, almost his own age, momentarily burst through the surface for a gasping breath before falling down again, his hands clawing uselessly through the water. It was more than enough time to shout for help and yet he didn't make a sound. He was even more determined than Webb thought, then. A desperate case. It wasn't every day that you found someone crazy enough to believe that this ritual would somehow cure paralysis. Webb wanted to hang onto him at all costs even if it meant making things up as he went along. He'd begun to lean on what he called "near-death events", such as the one that made this Warren Kipner disabled in the first place. Oh yes, Webb definitely had a real friend from his real psychology college that was studying such procedures in the Middle East. The results were extremely promising. It seemed that, in just the right circumstance, survival instincts could override even the toughest of mental blocks.

Webb sighed to himself and adjusted his square lenses. What a load of rubbish...

"Um, Dr. Webb, sir," An older, shorter man with a matching labcoat and a bald spot spoke beside him, "He's moving a little slower now. Should I get the life-preserver?"

The assistant was a simple cab driver when he wasn't working the pool. They all believed the lies of this place to varying degrees, but this one was completely unquestioning. Webb didn't respond immediately, tempted to ask for a little more time. Upon noticing that the splashing was getting noticeably weaker, though, he pulled himself from the wall.

"I'll help you throw it out," He said dully. Of course, though, he knew the experiment would fail. It was how much longer Warren would believe it that was the question. When the two approached the pool's edge, the patient was nothing more than a blurry tan form floating just below the water's surface. A small ripple was the only remnant of the struggle. Suddenly worried, Webb almost yanked the life preserver from his assistant as he threw it out. It landed perfectly and an arm, almost zombie-like, burst from the water and wrapped on.

"Lend me a hand here," Webb told his assistant as they both began to pull at the rope. There was hardly a need, though; Warren was as light as a feather. With the older man still pulling the rope and Webb reaching for Warren's armpit, the patient was soon on the tiles, shirtless and gasping like a drowned cat. Once again, Webb couldn't help but wince a little at the sight of his protruding ribs. Aside from being unable to move his legs, he was nothing but bones and muscle. No wonder he almost sank like a stone.

"Take your time, Mr. Kipner, and do accept my apologies," Webb said in a reassuring voice as he crouched over his patient and checked his watch, "You were in there for seven twenty-six. That's almost two minutes more than the first time. Our hour is almost up, though, so I'll-"

"I felt them," Warren suddenly choked out, the chlorine that slightly reddened his eyes only adding to his crazed look. For a moment, Webb thought he misheard a cough and leaned closer.

"Pardon?" He was expecting Warren to be frustrated again and was already coming up with an excuse for why the experiment failed. But his next words surprised him.

"I-I felt them... my legs..." He began between gasps for air, shakily sitting himself up to stare at the useless limbs poking out of his swim shorts, "It was... it was only for a second, but..."

"So that's it..." Webb breathed with fake amazement- Plan Q, "A near-death event. This is progress, very good progress. I wonder if the memories of your childhood could've-" But before he could continue, Warren was pushing forward, crawling towards the pool's edge like a slippery fish.

"Now wait a minute!" Webb almost shouted, nearly toppling as he lunged for Warren's arm, "Let's not overwork ourselves. You've had quite the day."

"Let go of me," He growled, facing Webb with a grimace, "I wasn't done in there. I'm paying good money for this."

Warren might've easily escaped his grip were it not for his already exhausted state. While the two struggled, Webb's assistant walked over with the wheelchair. The two had to practically drag him into it as he soon resorted to pleading.

"Just drop me in one more time. Please. You can leave me here- I'll walk myself out."

By now, Webb's coat was darkened with water and he was rightfully annoyed with his patient. Nevertheless, he stayed glued to that same soft, respectful tone.

"Now, Mr. Kipner, you know very well it's against the rules here to leave our patients unattended. There'll be plenty of time on Thursday to do an improved experiment."

Finally Warren fell silent, hanging his head. Webb waved his assistant off before staring at the water for some time, waiting for the next patient to be wheeled in. As his frustration with Warren began to ebb, he was aware of a different emotion: guilt. So used to lying, he rarely noticed it these days. If he couldn't find a logical reason for his operation, he only had to distract himself with his work. It was true that he was fascinated by the psychology of these unfortunate people and collected as much data as he could. But that was the problem. They were people.

~~~~~

Later, Dr. Webb would return to his bare, always-temporary office to compile his observations, filling in extra notes when needed, etcetera. He stopped for a moment when he got to Warren's file and opened a drawer in his desk, digging for the battered magazine. BIG BEAT: THE SECRET LIVES OF YOUR FAVORITE STARS! JULY 1972 it read. A familiar face was on the cover, only younger with fuller cheeks and straighter hair. Just a teeniebopper, he told himself as he put it away with a sigh and leaned over the file again to take his notes, a celebrity. People like that had all the fame and adoration they could ever want, disability or no disability. They had more to fall back on than he did. They were fundamentally different. The thought made Dr. Webb feel a little better, if just temporarily.

Thursday: continue with "near-death event" experimentation. Focus on childhood memories traumatic memories.