Abandoned. John Schlarbaum
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to ensure there’d be no mistakes. “Call me as soon as you have anything!”
A few minutes later, his phone rang.
“Give me what you’ve got,” he demanded.
“The house is owned by Stan and Genifer Grant. They have two girls: Zoe is 11 and Aleena is 9. The car comes back to that address. Stan is a CMM operator – you know, writes programs for die cuts in the tool and die industry – and Genifer has worked at the post office for 23 years. I think she’s a carrier.” The female caller paused as she scrolled through Genifer’s Facebook page. “It appears she’s very active at work. The vice-president of the local union, the Health and Safety Committee co-chair, a shop steward, a Human Rights Master Trainer, whatever that is.”
“In other words,” Clive broke in, bored already, “this woman doesn’t take shit from many people and may be trouble.”
After writing the Grants’ home phone number, Clive disconnected the call and drove to the diner where Henrik was seated at a window table.
“Call this Grant woman and scare the living daylights out of her,” Clive said, ripping the information from a pad and handing it to Henrik. “She cannot meddle in this job again. Do you understand me?” Clive’s voice had risen in pitch and nearby customers had heard him.
Henrik took the page and read the chicken scratch on it. “I understand,” he acknowledged slowly. “I’ll do it after I’m done my coffee.”
“You’d better,” Clive said, giving an apologetic gesture to the patrons around them, before returning his attention to Henrik. “I have to fix your mistake. You need to get to the hospital as soon as you can. Take a cab,” Clive said in a threatening whisper. “Keep an eye on that old woman and update me on what’s happening.”
“How am I going to do that?” Henrik asked with an air of defeat.
Clive put his hand on the man’s shoulder, squeezing as he did so. “Like the commercial says, ‘Just do it.’”
After Clive had left Henrik took his time sipping his coffee and ordered a piece of peach pie as he formulated a plan.
A half hour later he stepped out of a cab and entered the Metropolitan Hospital lobby.
“Can you assist me?” he requested of the female security officer.
“Of course,” Maryanne replied cheerfully. “Are you here to visit someone?”
“A friend. Helga Klemens. She was brought in by ambulance.”
Maryanne consulted her computer. “She’s currently in the E.R. department.”
Henrik noticed the security cameras that covered the lobby and lowered his head. “Thank you. I’ll find her,” he said, shuffling away from the desk.
“Just take this hallway and ...”Maryanne began as she stood from her chair.
“I know where I’m going,” Henrik said with a wave and stepped out of Maryanne’s view.
“Alrighty then,” Maryanne said as she sat down and sent her transporter boyfriend, Luke, an email about meeting for lunch.
Although hopelessly lost in the basement corridors, Henrik didn’t care as long as he wasn’t near the guard desk. He kept his chin close to his chest so his face couldn’t be seen by other security cameras. The fact he was wearing a very noticeable tan overcoat didn’t cross his mind as he approached a kind of crossroads near the bank of visitor elevators.
“Can I help you?” asked a young woman in a smock pushing a cart with blood vials in it.
“E.R.?” Henrik said, exaggerating his already thick accent and appearing confused.
“You’re close, sir,” the woman said, outstretching her arm. “Down this hallway and turn right, then left through the second door. Someone will be able to direct you from there.”
Henrik mumbled, “Thank you,” and proceeded to the E.R. department. Inside he noticed a large television monitor hanging above the front reception area and found Helga’s name typed in the examination room 11 box. As no hospital employee was approaching him, he walked to a telephone designated for patients and their families across from Helga’s room where the curtains were drawn. He placed the receiver to his right ear, while listening to a nurse speak to Helga with his left ear.
“We’re going to transfer you to the 8th floor. The O.R. had a couple of emergency surgeries due to a multi-car accident that’s backed up the entire schedule,” the nurse stated apologetically.
“Will I still be operated on today?” Helga asked in a frail voice.
“Yes, I believe that’s the plan. This way you can rest a while and when the surgery is done they’ll bring you back to the same room.” The nurse partly opened the room’s curtain to exit, causing Henrik to step behind a partition, before walking back to the main desk.
“Excuse me,” he said to the first person he saw wearing scrubs. “Where can I wait for a friend who’s having surgery today?”
“I’m heading there now, if you want to follow me,” the E.R. aide said.
Henrik was shown to the O.R. Family Waiting Room, where he learned from a volunteer that patients were taken into the surgery department through an adjacent set of doors. “You’ll be able to wish your friend well when they’re brought down,” the sunny girl said with a wide grin.
Henrik found a seat in the crowded room with a view of the hallway where Helga would be appearing. He positioned his overcoat on a chair and walked to the nearby payphone to call Clive.
“Let me know when she goes in,” Clive said. “And don’t forget to call that nosy postie. She can’t tell anyone about seeing you.”
“I will,” Henrik said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve Genifer’s information.
To Henrik, Genifer’s initial response was abnormal, only wanting to know who he was and suggesting he had the wrong number. Believing he wasn’t being taken seriously enough, he dropped the hammer all the way.
“This is the right number. What we’re going to do to Helga is the same thing we’ll do to your lovely girls, if you breathe a word of seeing me earlier. One dead old woman isn’t worth risking your precious babies’ lives, is it?” He paused for effect. “Are we clear, Genifer?”
He then gently placed the receiver in its cradle, put on his overcoat and took his seat.
Three hours passed before a chatty porter pushed Helga’s stretcher down the O.R. corridor. Henrik heard him saying, “You know ... if you’re feeling up to it, I can pop in to talk with you later. Would that be all right?”
Henrik waited a few minutes, seeing as how Helga seemed to be glancing in every direction. “Goodnight, Helga,” he said as he went to the payphone to call Clive a final time.
“She just went in. What do you want me to do?”
“Get out of there,” came the reply.
“Gladly.”
Henrik exited the waiting room and saw the elevators to his right. Immediately he felt lost and decided to go back to the E.R. where he could catch a cab outdoors. Remembering the blood vial lady’s directions, Henrik entered the first door he saw, not the second door he’d entered earlier, which deposited him at the opposite end of the department. As he passed each open-curtained room he was taken aback by all the patients who were in such pain or trauma, their last hope for a cure being a trip to the hospital. “Sad, sad, sad,” he muttered, seeing the exit he needed.
With only a few steps to freedom from this horrible place, he thought he heard a familiar voice coming from a room where the curtain was closed.
“What if an adult – say, an elderly adult – needs help?”
As he’d