One by one, the emotions bought on by Ed’s outburst diminished together with the stares of those around her. Soon enough, worry alone saturated her state of mind. However, this worry felt different from before. And the more she analyzed her emotions, the more she realized that confusion remained in the mix somewhere. But why? What was the source of this confusion? It didn’t take her long to solve the mystery.
“At least I’m not a murderer…”
Why had Ed said that? What did it mean?
A tug of war unfolded inside of her. Worry on one side, confusion on the other. Confusion grew stronger by the second. It began to win. Had Ed just been mindlessly spitting words in the midst of his drunken stupor? Or did truth have a place in there somewhere?
* * * * *
Noise coming from down the hallway startled Abn as he stood before the hospital reception desk. It sounded to him as if a demon were being tortured. Grunts, bellows, growls and all manner of other abuse trumpeted from somewhere out of sight.
“What is going on?” he asked the receptionist who was scanning her computer consul.
“I wouldn’t worry. This is a hospital. It’s not uncommon for people to get a little emotional here,” she said without so much as glancing up.
“Emotional?”
“Young man, grief has its way of affecting us all differently.”
“Okay,” he agreed. But at the same time, he could hear everything but grief in the sounds that were getting closer by the second. Rage, abuse, hate and agony made up the soundtrack. If that was grief, then he’d rather never feel it.
“You’ll find your father in ward seven on the third floor. He’s currently in surgery. You can wait in the lounge there,” said the receptionist.
“Thanks.”
As he turned from reception, he finally identified the source of the demonic sounds. Writhing and twisting in the arms of two security guards, the form of a man could be seen being hustled toward the exit. As the scene passed by, this blur of confusion paused for a moment and the face of Ed materialized.
“You killed him! You did this!” Ed yelled.
“Ed?” Abn managed, seeing rage in Ed’s eyes unlike anything he’d witnessed before.
“You did this!” Ed yelled again as he was pushed out of the exit and out of sight.
Abn turned back to the receptionist to find her scanning her computer as if nothing had happened. He guessed that she often witnessed much worse performances than Ed’s. But as he made his way to the elevators, more than one set of eyes displayed that they were less immune to Ed’s emotional explosion.
As he stepped out of the elevator and made his way towards the waiting lounge, an element of relief unfolded within him. At least for the moment, Ed’s rage had been contained by security. But how long would that last? And what did Ed mean?
“You killed him! You did this!”
Killed who? Did what?
“Abn, I’m so relieved you’re here,” Jane said.
He embraced her. He felt her sobs reverberate through his body as he held her. They stayed like that for some time. He wished he could feel the same grief she showed. He wished with every fiber of his being that he could share her pain. But something inside of him held him back. He’d never been skilled at such things. He’d never had the opportunity to become good at such things. Putting on a convincing show would have to suffice. Minutes passed before she broke away from him and looked down into his eyes.
“You saw Ed?” she asked.
“He looked mad,” he said.
“He had a skin full of booze, as usual,” she said, her tone resigned, empty, flat, hopeless.
“I have never seen him that bad before.”
“You don’t know how it feels to be losing a brother,” she said, her expression further softening with emotion.
“Is that what is happening? Are we losing Dad?” he asked, suddenly trying to remember the details of the last visit he’d made to Ron. Would that be the last time he’d see him alive?
“I don’t know,” she said. “All I know for sure is that he’s in surgery.”
“Then all we can do is wait,” he said as he took a seat beside her.
“Yes.”
He could see that even through her worry, something else troubled her. He had that power with her. There were many times in the past when he could see what she was thinking even before she did. He often infuriated her by reading her mind in this way. In this case, he dismissed that power and instead chose to let her open up to him in her own time. This didn’t take long.
“You know you can tell me anything,” she said.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I’m not an idiot, Abn. There’s been a lot going on lately and although I’m not accusing you of anything, I see well enough that you have been a little too close to the fire on too many occasions.”
“The fire?” he said, his body now feeling a hundred degrees warmer. But still he didn’t quite understand her western expression.
“You know what I’m talking about. Don’t play dumb. Those detectives, the hospice, the murders. If you know anything, or if you ever want to talk about anything, then be assured that I’m here for you. You can trust me. You can always trust me.”
“I do not know what you mean,” he said. But as he spoke, he realized how stupid his words sounded.
“When I found you in Mosul, it was the greatest day of my life. I loved you like a son from the day we met. However, I know you are different from other children here. The things you grew up with, the things you must have seen, the things you survived…” she sighed.
“That is the past.”
“Is it though? Is it really? The youth we have… …the youth that creates us is never really in the past, is it? It’s the fabric of what binds us together, the structure on which we build the rest of our lives. It is a part of us and there is nothing we can do to change that.”
From somewhere deep inside of him, a spark of emotion fired, one which he didn’t quite know how to interpret. But he knew he didn’t like that spark. It illuminated things and times best kept in the dark.
“That is the past,” he repeated, this time with more conviction in his tone. “I am here now. I am with you. I am with Dad.”
