Читать книгу Abandoned - John Schlarbaum - Страница 8

During her four-hour stay, Genifer couldn’t help but empathize with the E.R. team who had valiantly tried to diagnosis her “fainting spell” (as Stan annoyingly kept insisting it was to anyone within earshot). The nurses, doctors, transporters, blood and CT techs couldn’t have been more professional, making Genifer feel extremely guilty. She regretted lying to Stan and the girls and couldn’t wait to crawl into bed to pull the covers over her head.

The frightening visit from the old man in the overcoat had put the fear of God in her. She was thankful the nurse had removed the heart monitor, otherwise numerous bells and whistles would’ve been set off, causing additional stress for all involved.

Maybe not everyone.

Throughout his in-person warning, Genifer took stock of the man in the same way she sized up opponents during union contract negotiations. She prided herself at identifying a person’s strengths and weaknesses, sometimes even their facial twitches that indicated which way they were leaning on contentious issues. When tensions started to run high and the make-or-break deadline loomed, Genifer would use her mental abilities to shape her arguments to move forward toward an agreeable resolution.

Stunned silent by her tormentor’s appearance, her usually reliable instincts froze until the man walked out, pulling the curtain closed. It was only then Genifer dared to show any emotion and broke into tears. When Stan threw the curtain open, the look of terror in Genifer’s wet eyes troubled him.

“Babe, it’s okay,” he said walking to the bed. “They’ll find out what’s going on.”

“I want to go home,” Genifer sobbed. “I miss the girls and I feel better.”

Dr. Cantelon stepped into the room and said, “I’m glad to hear you’re doing better and promise there will be no further tests today.” He picked up a box of tissues off a supply cart and handed it to Genifer. “I’m going to discharge you, but want you back for a follow-up exam next Wednesday.”

Genifer blew her nose in a tissue and continued to cry.

“I’ll get her here, Doctor,” Stan replied. “Thank you for everything.”

After a teary-eyed goodbye to the staff, Genifer pushed the final giant silver button on the wall to open the waiting room door, then walked in silence with Stan through the sliding doors and to their vehicle.

Free at last, she thought, entering the Volvo’s passenger seat.

“Are you hungry?” Stan asked as he pulled out of the lot. “Restaurant row beckons,” he said, as numerous fast food joints appeared in front of them.

“No, unless you’re hungry,” Genifer answered, unable to look him in the eye.

Zoe and Aleena were already asleep in bed when Genifer climbed the stairs to the second floor. She was exhausted. She’d thanked her mom and Lisa for taking care of the girls and left Stan to fill them in on their hospital trip. After brushing her teeth and putting on her favourite pjs, she almost felt normal again, although she knew this was an illusion.

On her back in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it lazily spun round, Genifer tried to take in the first quiet moment she’d had since deciding to go for a walk before the football game. This serenity didn’t last long, as the fear that her family was in danger invaded her thoughts. That man will harm Stan or the girls if I say anything! I can’t let that happen. Without them, I don’t know how I’d survive. She broke out in a cold sweat and started to cry. Turning on her side into a fetal position, she buried her face in the pillow so no one could hear her torment. I really wish I could tell my lifelong friend Lacie about this. I’ll just have to keep my mouth closed for once, she advised herself.

As the minutes wore on, like an ice cube left in an empty glass, the trauma of the day’s events began to melt away, allowing her brain to return to its original state of being. The cool, calculated person she normally was started to push aside the troubling images she’d fixated on and focus on elements she couldn’t process earlier: namely, the man who’d threatened not only her family, but also Helga.

Genifer reached for the phone to call the hospital, then decided it could wait until morning.

I’ll talk to her tomorrow, she decided.

Closing her eyes to help with recall, Genifer pictured the man positioned a few feet away from her in the E.R. He was in his late 70s or early 80s, five foot nine with a wiry build and slight paunch, thinning grey hair and wearing thick-rimmed glasses – a look out of style for decades. His accent was European – German or Austrian perhaps – and he had a coldness about him that was his most upsetting trait. When he spoke to her, it was a slightly embellished, yet rote repeat of his phone threat hours earlier.

His talking points, Genifer deduced, familiar about such things after witnessing labour leaders and company spokespeople step before the microphones to get their spin out to the public. In this instance, Genifer had a gut feeling the old man hadn’t written his own script. If so, who did? The longer she replayed their encounter in her head, the more convinced she became that he was a hired hand; his speech in concert with the tone soldiers in trouble for a mission gone wrong state, “I was following orders.”

This brought Genifer back to the place where she first encountered the man: Helga’s house. It was obvious now he wasn’t there to scare her, but to kill her. Genifer doubted this was a lover’s quarrel gone bad. Yet, what if they were related? A family argument that got out of hand – and down a flight of stairs?

If none of these scenarios were right, the question left unanswered was frightening and bizarre: Who would send a hired killer that old to murder another senior citizen?

None of this makes sense!