by Jack Dey
Chapter 15
An electrocardiograph beeped in time with the heart rate of the little form lying unconscious in a hospital bed, while a tired and pained old man sat in a wheelchair, keeping silent vigil over the young girl. He peered out of the large window of the second floor room onto the brightly lit car park below, watching hospital visitors coming and going into the expansive hospital complex. The news had come at a bad time, just in the middle of a treatment cycle that had to be cancelled. His carer had called the patient transport wing of the county ambulance to collect him and take him into the University Children’s Hospital. His mind wouldn’t settle until he had seen his brave little thirteen year old.
“Mr Glenn?” a voice from behind startled him.
The old man glanced up at the owner of the voice, his tired eyes conveying his deep concern, “Yes.”
“Mr Glenn, my name is Doctor Brooks.”
The white coat clad professional extended his hand in greeting. The old man took the hand offered and before Brooks could speak, Pa glanced across at Shayden and then asked what was wrong with his granddaughter. Brooks drew up a chair parked against the wall for visitors to use and positioned it in front of the wheelchair. Taking a seat, straddling the back rest, he took a breath and found his thoughts.
“Has...?” Brooks twisted in his chair and glanced across at Shayden’s chart for her name. “Has Shayden had anything like this before?”
Pa peered across at Shayden’s unmoving figure. “No, not that I am aware of. What’s wrong with her?” Pa cut across any more questions.
“Well, the blood work has come back clear and we have tested for all the usual.”
Pa cut him off, angry at yet another don’t know diagnosis. “You have no idea, that’s what you are telling me, isn’t it, Doctor?!”
Pa could see the young doctor becoming agitated. “I’m sorry, that was unfair of me.” Pa glanced across at Shayden again. “We have uprooted from our home and travelled halfway across the country so I could get treatment for my ailment. Shayden did it without question, even though the move cost her so much and now she is suffering for it.”
Pa dropped his chin on his chest in defeat.
Brooks stood from his position in front of the wheelchair and placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I am sorry you have had such a rough time, Mr Glenn. We will do what we can for Shayden.”
Pa just nodded without looking up, but he didn’t feel confident. As the young doctor left the room, Pa reached for Shayden’s hand and gently stroked it.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, for putting you through this.”
*~*~*~*
Jaimon walked slowly up towards the sandy hill on the perimeter of the school grounds. Tomorrow was Friday and it was physical education again for the first two periods. The humiliation of standing naked in the change rooms and the debilitating towel whip were still fresh in his mind. The thought of a repeat, weighed heavily on him. He was lost in a world of morose thoughts when a cheery voice startled him.
“Slow up, Bob... I just about had to run to catch up. What’s the hurry, anyway?”
“Oh… hi, Salena,” Jaimon’s glum reply dampened her own happy mood like a wet blanket.
“Who died? Oh, let me guess! The long face is about Simons’ note to your father, is that it?!”
“No...! But thanks a lot for the reminder,” Jaimon’s mood became even blacker.
“Then what, dude?! Tell me before your sour mood makes me wanna slash my wrists!” Salena’s sly smile and twinkling eyes lightened his demeanour.
Jaimon stopped to face the redhead girl and he searched her cloudy pupils for a long time. “It’s P.E. first up tomorrow morning,” he finally offered, not knowing whether she would remember his prior explanation or how she would respond to his statement.
She stood, staring back at him for a long moment, searching his face but not comprehending the meaning of his announcement.
“So... this is a problem because...?”
Then enlightenment flooded her mind. “Oh, I get it. This is where you have to show but not tell, and the kid with the towel whip. Is that about it?”
Jaimon’s shoulders slumped as he turned to walk up the sandy hill. “Yeah, that’s about it.”
The two teenagers slowly trudged up the hungry grey sand together, both staring at their feet as they walked but neither speaking.
Then Salena stopped at the top. “It’s been good sulking with ya, dude, but I gotta go. See ya tomorrow.”
