Oliver sat on a plastic chair which was attached to a metal frame, part of a row of chairs firmly bolted to the floor. His head was held in his hands, his upper body stooped over. Mary sat next to him stroking his back whilst looking around the Emergency Department of St Thomas’s hospital.
“Jesus look at this place, I hope she is okay,” Mary scanned the packed ED.
The waiting room was overflowing with the injured, the sick, the mentally unwell and the disadvantaged. Two police officers, wearing protective body armour, stood by a beat up coffee machine. Each officer sipped at coffee whilst watching the area. Usually they would enjoy good coffee in the sisters’ office but this Sunday morning they needed to be vigilant. The ED room was chaotic and several exceptionally drunk and pained patients made the scene much more threatening. The officers’ presence was intended to maintain some sense of calm and order. Two dedicated security guards stood by the automatic doors of the entrance to the hospital department.
“This is awful,” mumbled Oliver.
“Come here,” said Mary sitting him upright and hugging him.
“I don’t even know who she is, I can’t tell her family, let someone know, I only know her second name, that she runs a shop in Brighton and her favourite band is Mumford and Sons, shit, what if she dies?” Oliver held Mary tight.
“Stop, she won’t die, it is probably some kind of epileptic stasis, they’ll administer IV diazepam, give her oxygen,” Mary wasn’t wholly convinced in her own diagnosis.
“It’s more than that Mary, you saw her, I saw what I saw, there’s a lot of unexplainable stuff going on, she was so frail, like she had been drained of her life,” Oliver pulled back and breathed in, “and I don’t even know who she really fucking is.”
“Minnie and Jamie are on their way to her shop in Brighton, they have her keys, she’ll have a driving license there, bills, family photos, they might find the mobile you said she’d forgot, or a phone book, something in the flat with contact numbers. You’re sure she said she lives in an apartment above the shop?” Mary asked.
“Yes, very sure, we talked so much about that place, she is different, very different,” Oliver stretched his stiff neck and rolled his shoulders to straighten himself out, “I need a drink, a coke or something, my mouth is so dry.”
“Champagne leaving your system? It is mine, get me one too, have you got the change?”
“Yeah, plenty of change, crisps?”
“No thanks.”
“Nor me.”
Oliver walked across the ED room, passed by the two police officers and the coffee machine and walked by two ‘trolley waits’, both older people. As he walked towards the soft drinks machine, some distance down the corridor, the chaotic sounds of ED softened. The drinks machine was near a closed out-patient area, in semi-darkness and lit by a failing strip light that buzzed above the area. It was distant enough to not feel a part of the Emergency Department.
To Oliver’s surprise, shock even, by the drinks machine he approached, one further trolley was positioned there. On the trolley waiting for further intervention was an old guy, who laid asleep on this neglected trolley. Oliver looked at him and then looked back at the ED room. He was thin, grey hair, grey skin, white surgical gown, a yellow pallor overlaying his aged flesh. His eyes flickered slightly under closed saggy eyelids, probably a register of the pain he suffered. He had a closed cannula hanging from his hand, held in place by grubby surgical tape. This guy was some distance from the hub of the ED, Oliver wondered why they’d leave him here and how pathetically uncaring it was they had. Whatever the reason was.
“Coke it will be then,” Oliver said to himself as he placed a pound coin in the slot, switching his gaze between the drinks on display and the old man.
The light above them both flickered and faded. Light then partial darkness, the halogen tube emitting a buzz as it struggled to maintain its illumination duties.
The machine shuddered and rumbled and dropped a single cold can of coke.
“That was easy,” said Oliver, “and one for Mary,” Oliver placed another pound in the slot. He suddenly felt alone and isolated down here with this near dead man. He wondered whether he was a doctor now or a student, whether he should say something about the old man discarded there.
The machine strained to release the can, it shuddered, and then paused. Oliver hit the drinks dispenser at the side.
“Come on fuckwit machine, where’s my coke?”
It rumbled into life again. Oliver did not notice the static fizzing around the plug, behind the machine and near the old mans trolley.
Oliver leaned down and pulled at the flap hoping a can would appear.
“Just walk away from this Oliver.”
Oliver froze at the sound of speech, when he knew he was clearly alone. Except for the dying old man. Oliver slowly straightened up. Whilst attending to the machine, Oliver had not seen the static dance across the old mans arms, absorb itself into his skin. He had not seen his skin ripple and his body gain a little more life from the force within him.
Oliver looked at the old man. He laid there without movement, as motionless as if he were dead.
“I’m sorry, did I disturb you hitting the machine, sorry” whispered Oliver, slowly moving towards the old man, “did you say something, my name? Can I get you a nurse?”
Oliver stood over the man, fuck, he didn’t even know if he was breathing. He hesitantly edged forward towards him.
The old mans eyes flashed open, black, bloody eyes with a blue trace across them. When the old man spoke once more it wasn’t just what he said that scared Oliver but the sickening disembodied voice that was projecting the words. Oliver froze at the un-natural life in the man.
“Let it die with subject Jenny,” the old mans mouth barely moved as he spoke. He followed this with a spluttering cough and turned onto his side, his breathing rasping and shallow.
“What?” Oliver asked incredulous at what he had heard. The old man remained motionless. Oliver slowly stepped back, retreating from what he had witnessed.
Two sets of hands grabbed Oliver, preventing him from departing any further. Oliver jumped and yelped, twisting quickly.
“Whoa, steady fella,” said the first porter catching Oliver as he backed into them.
Oliver stood back from them, focusing his eyes to register porters’ overalls.
“You need reversing sensors mate you backed right into us,” explained the second porter smiling, “sorry if we spooked you, it’s a bit isolated here.”
“Harry our patient was getting really disturbed by the noise back there,” the first porter said, at once making Harry’s positioning in the secluded area an act of kindness not neglect, “hopefully he has got some kip down here.”
“Sorry guys, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Oliver pointed in the direction of Harry, “lost a pound in the coke machine, it was bugging me.”
“Never use that machine,” said the second porter, “it’s always jamming, anyway if you could excuse us.”
“Yeah, sure, sorry,” Oliver put his head down as they walked by him, he began walking away. As he walked he could hear them speaking kindly to Harry, waking him and explaining a bed had been found for him in the hospital.
“Where’s my coke?” Mary asked as Oliver returned with just one can. He looked edgy and walked quickly toward her. Mary had watched him repeatedly look over his shoulder as he returned.
“What’s up with you?” she asked.
“Nothing, just one can, machine is a piece of crap, the other can is stuck somewhere in it and it’s got my pound,” Oliver opened the can and took a long thirsty drink, “we can share.”
He handed the more than half empty can to Mary.
“Thanks,” she said as she weighed the can in her hand, feeling the little fluid left, she sipped at the remnants, “we should hear something soon.”
Oliver listened to her, but all the while stared into the distant gloomy corner where the old man had lai
d on his trolley. Harry was now being maneuvered away by the two porters
“Ring Minnie or Jamie, we need to know more about Jenny.”
Mary knew Oliver was twitched by the drastic collapse of Jenny, a woman he was clearly very fond of. But she couldn’t work out why he had suddenly become acutely spooked.
13.
Tempus Genesis Page 14