“I know you are. I know you are…” she said as she put an arm around him and pulled him close.
He melted into the fold of her arm. He took solace in the moment of reprieve. But he felt sure that the moment wouldn’t last. He had a powerful feeling that she would further pursue her curiosity. She was like that. Once she began something, she rarely paused in her efforts until she had completed whatever it was that she’d set out to accomplish.
“Mrs. Morrison?” said a voice.
He looked up to find a young Indian man standing over them. He praised the moment of interruption. The white coat, the pulled down mask and the glazed eyes of a man often pushed to the limit all insisted he was a surgeon. The Mohawk hairdo, the fluorescent green frames of his spectacles and the multiple facial piercings all hinted otherwise.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said.
“I’m Mr. Tamboli, the surgeon working with your husband,” he said.
“Ron… is he okay?” she burst as she stood to face whatever news would come.
“Your husband is stable. He is sedated and resting. As a precaution, we’ve moved him into the Intensive Care Unit for the time being. You can go in and see him when you’re ready,” Mr. Tamboli said.
“Is he going to be okay?” she asked.
“For the moment, yes. He’s had some major internal bleeding caused by a rupture quite common amongst those with pancreatic cancer. But we have managed to stop that bleeding,” Mr. Tamboli said.
“So, he’s okay?” she said.
“You should understand, that we have done everything we can to stabilize him. But I have to add that he’s now in the final stages of his fight. You should prepare yourself for the eventual inevitability,” Mr. Tamboli said.
>
“I understand,” she agreed.
But as Mr. Tamboli moved off, Abn could see that Jane appeared to be anything but understanding.
“Let’s go and see him, shall we?” she said.
Two nurses were finishing up as they entered the ICU. Abn had to admire the way they went about their duties. Everything they did appeared to be so precise, so perfect. He longed to join their professional circle. He longed to become a surgeon just like Mr. Tamboli. Only, he would be more traditional with his appearance. He’d forgo the haircut, the piercings and the distracting spectacles. But his ambitious thoughts soon took a sideline when he saw Ron’s condition and the way that it affected Jane.
“Ron… Ron… we’re here…” she said as she leaned over the bed and held his hand, tears flowing down her cheeks.
Ron showed no reaction that Abn could detect. He appeared to be completely oblivious to their arrival. Whatever they’d him doped up on must have been strong beyond reason. He couldn’t help but remember that this was what Ron feared most. What was the point in being alive at all if you were too doped up to comprehend that you were still in the world of the living?
They stayed there at his bedside for hours. Abn’s only consolation was that Jane had apparently forgotten their previous conversation, at least for the time being. The longer they waited, the more the entire performance seemed so otiose.
As day became night, Abn was left alone with Ron while Jane took a coffee and bathroom break. The pointlessness of the entire situation seemed further amplified as he sat there in silence. But somewhere amidst this silent marathon, he witnessed Ron’s eyes flutter and then open.
“Abn…” Ron breathed, his voice little more than a whisper.
“I am here,” Abn said, hardly believing that Ron had regained some level of consciousness. He placed his hand over Ron’s to reinforce his words. “I am here,” he repeated.
“Where’s your mother…” Ron managed.
“She will be back soon.”
“Abn…” Ron said, his voice that of a man obviously at the limit of his endurance.
“Yes, I am here,” he said, lightly squeezing Ron’s hand.
“Abn, you have to let me go…” Ron said.
“I know. Do not worry about me. Do not worry about Mum. Just let go. Be at peace.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Ron said, his glazed eyes now filled with hopelessness.
“What is it then? What do you mean?”
“Please… let me go,” Ron said. “This has to end. I know you can do it. I know who you are.”
Abn could barely believe what he was hearing. Though he had to be sure. Was Ron really asking him what he thought he was asking? A sadness welled up inside of him unlike anything he’d ever experienced. But before he could push Ron for further clarification, Jane burst back into the room carrying two cups.
“I bought you some tea,” she said.
He took one of the cups and thanked her. Though drinking tea was now the furthest thing from his mind.
“Any change?” she asked.
Abn turned back to Ron and found that his eyes had closed. Unconsciousness had a hold on him again. “No,” he said.
CHAPTER 15
Ed moved his head to a better position on his pillow, hoping to stave off the impending explosion from his brain. Even before waking, he somehow knew the headache was coming. The pillow wasn’t making it any easier. If he could just manage to find the right position, he felt certain he could delay consciousness for at least another hour. This task was never easy. First, you had to deal with the speed of movement. Move too fast and you could wake up. Move too slow and the pain monster would catch you. But none of this helped if you lost track of the essential apparatus, which in this case was the pillow.
Something unyielding had replaced the soft warmth against the side of his head that he so dearly needed. A mattress didn’t feel this way. Even through the fog of his slumber, he knew that much. Something had happened. Something had gone wrong. Pillows didn’t just vanish like this. And neither did mattresses.
“Morrison!” a voice called.
Was that the pillow calling his name, he wondered?