Jaimon continued staring at his feet for a moment. “Yeah, see ya, Salena.”
He was just about to add an apology for his melancholy mood when he gazed around in surprise, just in time to see Salena disappear down another bush track.
Boy that girl can move, he thought.
*~*~*~*
Jaimon’s night passed in a furore of terror at the knowledge of an another impending and distasteful situation in P.E. class at school. His mother was still playing games with his head and his father hadn’t even acknowledged him.
He opened his clothes drawer, located his sports clothes and folded them into his school bag, all the time his nervousness growing and a sick feeling rose in his throat.
He walked out to the breakfast table carrying his school bag, but couldn’t stomach the thought of breakfast. The school lunches were already made and on the kitchen counter, the place his mother liked to store them. He reached for his lunch and placed it in his bag and then turned to his mother, wondering whether she was over her brood. She turned while he was staring at her back and he momentarily caught her eye before she hurriedly looked away again.
I guess – not!
Jaimon dragged his bag onto his shoulders, glanced at his mother again, then gently pushed the door open and walked off silently down the driveway.
His morose thoughts kept him company and before long, his dejected steps led him to the outskirts of his intended destination. He peered around the sandy hill overlooking the school grounds hoping to run into Salena, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen. He figured it was still a bit early, so he sauntered down onto the school property, all the time keeping vigil for Rositer and his followers.
They weren’t around either.
By the time the first period war siren had roused the troops and beckoned them to their first classes, Jaimon still hadn’t seen Salena. He felt strangely alone, only now becoming aware how much Salena’s company had filled his day.
He managed to avoid a situation in the boys’ change room for P.E. by running late, while the rest of the boys had already assembled to start their drills. A hulking P.E. teacher hustled Jaimon out of the change rooms half dressed, still pulling on his tee shirt when he joined the other boys. Jaimon recognised the face of the towel whipper straight away and tried to move away from him, in an awkward attempt at survival.
“I was getting worried, freak, that our P.E. entertainment wasn’t going to show!” the boy snarled.
Jaimon backed away from the towel whipper and the open disdain of the boys standing near, trying to hide in a group of less threatening peers further away.
Red faced from the P.E. activities, Jaimon tried to regain his composure but he knew the towel whipper was looking for another attempt at stardom at his expense. He tried to hide outside the change rooms until everyone had showered and dressed, but the same hulking teacher caught him and ushered him directly into the line of fire.
Most of the boys had showered and dressed, but one was waiting for Jaimon and the rest of the boys waited expectantly. Jaimon swallowed hard and pulled off his shirt, knowing pain and humiliation was only minutes away. The towel whipper stood in his underclothes, whirling his towel threateningly and waiting for Jaimon to head for the showers.
“Get a move on, boys; your next classes are waiting!” a physical education teacher boomed and then turned to walk out.
Suddenly, from out of nowhere, a small figure in a baseball hat stood beside Jaimon, hair completely hidd
en under their hat and wearing shorts and tee shirt just like the other boys.
“Hey, Bob!”
“SALENA...! What are you doing in here?! This is the boys’ change room!” Jaimon was incredulous, holding his towel covering his bare chest.
“Yeah, I figured it might be a little more interesting than the girls’ change room, but looking around, there doesn’t seem to be much talent. Is that the towel whipper?” she pointed.
Jaimon stood open mouthed and dumbstruck, but Salena didn’t have time to wait for an answer. She snatched the towel from Jaimon’s hands, twirled it into a tight strand and aimed.
The towel cracked like a stockman’s whip and the towel whipper went down in a screaming heap, all in the blinking of an eye.
“Like to stay, Bob, but I figure this is no place for a lady.”
Salena threw the towel at Jaimon and ran for the door. No one seemed to see the tiny figure leave in the ensuing mayhem.
