by Bialois, CP
As he continued walking, he noticed something off to the side where a small group of people waited patiently. Around them, others sat eating what resembled burritos in an outdoor cafe. It was then he noticed his stomach growling. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten, only that it felt like a lifetime ago. He took his place in line, trying not to cause a scene, and kept his eyes and ears open for how they were ordering. When he reached the front of the line, he was no closer to figuring out his dilemma then he was to start with.
After a pause, a young woman behind him inquired what was wrong. Not wanting to appear rude, he answered, “I don’t have any money.”
“We do not use money.”
He was about to ask what she meant, but stopped himself until he thought of a better way to ask. “What do you use?”
She smiled at him as if she was asked the question often. “Put your hand on the scanner. The computer will do the rest.”
Put my hand on the scanner? What scanner? He searched for it, not wanting to appear ignorant a second time. A light gray palm shape caught his eye on the dark gray counter. After thanking the woman, he rested his right hand on the scanner. In a few seconds, a panel opened with a long plastic-like tray with the burrito and a clear container of juice sitting on it. Taking the food, he made his way over to a table and took a seat.
His hunger made him want to tear into the food, but after seeing the others eating slow and enjoying themselves, he didn’t want to appear a slob. Up to then he failed every time he wanted to present himself in a positive light and this would be no different. As soon as he bit into the burrito, his eyes opened wide in surprise at the force of the flavor exploding in his mouth. The sounds he made were a combination of a growl and a groan of ecstasy. The food tasted like all his favorite foods at once; each time he took a bite he relished the feeling. Once it was finished, he took a deep gulp of his juice and the same thing happened. As with the food, he tasted his favorite juice, milk, and soda. When he finished, he never felt so satisfied after a meal.
*****
The black sedan came to a stop in the small parking lot of Tarken Memorial Hospital leaving Winfield Bowen to sit and look at the two-story building. As hospitals go it was small, much smaller then he expected, and looked more like a school than a medical building. Despite that thought gaining prominence, his main concern was the visit with his son. After receiving the doctor’s phone call, the first thing he did was to assess the situation and all the possible outcomes. Given that the last time he and Franklin saw each other they nearly came to blows, he didn’t expect this meeting to go any better. The fact his son was in the hospital won out over his pride in military training to limit friendly casualties. An interesting term, considering they closely resembled warring parties, but they were family. The one part that concerned him was his wife, Nancy. She was getting better every day but he worried the news would set her back. In the end, he decided he couldn’t keep the truth from her.
Nancy Bowen had handled the news well, better than he expected. Through the years, she put up with more than she had a right to. A large part of it was his fault. He just didn’t know how to change. For as long as he could remember, he’d been stubborn and inflexible, he preferred the term strong-willed. It took him years to realize the reason she spent so much time in her garden was because it brought her peace.
Until that morning, he hadn’t realized the peace she sought wasn’t from life or their son but from him. He never learned to take off his rank at home and after twenty years he was surprised she could still love him. Before he left she asked him to watch after Franklin in case he needed anything. He left her at home and in the capable hands of the live-in nurse. He’d taken so much from her that all he had to give her was his understanding and she accepted that along with the hope they’d be a family again.
When he pulled out of their small driveway at four that morning and began the seven hour drive, Winfield wasn’t sure what the new day would bring. Now, sitting in the parking lot, he wondered what he’d find behind those red brick walls and cathedral-like front doors. Never a fan of doctors, his opinion of the one that called him was borderline for the simple fact he said they were six hours from D.C.. Obviously, the man had no idea about the traffic in the nation’s capital, even that early in the day.
Deciding he procrastinated enough, Winfield opened the driver’s side door and stood. After surveying the parking lot, he closed the door and headed for the hospital’s entrance at a steady pace. As he neared the small set of stone stairs leading to the door, Winfield noticed a lovely young woman approaching from his left. He quickened his pace and easily reached a door first, pulled it open, and motioned for her to enter with a slight bow and gesture.
Smiling, Janice responded, “Thank you.”
He returned the smile. His looks were still striking on his chiseled, but aging, face. “My pleasure, ma’am. A man that doesn‘t hold a door for a lady isn‘t a real man.”
Janice couldn’t stop blushing because she could tell the stranger fit every description she ever saw about “real” men. Trim and fit, she had to admit he looked good for his age. Definitely someone her mother would want to have a fling with. Instead, Janice tried to place his face. He didn’t look familiar, so she assumed he was from out of town. Of course, there was only one way to know for sure. “I don’t remember seeing you before. Are you visiting someone?” She could’ve slapped herself. Of course he was there to visit someone.
The smile on his face faded and he nodded after a moment’s pause. It wasn’t a question he was used to hearing, but that’s what happens when one leaves the uniform at home and wears jeans and a gray sweatshirt with Army on the front instead. “Yes, as a matter-of-fact I am. I’m here to see my son, Franklin Bowen. He was in an accident yesterday.”
Janice’s face lit up as her brain connected the imaginary line between the name and incident. “That’s great! I mean, I want to check on him, too.”
“Does that make you his girlfriend?” Winfield’s eyebrows lifted in a way that showed he may have just learned something important. The habit was the main reason he had a desk job.
