Inside Traitors

by David Allen

  Steve was stressed. He hated being late. He hated being off of a planned schedule. “Look, I’m in a big hurry and I am late for a very important meeting. I will move the car as soon as I can,” said Steve. “There are no other parking spots.”

  The woman looked skeptically at Steve. She puckered her brow and crossed her arms. “Yes I see. I hear there are a lot of very important meetings at the closed down homeless shelter these days,” she said with a slight smirk.

  She did not quite know what to make of Steve. He seems harmless enough, she thought. “Since you are in such a big hurry for your important meeting, you can cut through the break in the fence over there,” she said, as she pointed to the area. “That is the quickest route. It will take you directly to the back of the shelter. Go around to your left and you will come out right at the main entrance. But like I said, the shelter is closed.”

  Steve dashed toward the break in the fence. As an afterthought, he shouted “thanks” into the air and threw up a wave.

  Steve stepped through the tight opening in the fence. As he turned to get through, he noticed the woman in the parking lot was still watching him. For the first time he actually looked at her face. She had long dark brown hair and big, dark brown eyes. She appeared to be in her early thirties.

  There was something about her that sparked a memory. Steve sensed something very familiar about her. It was as if they had met in the past. She is kind of cute and seems very nice, he thought, and I really acted like a jerk.

  Steve wrestled with his thoughts. He wanted to go back and apologize for his actions but he was late, very late. He turned and ran awkwardly toward the front of the building and his awaiting appointment.

  The area in front of the shelter was deserted. Steve looked around for a familiar face from the planning board but he saw no one at all. He glanced at his watch. He was almost fifteen minutes late. “Damn, I hope I didn’t miss them,” he mumbled aloud.

  Tim’s made up story of the meeting at the Clearwater homeless shelter was working out very well. So far, Steve was convinced. He bought the whole contrived story.

  It was three short steps up to a large concrete landing in front of the main entrance of the shelter. The faded light yellow paint on the building’s exterior was flaking off. A brown undercoat was exposed in many places. In other areas, even the undercoat had worn away and the bare, dark gray concrete block walls peeked through. Above the door, the black “City of Clearwater” lettering was weathered to various shades of gray. It was barely readable.

  The rusted door gave a loud crack as Steve pulled it open. A broken hinge at the top of the door caused it to pivot awkwardly before it came to rest about two thirds of the way open. Steve carefully slipped in between the door and the jam and into the building.

  Steve found himself in what was the lobby area of the old shelter. Most of the windows had been boarded up and the room was dark. The air inside the building was dank and humid. Steve’s face puckered up as his nose picked up the somewhat moldy and acrid smell that hung in the moist air.

  The gutted interior of the building appeared to be deserted. Steve had no idea where to go. He started to walk down a corridor toward the old kitchen area of the shelter. About halfway to his destination, Steve heard a rumble from back where he entered the building. He backtracked to the lobby and then proceeded toward the sounds.

  Steve came upon a row of old offices in the process of being gutted. The nameplate lying in the rubble outside the first office indicated that it belonged to the former manager of the shelter. Steve walked over and took a look inside. As he poked his head into the room, he heard a loud cracking noise. Steve was startled by the loud sound and moved back outside the doorway.

  “Hello… is somebody in there,” he called into the room.

  “Yeah, in here,” came the response from inside the old office.

  Steve took a step inside the room and looked around. The room was a mess. Inside, a renovation worker in a white plastic jumpsuit was in the process of tearing off the plaster and underlying lath from the walls and ceiling. The office was the last of the demolition to be performed by the city before the building would be turned over.

  Steve took another step. Plaster and broken pieces of lath and wall studs littered the floor. The air was thick with dust. All of the sudden, a large section of plaster cracked free and fell from the ceiling.

  “Wham!” The thunderous sound rang out through the room. The large chunk of plaster and wood crashed down on the floor between Steve and the worker. Steve jumped back toward the doorway. The renovation worker did not appear to be startled at all. He removed his flimsy particle filter mask and hacked up some dust from his lungs.

