Excerpt: Orphean Labyrinth

In a cold, clinical room the neon light flickers, uncomfortably blinking in a semi-seizure. Dr Szabolcs clicks his pen against his notepad in a nervous twitch. He is an old man with a trim white beard and hazel eyes. There is a Freudian air to him as he reclines back in his chair. He studies the patient sitting in front of him. A striking Hellenic figure in flesh and blood with a wild look in his dark, almost black eyes. The room is silent, and the shadow standing in the back to add security remains becomes nothing more than another object to the room. A living, breathing object to come to life like Pygmalion's creation if any danger would occur. Dr Szabolcs studies the young man sitting in front of him.
“Do you speak Hungarian Mr Romanov?” He asked coldly. The man nodded. The doctor looked down to his file. “So you are Orphei Alexander Romanov Vladimirovich, born in October 5th,1977 in Plovdiv, Bulgaria. Diagnosed with schizophrenia aged 21 after going into a psychotic episode while studying at the Royal Academy of Music in Sofia. Moved to Budapest aged 23 to study with maestro János Halász, premiered as soloist violinist in the Budapest Opera House at age 25 and started playing internationally from age 26. First symphony composed at 18, first original work premiered in Paris by the age of 28. Impressive life Mr Romanov.”
“Please call me Orphei.” The patient suggested. “ Mr Romanov sounds so formal.”
“As you wish Orphei. So you have been admitted here at the clinic for a week, right?”
“If you say so.” Orphei shrugged. “My brother Dimiter brought me in, maybe you should ask him.”
“Do you remember being admitted?” Dr Szabolcs questioned. Orphei sat there staring up at the flickering light for a minute.
“I am not sure. Everything is so blurred. I remember fragments, but they are so intertwined with this... this other world I cannot discern them apart.”
“Might I say Orphei your Hungarian is very good. Speak any other languages?”
“Why?” Orphei replied sceptically scratching his arm.
“Curiosity.”
“Bulgarian, Hungarian, Russian, English, French and German.” He uttered unenthusiastically.
“All fluently?”
“Yes.”
“You must be a linguistic genius.”
“I have been called a genius before Dr, but not for my linguistic skills. Music is my passion and my forté.”
“You seem unenthusiastic about being a genius Mr Romanov, apologies, Orphei.”
Orphei sighed and leaned back into his chair.
“My genius comes with a curse. I am blessed and cursed by God.”
“A curse?”
“My schizophrenia.”
“Ah I see. And do you blame God for being a schizophrenic?”
“Blame isn't the word I would use Dr. I am what I am.”
Dr Szabolcs sighed and flipped through his notes before looking back up at Orphei.
“When did you stop taking the anti-psychotic medication?”
“After my wife died.”
“Which was almost a year ago?”
“Dr. isn't all this in your notes? Why am I here when all you seem to do is just repeat mundane details back to me my brother has already told your bureaucrats.”
Dr. Szabolcs leaned forward on his elbows and looked Orphei directly in the eye.
“I have a lot of patients Mr Romanov, I need to build up some kind of rapport and understanding with my patients before starting the real work. Will that be OK with you?”
Orphei nodded brushing his shaggy dark hair back from his face.
“Would you like to talk about it?” The doctor questioned him.
“I suppose now is a good time as any to talk about it. Since I have been to hell and back, literally.”
“Ah yes.” The doctor paused and looked at his notes. “When your brother brought you in you were hallucinating that you were in the underworld.”
“I am not sure it was a hallucination. It felt... real.”
“Do you want to talk about it? Might help you see things clearly. Document your experience.”
Orphei scoffed. He felt the scar of the scratch on his forehead.
“You wouldn't believe me anyway.”
“Orphei, you may think I am trying to humiliate you by pointing out this journey to Hades was nothing more than a psychosis. It doesn't make it any less relevant to me, whether this journey occurred inside your head, in fact I find it far more interesting in that case. It was a real experience, real for you and I would like you to tell me about it.” Dr. Szabolcs leaned back into his seat. Orphei felt the bruises on his arm realising he was in more of a damaged state than anticipated.
“Where do you want me to start? From the death of my wife or my journey?”