Janice giggled. “No, I never met him before. My boyfriend asked me to check on him. He brought him here yesterday.”
Winfield’s face brightened. “Then, my dear, I owe you and your boyfriend my sincerest thanks.”
Janice shrugged. “You’re welcome, we’re glad to help. I was surprised Horace called me, though. He sounded worried even though he knows my dad’s a great doctor.”
“Your father’s Franklin’s doctor?” When she nodded, he filed the piece of information away out of habit, even though he knew it wouldn’t be useful. Just because he enjoyed being around a pretty girl didn’t mean he’d get sloppy. Smiling, he motioned for her to go first. “Then I’ll let you have the point.” They walked next to each other until they reached the nurses’ station.
“Hi, Phyllis. Do you know where my dad is and Franklin…” Janice tried to remember the name. “Bowen is?”
Phyllis smiled at both of them. “Of course, hun, he’s checking with the guest of honor now. Room 136.”
“Thanks, Phyllis.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Winfield added with a nod.
She smiled. “Don’t worry about it, doll. Give him my best when you see him.” Winfield wasn’t sure, but he thought the nurse addressed him instead of the young lady so he smiled his appreciation once more. He wasn’t used to being around people. It was so much easier at the base.
Chapter 10
Some things about the medical profession bothered Doctor Doug long before he became a doctor — prescription fees, specialist fees, and the hospitals turning away people because of a lack of coverage just to name a few. Of all those, the one he hated most was the latter. When he joined the medical field, he wanted to be the voice of reason and to supply medical aid for everyone. To him, it was a person’s birthright, not a privilege, but he came to learn that such a thing was agains
t human nature. In many ways, people were still the base animals they always were and many didn’t want to relinquish what they had.
The realism of his discovery shook him to his core, but he maintained his course. At first, he offered people financial help with their bills if needed until the rising cost of living, a new wife, and a child on the way meant he couldn’t afford to be so philanthropic. This forced him to watch those he couldn’t help struggle with their diseases and rising medical costs. In many ways, the diseases they were dying from was far less debilitating than their debt. Such beliefs often brought him into contrast with his ex-wife, which is one of the many reasons their marriage was one of convenience. Being raised as a Catholic made divorce reprehensible, but in the end, he was certain God would forgive him—at least he hoped so.
Living under such an intense doctrine had helped to make him miserable in his early years while he was a free spirit. When his wife left and he had Janice to himself, he decided he wouldn’t be as strict with her as his parents had been with him. After all, it was them, not Catholicism, that drove him to rebel. He was happy with his life and as Janice grew, he could afford to help his patients more. His daughter would want for nothing and so long as he could help it and neither would his patients.
To be honest, he hadn’t considered the expenses his current patient was running up. He assumed the boy’s insurance would cover some, if not all, of the costs. As soon as he saw Fulton Drake approach the nurses station that thought fell into the pit of his stomach as fast as a brick. He didn’t want him near his patient, but without any medical or legal ground to stand on he was forced to allow it.
While the pair talked, Doug waited outside the room with his arms crossed with Franklin’s chart held tight to his chest. While something about the boy unnerved him, he still felt protective. Whether it was because he was a father or an overprotective doctor, he wasn’t sure. Doug remained there through the entire meeting like a sentinel on watch duty, in case he was needed. When Fulton finished and stepped out of the room, Doug hurried to catch up with him.
“Mr. Drake, a word please?”
Fulton considered ignoring Doug, as there was nothing more to be gained, but out of professional courtesy, he stopped and turned to face him with his face the jovial mask it always was when doing business. “Yes, Doctor. I’m sorry, but could you make this quick? I have another appointment.”
Doug fought to keep his face neutral; the man before him stood for everything he loathed. “Thank you, I’ll be as quick as I can.” For both our sakes. Fulton stood before Doug with his hands clasped in front of him while holding his briefcase. His shoulders slumped with the gesture and made him appear disarming. “It’s about Franklin Bowen…”
“Yes, thank you for giving me some time with him. It’s important to get these things taken care of as quickly as possible.”
Fulton clearly interrupted him to maintain control and force things to hurry along, which infuriated Doug. Still, he remained calm. ”I’m glad to help, and I assume his medical bills will be taken care of?” He knew they wouldn’t be; he heard the conversation, and Fulton Drake’s reputation was well known. It’d been a feat of sheer determination that Doug hadn’t throttled him while he was still in the room. Of course, having resuscitating equipment nearby helped control him. Damn the luck.
Fulton exhaled, lowering his eyes. This was a conversation best held between lawyers and accountants; besides, it wasn’t any of Doug’s damn business. “The matter of Mr. Bowen’s finances are none of your concern, Doctor.” His tone shifted to the same one Fulton used on his son—low and intense.
Doug remained unfazed by the reaction he got; it was what he expected. His blood was boiling, and his face had been beet red since he began this endeavor. “So, that’s it. You’re just going to walk away.” He wanted to say more, much more, but to do so would cost him dearly. He knew the type of man he was talking to.