  “Wow, sorry about that. The last piece of ceiling must have been a lot less stable than I thought. The name is Jerry, can I help you?”

  “Hi Jerry, I am Steve Peterson. I was supposed to meet someone from the city planning board here at noon. Have you seen anyone around here looking for me?” asked Steve.

  Jerry wiped a small pool of dust-laced sweat from his brow. “I have been back in these offices all morning Steve and I haven’t seen anyone here. That doesn’t mean that they aren’t around, but I didn’t see them. I didn’t see anybody all day.”

  “OK thanks. I’m just going to have a quick look around. Just to be sure,” replied Steve.

  “Well, just be careful. There’s a lot of debris lying around on the floor. And as you just saw, accidents happen.”

  “Thanks, I’ll be careful,” said Steve. He flashed a slight smile as he moved toward the exit of the office. On his second step, Steve’s left foot came down right on top of a four-inch nail sticking out of a ripped down wall stud. Steve’s thin loafers offered no resistance to the steel spike. Steve felt the burning pain immediately.

  The jagged steel nail pierced all the way through his foot. The tip of the nail came out of the top of his shoe, directly between the two tassels. “Oh damn,” Steve yelped. “Damn.”

  Steve didn’t handle the pain well. He looked down at his foot and grimaced. His worst fears were realized when he saw the nail poking out of the top of his shoe. He felt faint.

  “You OK?” asked Jerry. “Hey Steve, you alright over there?”

  Steve didn’t respond. He stared at his pierced shoe. Jerry walked over to see if he could offer a hand.

  “See, I told you to be careful,” said Jerry.

  Steve leaned back against the door frame. “I know, I know,” said Steve. “Now how do I get it out?”

  “You need to lift up your foot and just pull it out,” said Jerry. He took a step forward. “Here, I will stand on the board to hold it down. Now, just pull your leg up and it will come right out. Do it real quick. You won’t even feel it.”

  “I can’t do it,” said Steve, as he gritted his teeth.

  “What do you mean you can’t do it? You can’t lift your leg?” asked Jerry.

  “I can’t lift it. I can’t pull it out. I can’t do it. It really hurts,” Steve said. “It really hurts a lot.”

  “Well you can’t walk out of here with that piece of wood nailed onto your foot. Just go ahead and lift your leg up. Come on. Do it quick like I said. You won’t even feel it. I’ll guarantee you won’t feel it.”

  Steve’s face contorted. He attempted to pull his leg upwards. He started slow. The wound began to burn. The pulling stopped.

  “No, that is it. I can’t do it,” said Steve. Steve bent his head back and let out a breath of air.

  It was obvious that Steve was having trouble dealing with the situation. Jerry reached down and grabbed a hold of Steve’s pant leg and quickly jerked upwards. The foot and the loafer lifted off of the nail.

  “Oww! What are you doing?” Steve cried out.

  “I just pulled the nail out of your foot. And you are welcome.”

  Steve opened his eyes and looked down at his foot. “The nail’s out?” he asked.

  “Yes, it is out.”

  Blood slowly started
to drip out of the hole in the bottom of Steve’s shoe. He could see a little red pool forming in the white dust on the floor. The sight of the blood only added to Steve’s growing anxiety.

  “What should I do now?” Steve asked.

  “Well, you’re in luck. There is a medical clinic up behind the shelter. I think they open at noon on Monday so you are in luck. One of the demolition guys got cut pretty bad last week. They were able to fix him right up, good as new. Go up to the clinic and they will take care of you.”

  Steve limped out of the office. He turned back before he reached the hall. “Hey, thanks for your help Jerry,” he yelled back.

  All thoughts of the meeting with the planning board vanished as Steve hobbled down the corridor to the exit. His foot stung sharply. It throbbed in his shoe in time with his rapidly beating heart. Steve thought the wound was getting more painful with each passing step. He needed to get some help. He needed medical attention.