Jaimon’s shocked gaze followed the mischievous figure out the door and decided it would be appropriate for him to follow her example and leave too, before anyone thought to block his exit and blame him for the attack.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 16
Sylvester Castelano’s heavy bulk straddled his Harley-Davidson Fat Boy, weaving in and out of peak hour traffic and drawing concerned stares from startled motorists as his motorcycle crept up behind them and roared past in blur of earsplitting noise and speed, the back of his jacket emblazoned with the words: Jesus... Don’t leave Earth without Him.
His flabby six foot two frame, dressed in black denim and leather jacket, made him appear like a bull sitting on a push bike, with a dog’s steel food bowl strapped to his head for a helmet. His huge arms protruded from his leather jacket, cut off at the armpit and exposing two powerful shoulders. On one shoulder he had a dagger tattoo running down his arm and the word Cutter near the point. The other shoulder had the word Grandma tattooed in big letters down his arm, with a little old lady holding a broom in a threatening pose.
Castelano had done eight years behind bars for manslaughter after a knife fight with a rival bikie gang. Four gang members had pounced on him as he’d walked a dark back alley to his parked Harley. And they were bent on his destruction. Ten hard years seemed to stretch endlessly before him at the hands of a judge who had no sympathy for warring bikie groups, regardless of the evidence.
Castelano had met Jesus in prison and cleaned up his life and in so doing, was released early for good behaviour. Even so, he just couldn’t shake his nickname – Cutter; it seemed to follow him everywhere and into his new life as well.
*~*~*~*
A skinny man dressed in a blue suit sat behind a big maple desk and kept peering up at the clock on the wall from his position attending to overdue paperwork. A frown crept across his features and his well-practised smile began to fade as he realised he was late... again!
Then a noise, similar to a jumbo jet trying to land in the car park, echoed into his office and made the walls shake. The office phone buzzed and he tried to answer it above the noise.
“Yes, Mrs Jessop!” the skinny man almost shouted.
The sound of a revving motorcycle engine enticed Mrs Jessop to place a finger into her unoccupied ear that wasn’t covered by the phone ear piece as she shouted, “CUTTER IS HERE, MR SLINGER!”
She had just spat out SLINGER when the noise stopped and her last words reverberated around the foyer and prickled Mr Slinger’s eardrum.
Slinger sighed. “Thank you, Mrs Jessop. I think I guessed that.”
Before Cutter strode into the office, he stopped outside for a few moments in the garden and then proceeded. As he entered the foyer, his booming voice announced, “Morning, Miss Jessop,” then he handed over a fresh flower he had plucked from the grounds.
Mrs Jessop beamed at his thoughtfulness and then pointed down the hall. “I hope you have a flower for the boss. You’re late again.”
Cutter smiled. “I bet you I can have him laughing within fifteen seconds.”
“You know I don’t gamble, Cutter, and neither should you! But if I did, I would win hands down.”
“You’re on, Miss Jessop!”
Cutter strode down towards the boss’ office, leaving Mrs Jessop’s mouth opening and closing, wondering what she had just agreed to. She listened intently for any noises emanating from down the passageway and the direction Cutter had gone. In a few seconds, the unmistakable cackle of Slinger’s laughter rattled back towards her. Moments later a smiling Slinger, followed closely by Cutter, towering over him, walked out of the passageway.
Cutter leaned over as he passed Mrs Jessop and whispered, “I win.”
Mrs Jessop’s mouth hung open as the two men walked out of the foyer and towards the boss’ car. “Don’t forget your visit with Mrs Parks this morning, Mr Slinger!” she called after them.
Slinger waved over his head, acknowledging his secretary as both men climbed into Slinger’s car, laughing again.
Nancy Jessop flopped back into her office chair and wondered at their quirky associate pastor. Cutter had a way with people and on occasion, he knew stuff about them and their predicaments, and spoke it into their lives. When the shocked individuals asked how he knew such intimate details about their situation, Cutter’s comment was always the same. He would shrug and say, “Papa told me.”