A sardonic smile played across Fulton’s face and his eyes were dead and hungry, not unlike a snake’s or shark’s. “As I said Doc, it’s no concern of mine. Good day.” Without another word, he pivoted and stalked down the hall toward the door leaving a furious Doug in his wake.
Fucking ambulance chasers! He knew the insult didn’t quite fit, but it was close enough for his taste. He struggled with the urge to throw something as he made his way back to room 136 to put the chart away. With that done he looked in on his patient, but Franklin was sleeping. How’s he do it so easily? Doug wondered while opening the chart. Patients with concussions were often allowed to sleep if the bruise wasn’t too bad and according to everything he’d seen, Franklin was healthy. Doug rubbed his eyes and turned toward the door before checking his watch. Franklin would leave in under an hour. In what vehicle and to where were questions he didn’t have answers to.
As he closed the door behind him, Doug saw a pair of individuals approaching and paused.
“Hi, Daddy!”
Janice? She was with a man he’d never met. Thoughts of dirty old men crossed his mind, but he refrained from saying anything. He trusted his daughter and knew she’d never do anything like that to Horace. Those thoughts aside, he was happy see her. “Janice. What brings you here? Everything okay?”
“I’m good. Horace called me and asked if I’d stop by. He was worried about him.” She motioned toward the room behind Doug. “And I ran into Mr. Bowen coming in.”
Mr. Bowen? Shit! I forgot all about him. Doug reached out a hand. “Hello, sir, I’m sorry we had to meet like this.”
Winfield noticed a realization dawn on a doctor’s face. If I look like that, no wonder I never saw the field. He took the offered hand. “Winfield Jackson Bowen. It’s nice to put a face to the voice, Doctor Townsend.”
“Doctor Doug, please.” Winfield nodded as Doug motioned to a small seating area across the hall.
It was the oddest hospital design the general ever saw. Generally speaking, it was uncommon to have the waiting area so close to the patients’ rooms, but that was something that didn’t concern him right then.
“Let’s have a seat and I’ll fill you in. It must’ve been a long drive, would you like some coffee? Something to eat? Our cuisine isn’t very good, I’m afraid. We have to maintain a hospital code, after all.”
Winfield smiled at the joke; it amazed him how much tension had melted away in the last fourteen hours. He figured he owed it to lack of sleep. “Yes, please. Black.”
Doug nodded and stood up to get the coffee, but his daughter stopped him before he could take more than a step.
“I’ll get it, Daddy.” Before he could utter a word, Janice left to get the coffee. She was back by the time both men were seated.
“Thank you.” Winfield smiled and took a sip. The coffee wasn’t good, but better than what he usually drank. With a couple of sips, his mind was back to business and the well-being of his son.
Being able to read body language, Doug understood and explained everything about the accident as he knew it and Franklin’s condition. When he came to the latter part, Janice excused herself as it was a private matter. Horace would have to settle with the man being discharged that afternoon which, given Doug’s care, meant he was healthy.
The conversation lasted about ten minutes as Doug preferred to explain everything to a patient’s family. It often took longer, but the general absorbed everything without needing it repeated. When Doug finished, the pair remained silent for a moment, during which Doug heard his daughter talking to Phyllis. It seemed an odd backdrop for their own conversation but what wasn’t odd in the hospital by that point?
Winfield sat weighing everything he’d just been told. By all accounts his son was fine, but something about Franklin’s behavior concerned the doctor. Years of service in the intelligence branch of the military had taught him to look at every situation and obstacle like a math equation. It was a simple way of approaching what was often a messy tangle of people, values, and beliefs.
After a few moments, Winfield spoke
, not as a father, but as an analytical commander. “There aren’t any more tests that can be run, then?”
Doug shook his head. “I’ve run everything we have. The only inconsistency was his cerebrum being swollen yesterday, but the swelling was almost gone by the time I left last night. There is no physical damage that we can find.”
“You think it’s mental?”
Doug shrugged. “It’s possible. I never rule out anything, but according to the technology of the twenty-first century, he’s fine.”
Winfield nodded. It’d been fifteen years since he was last on a field assignment and he knew how important following one’s hunches were. “Do you have facilities here for psychological testing?”
Doug was about to answer when a bloodcurdling scream cut through the air. Without looking, he knew it came from room 136. Both he and Winfield were at the door in seconds. The scene before them shook them to the core of their beings.
On the bed, Franklin thrashed around with blood running from his nose and eyes. One of the nurses appeared in the doorway. “We have an embolism, get some help in here, stat!” Doug barked orders as he raced to the bed and tried to stop Franklin from thrashing about.
Without being heeded, Winfield did his best to help, but his son struggled like a man possessed. Had it just been one of them, he was certain the person would’ve been thrown across the room with enough force to kill. “What in God’s name?” He uttered through clenched teeth.
Two more male attendants arrived to help restrain Franklin so another nurse could inject a light tranquilizer. Doug breathed hard while trying to hold Franklin’s right arm down so the young man wouldn’t pull out his tubes. “The seizure was triggered from an embolism. I need to prep him for surgery.”
Winfield’s face paled. “But you don’t know…”
“No time.” He turned to the attendants wheeling in a gurney. “Operating room one, now!”