  Outside the shelter, Steve had to pause for a moment as his eyes got used to the bright sunlight. The stinging in his foot seemed to be increasing in intensity. He glanced down and saw a puddle of blood about the size of a half dollar under his raised foot. The sight of the blood started him off to the medical clinic with a quickened pace.

  Chapter 20 - Laura

  The neatly stenciled black letters on the frosted glass read ‘Clearwater Medical Clinic’. The relatively new front door looked out of place on the old building, which had seen better days. Steve thought about driving back to Tampa to see his own doctor. The pain from his foot urged him to go inside. The pain won.

  A refreshing rush of cool fresh air hit Steve in the face as he limped inside. The crisp air was laced with a clean antiseptic smell and a slight trace of pine. Steve’s eyes darted around. The surroundings were not what he had expected. The floor was covered with gleaming white tile. The walls were a freshly painted bright white. Everything was immaculate.

  Steve hobbled down a short hallway toward the sound of activity. The waiting room was off to the left, a hallway to the examination rooms to the right. At the end of the hall was an empty desk. Steve took a quick glance inside the waiting room. The small room was packed, and all of the seats were taken.

  An older woman in the waiting room noticed Steve’s pensive look. She pointed to the desk at the end of the hall. “You got to sign in over there,” she directed.

  Steve gave an appreciative smile, and then hobbled over to the empty desk. He tried to walk on the heel of his injured foot to keep splotches of bright red blood from forming on the clean white tile floor. The resulting duck-walk was awkward and painful. It was also rather humorous for the people in the waiting room lucky enough to see it.

  The sign in sheet was hung on the wall along with a ballpoint pen on a string. Steve reached out for the pen, but stopped when he heard a door open in a hallway leading to the examination rooms.

  Steve leaned over the desk and peered around the corner into the hallway. Two people were walking down the hall toward him.

  “I need to see the doctor,” Steve called out.

  “Well, that turned out to be a pretty short meeting,” was the response.

  At first Steve was confused. He didn’t understand. Then he recognized the face. It was the woman from the parking lot.

  “Oh hello, I really need to see the doctor,” Steve said anxiously.

  “Have you ever been a patient here before?”

  “No, but I have -”. Steve was cut off in mid-explanation.

  The woman handed Steve several papers. “Here, you need to fill out these forms,” said the woman.

  “But, I - ”.

  “No buts about it. Fill out the forms and then we’ll see what we can do.”

  The woman leaned into the waiting room. “Mike Stevens, next,” she called out.

  “But my foot, my foot is really starting-“

  “Sir, you have to fill out the forms. It is procedure. And be sure to put your name on the sign in sheet on the wall. There are a lot of other patients here, all with issues. We will be with you as soon as we can.”

  There were seven names already written on the sign-in sheet after the name of Mike Stevens. Steve thought about his options. It was at least a twenty-minute drive to the local hospital in St. Petersburg. His regular doctor was all the way back in Tampa. His throbbing foot helped him to make a quick decision.

  Steve wrote his name on the next available line on the sign-in sheet. He leaned back against the wall and began to fill out the four pages of medical forms.

  The door to an examination room opened as Steve completed the last section of his medical history. He peeked around the corner and saw the woman from the parking lot approaching the reception desk.

  “I finished the forms,” said Steve. “I really need to see the doctor now. Really, please listen. It is my foot.”

  The woman looked around the desk at Steve’s foot. She saw the pool of blood accumulating on the floor. She also saw Steve’s panicked expression.

  “Would anyone here mind if this gentleman cut in line so we could take a look at his foot?” the woman asked the waiting crowd. There were no objections.

  “Come on. Follow me sir.”

  Steve limped gingerly down to the end of the hall into an examination room. “Please have a seat,” came the first request. “Remove your shoe and sock,” came the second.