“Morrison!” boomed the voice again, this time much louder.
No, pillows didn’t speak and they didn’t yell, he realized. This was something else.
“Morrison! Edward Morrison!” called the voice.
The need for the pillow vanished as the shock of reality hit him with the force of an atomic blast. He pushed himself into a seated position and pain erupted from somewhere deep inside of his skull. The pain blazed through his brain before enveloping his entire body. In the same moment, an unstoppable tremor shook from his gut and its contents emptied before him with explosive force. His eyes opened to see a concrete floor covered in the splay of his vomit. But the floor wasn’t the only thing he’d hit.
“You piece of shit. You puked on my Testonis,” said another voice.
The shoes of the man speaking came into focus at the same time as his fist did. However, the fist didn’t remain stationary. Instead it swung toward Ed’s jaw in a wide, powerful arc that would have been easily avoided had he been sober. But dodging the punch seemed well beyond his current abilities. The fist found its mark. His head jerked backward under the force of the blow. A smoky resonance of teeth impacting teeth assaulted his sense of smell. He raised his hands to fend off a follow up swing. It never came.
He now managed to take full stock of the surroundings he’d awoken to. Bars of a cell reached to the ceiling beyond the protective shield of his hands. The bars framed the form of a large white man wearing a singlet, shorts and vomit covered dress shoes. This man stared down at him with enduring malice, somehow held in check. From somewhere out of sight, behind this enraged behemoth, came the sound the cell door unlocking.
“Back off Adrian,” said an officer as he stepped into view.
As Ed was dragged to his feet by the officer and led out of the cell, he felt a tooth wiggle free at the front of his mouth. As he passed by Adrian, he spat tooth and blood onto his dress shoes. He could hear the objections all the way down the hall. But Adrian would have to vent his anger on someone else. This conviction was further confirmed as Ed was led into a small room, sparsely furnished with a table and a few chairs. A man that Ed didn’t recognize sat in one of the chairs. The man’s suit said lawyer, but the eyes said thief. Presently, Ed was seated at the table before the thieving eyes and then the officer left.
“I’m Will Barlow. Jane sent me to get you out,” said the man.
“You’re a lawyer?”
“I’m Jane’s lawyer.”
“What are Testonis?” Ed asked, still somewhat confused about his awakening confrontation with Adrian.
“Testonis?” Barlow said with a confused expression.
“Yes, Testonis.”
“Testonis are very expensive shoes.”
“How expensive?”
“In the thousands. Why do you ask?”
“I think I just destroyed a pair.”
“Hmm, no wonder you’re bleeding from the mouth,” Barlow said as he pulled a perfectly laundered handkerchief from his suit pocket and handed it over.
Ed accepted the offer and whipped down his face. “I haven’t been conscious more than five minutes and already I’ve destroyed a fancy set of shoes and a handkerchief,” he said.
“You’ve done worse.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you had quite a time yesterday.”
“I did?” he said, trying to think back that far and failing.
“You don’t remember?”
“Remember, remember what?” he said, not having the slightest inkling of what Barlow was talking about.
“The hospital… You went to visit your brother.”
“I was at The Office yesterday.”
“No, you went to the hospital. You punched a nurse in the face.”
“I what?”
“A nurse. You got upset on the way to see Ron and you punched a nurse.”
“Why would I punch a nurse? I’m telling you. I wasn’t there. I was at The Office.”
“Take a look at this,” Barlow said as he slid his phone over the tabletop.
Ed took the phone and looked at it. The image of a hospital lounge had been paused. He pressed play and watched. A minute later, the discomfort of his still churning stomach and pounding head paled in comparison to the pain he felt from what the video showed. He delicately rested the phone back onto the tabletop and slid it back to the lawyer. How had he forgotten that? He’d had blackouts before, but nothing like this.
“You’re very lucky. The nurse isn’t going to press charges,” Barlow said.
Feeling a desperate need for a drink, he stood up. “So, I’m free to go?” he said.
“Sit down!” Barlow said.
He could see by the look in Barlow’s eyes that he meant it. He wanted to ignore the demand and take a stab at leaving anyway, but some deeper sense told him that the fastest path to freedom was compliance. He sat and prepared himself for the impending dose of medicine as best as he could.
“What you don’t see in that video is what you said,” Barlow said.
“What did I say?” he asked, still unable to recollect any detail of the event.
“You said a few things, but there’s one thing Jane wants you to clarify before I get you out of here.”
“And what is that?”
“You said, ‘at least I’m not a murderer.’ Jane wants to know what you meant by that. And that’s all she wants. She’ll pay your legal fees in return.”
Small flashes of memory from yesterday blinked into existence. Like clips from a movie reel, they began as single images and slowly took form. Abn solidified as the central force once the memory became complete. The movie rolled inside Ed’s mind. Abn the murderer. Abn the destroyer. But with this clarity of mind, a new concern arose and dominated until it morphed into outright terror.
THE LIFE LEFT: A GRIPPING PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER Page 14