The church establishment had tried to change Cutter to fit the nice church mould, but his flamboyant manner just seemed to spill out of the cracks and he’d seeped into the church culture instead. At first, the older church members took umbrage to Cutter’s casual bikie attire but it was soon evident that Papa God loved him just the way he was and he drew unreached groups like a magnet. Cutter could slice to the heart of any situation, listening to the Holy Spirit like He was standing whispering into Cutter’s ears.
Many thought He did.
It was a shaky start, but they all loved him now. When Cutter was scheduled to preach, the attendance nearly doubled. He would wait for the Holy Spirit to lead and then the church would fall under conviction as a deep sense of peace and power settled over the establishment. It was impossible not to be affected by a service Cutter led, while many individuals came to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ through Cutter’s transparency and some even claimed to have had supernatural healing.
Mrs Jessop was disturbed from her daydreaming when Mr Slinger’s face appeared in front of her.
“Nancy, can you call the automobile club, please? My car won’t start again. Cutter thinks it’s the battery.”
“Yes, of course, Mr Slinger, but your appointment with Mrs Parks is in fifteen minutes and you know how important she is to the church, and she just hates being kept waiting!”
The sound of a motorcycle engine burst into life and revved, just to clear the cobwebs.
Nancy Jessop’s jaw dropped when she heard the roar. “You’re not...!”
“I have no other choice. As you said, we’re late.” Slinger looked worried, confirming the accuracy of her account of the precocious Mrs Parks and her constant demands on the senior pastor’s time.
Moments later, the sound of Cutter’s Fat Boy roared up the street. Slinger’s screams could be heard clearly above the engine noise, quietening gradually as the motorcycle increased its distance from the church office.
*~*~*~*
A loud cacophony of noise drew the old dowager from her sick bed to peer out through her second storey bedroom window. It sounded like someone trying to sing falsetto above the noise of a misfiring locomotive engine. Her mouth dropped open when she saw Pastor Slinger shakily dismount from the back of a thug’s motorcycle, removing something that resembled a dog’s bowl from his head. Slinger’s face was as white as a ghost against the crinkled blue suit.
What will the neighbours think? I bet that Harriet Gilmour is already taking pictures to send to the ‘Who’s Who in Style’ magazine. With her thoughts tied together in disdain, she climbed back into bed
, fuming, and waited for Classons to show him in.
*~*~*~*
Meanwhile, Slinger steeled himself, trying to regain his composure after the harrowing journey and peered around at the big white mansion standing threateningly against the manicured, sprawling green of the front gardens.
It was always a particularly difficult encounter with the challenging old woman, and she seemed to be demanding more and more visits from the senior members of the church. If it wasn’t for the substantial donations she made, Slinger would have fobbed her off to the visitation team while he attended to more pleasing matters of church business. This week, all the other senior members of the pastorate had found other pressing issues to attend to when they were asked to accompany Slinger on his weekly mission, leaving Cutter as the only willing and available participant. He figured she had already heard them arrive and once she saw Cutter, tattooed and dressed in his bikie attire, he was sure she would have a fit. Slinger was in a desperate place. The old dowager had complained of a dire illness and demanded she be visited by at least two of the leaders of the church to anoint her condition and heal the recurring sickness.
Classons eyed the two men standing on the entry porch, his glance resting on Cutter’s tattoo of grandma holding a broom and ready to pounce.
“Yes, may I help you?” Classons’ unimpressed and fugacious tone rumbled in his boots.
“Pastor Slinger and... er... Associate Pastor... er… Cutter to see Mrs Parks.” Slinger eyed Cutter’s perturbing presence, but couldn’t remember his proper name to introduce him in such a formal situation.
Cutter beamed, while Classons frowned. He didn’t need to speak his disapproval; it was written in the dark scowl he wore.
“This way, please.”
Soon, Classons’ stiff wanderings had led them up a highly ornate, semicircular staircase. From their position they could gaze out over the expansive, opulent house; white polished floors; and down through large glass window panes to the large pool and gardens outside. Classons knocked three times, loudly, on a pair of white double doors and waited for permission to enter.