  Steve sat at the edge of the examination table. He reached down and gingerly slid off the damp loafer and then peeled off the blood soaked sock. He felt as if he was going to faint.

  “Do you have any allergies?”

  “No,” answered Steve.

  “Are you on any medication?”

  “No.”

  The woman looked up from Steve’s paperwork and scanned his injured foot. “Well that doesn’t look too bad. Not much we can do for a puncture wound like that. About all I can do is clean it up. Then we will get you something to take in order to prevent infection.” She flashed a slight, sympathetic smile at Steve. “And you may need a tetanus shot.”

  “But I really think the doctor should take a look at it,” said Steve.

  The woman chuckled. “I am the doctor sir. I am Doctor Laura Hansen. I run this clinic.”

  “Oh, I am sorry. I didn’t know,” said Steve.

  “That’s alright. I get a lot of that,” replied Laura.

  “Are you here all alone?” asked Steve.

  “Yes. I am it for a while. I have an assistant, but she is running late today.

  Laura looked back at the filled out forms. “Let me see when you had your last tetanus shot Mr…”

  Laura turned back to the first page of the form and read the name. “Mr. Peterson, Mr. Steve Peterson.”

  Laura looked up at Steve. Her face bore the look of surprise. “You’re Steve Peterson?” she asked. “Of Peterson Software?”

  “Yeah,” Steve said. “That’s me.”

  Laura smiled. “Of course, that is why you were going next door. You’re the one who is helping to reopen the shelter,” said Laura excitedly.

  “Yes,” responded Steve.

  Laura nodded her head. She had heard the shelter was going to reopen due to the efforts of a private citizen. She had read Steve’s name in an article about the project in the local paper. The article also highlighted some of Steve’s other work with local charities. Laura was impressed with his efforts.

  From the articles she read, Laura had pictured Steve as a much older man. She was amazed he was so young. And not bad looking either in a quirky kind of way, she thought. Without thinking, she glanced at his left hand and noticed he was not wearing a wedding band.

  “Steve, you didn’t fill in the date when you had your last tetanus shot. Do you remember when it was?” asked Laura.

  “No, I don’t remember. I think it must be quite a while, years ago probably.”

  “Well, it looks like you will need a shot. I’ll also need to clean up the wound a little before I put a bandage on it.”


  Laura started to fill a pan for Steve to soak his foot in. “You know Steve, I’ve wanted to meet you,” she said as she prepared the mixture.

  “Me, why would you want to meet me?”

  “I really think your work with the shelter project and the other local charities is very admirable. It is not something you find very often in today’s society.”

  “Well, I am very fortunate in my business. I feel I should give something back to the community.”

  Laura finished filling the pan, and then stirred in some dark brown iodine with a tongue depressor. She carefully made her way over to Steve, being sure not to spill the mixture. “I also had a selfish reason for wanting to meet you,” she said, as she approached Steve. “I wanted to talk to you about this clinic.”

  “The clinic?” asked Steve. “What about the clinic?”

  “Well, most of the people who come to this clinic can’t pay for the medical service. Either they are out of work or they have no insurance or both. In many cases the people are homeless or elderly and have nowhere else to go. I have been getting some funding from the city, but they cut all of that at the same time they decided to close the shelter. Without the city funding, I am going to be forced to close down.”

  “Well, I can see about providing some funding. How much was the city providing before?”

  “No Steve. Sorry I should have been more specific. I don’t need dollars. I need office space. The city provides this building for me. If you can get me a waiting room and two examination rooms in the shelter building, I can provide everything else. I already have all the equipment. I will continue donating my time. I can open for a half-day on Monday, all day on Wednesday and half day on Friday. Just like here. All I need is the space.”

  “I know we will have some extra space,” said Steve. “I don’t know if it will be enough, but we can always expand the building because we are getting the vacant lot next door to the shelter also.

  “So it could be a possibility?” asked Laura.