Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

Mark took another swig of whiskey. A big swig. “Have you opened my present yet?”

“Not yet. Mommy told me I could open it after the party.”

“Oh… okay,” Mark said. “Well, I hope you like it. You know I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your party, don’t you?”

“Go play with your friends, Honey,” Mark could hear Amanda tell Rachel over the phone.

“Bye, Daddy,” Rachel said.

“I love you, Rachel,” Mark said quickly. He could tell Rachel was already off the phone before he got the words out.

“She’s gone, Mark. I have to go, too,” Amanda said.

“Amanda, who’s Johnny?” Mark thought he heard his voice begin to crack. He gulped another slug of whiskey.

“He’s a friend, Mark. Okay?”

Mark moved two pills from the big pile back with the first two. “What kind of friend? Do I know him?”

“Oh, God. I really have to go, Mark,” Amanda said.

Mark carved two more pills away from the big pile with a shaking hand, moving them over with the other four. He had a new pile of six. “Listen, I really think we should get together when I get back. Talk things through.”

“I guess I need to talk, too, Mark,” Amanda said. “But it’s probably not what you want to talk about. I have to go.”

“Amanda,” Mark said. “Amanda?” Mark checked his phone.

CALL ENDED

Mark took a long drink from the whiskey bottle. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped the booze down.

He set his phone down near the pills. Mark stared at the pills. Breathing hard, he unbuttoned the collar button of his shirt. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He reached toward the pile of pills and pushed the entire bunch toward the six sitting by themselves. He took another swig of whiskey, then put the bottle back on the table.

Mark hesitated briefly, then grabbed a handful of pills and took the whiskey bottle in his other hand. In reaching for the bottle, Mark accidentally knocked his wallet off the table. It fell open on the floor, exposing a picture of his little girl.

Mark paused, staring at the photo. Tears began to run down his cheeks, slowly at first, then more rapidly. He bent over and picked up his wallet, holding it with the picture facing him. He began to sob.

Dr. Natalie Drexel and a large orderly stood silently while Pamela examined the transfer papers. “It was very helpful of you to let us know the reporters were here,” Dr. Drexel said.

“Seemed innocent enough at first. But when they started asking about the hospital I thought I should let you know.” She eventually signed one of the documents. “I don’t know what has gotten into poor Bradley. They didn’t even talk to him, but he’s been agitated since they left. I’m surprised you came so late at night, though. This could have waited until tomorrow.”

“We’ll check him out. Have him back before you know it.” Dr. Drexel countersigned the transfer paper and gave one copy to Pamela. “He’s still in room one-sixty-two?”

“Yes. I gave him a sedative. He might still be groggy,” Pamela said.

Dr. Drexel nodded at the orderly, who pushed an empty wheelchair down the hallway toward the patient rooms.

“What exactly were the reporters asking about,” Dr. Drexel asked.

“I wasn’t there,” Pamela said. “I asked Derek and Howard, but they didn’t want to talk about it. Of course Bradley didn’t say anything. Jake said that from what he overheard, they were just asking about what Derek and Howard experienced there.”

“And what did Derek and Howard tell them?”

“Not much,” Pamela said. “At least Jake didn’t hear what they said.”

“No questions to you about the hospital?” Drexel asked.

“No. Nothing. I wouldn’t have said anything anyway. My understanding is that your endowment to cover the care of these patients is not to be revealed to anyone.”

“That’s correct,” Drexel said. “Even the fact that we still monitor these patients should be considered confidential. Bradley’s little trip back to the hospital should not be discussed with anyone outside your management team,” Drexel reminded Pamela.

“I understand,” Pamela said.

The orderly came back down the hall, pushing Bradley in the wheelchair.

When they got closer, Bradley looked up. Though he appeared to be in a daze, he seemed to recognize Dr. Drexel. He dropped his hands and grabbed at the wheels, almost getting one hand caught in the spokes. The other hand grabbed a wheel, spinning the chair into the wall. The orderly reached down and pulled Bradley’s hand away from the wheel, straightened the chair, and pushed forward. Bradley reached down again and grabbed at the wheels.

Pamela rushed forward.” Stop…STOP! Just a minute. Please.”

The orderly stopped pushing the chair.

Pamela squatted down in front of Bradley until she was eye level with him. “It’s going to be okay, Bradley. It’s just a follow-up appointment. There’s nothing to worry about. You’ll be back here in just a day or so.”

Bradley looked past Pamela, staring at Dr. Drexel. He shook his head slightly. No.

The orderly tried to push him again, but Bradley had a good clutch on one of the wheels and it wouldn’t budge.

The orderly pushed harder, trying to break Bradley’s grip.

“STOP IT!” Pamela yelled at the orderly. “You’re going to hurt him. Wait here.” Pamela disappeared into a nearby room. She quickly returned with two straps. She bent down and strapped Bradley’s right arm to the wheelchair rail. “It’s going to be okay, Bradley. You’re going to be okay,” she said as she moved to the other side and gently removed Bradley’s left hand from the wheelchair wheel. She strapped that arm to the wheelchair rail.

Bradley shook his head, struggling to mouth the word “No”.

With his arms securely strapped down, Dr. Drexel turned and walked out the door. The orderly pushed Bradley’s chair along behind Drexel.

Pamela followed them, tears streaming down her face.

Ellen stood in the hotel hallway, just outside Mark’s door. She checked her watch. Hesitating, she finally brought her fist up to the door. She banged on the door and waited.

Nothing.

She banged again. “Mark! You in there?” she yelled, loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to stir a commotion in the hotel.

Still no answer.

She glanced up and down the hallway. Still empty. She banged again. Louder.

“MARK!” she yelled, louder this time.

Mark stirred. His head was pounding. What was that noise? He tried to sit up too quickly. That was a mistake. He grabbed his head in pain and slowly laid back down on his bed. He glanced at the side table. His wallet was still on the table, still open to the picture of Rachel. The pills still sat in a pile.

Someone pounded on the door again. “Mark!” he heard. It was Ellen.

“Crap,” he said, slowly rising up to sit on the edge of his bed. He realized he was still wearing his clothes from the day before.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming,” Mark said. He tried to stand, but staggered. He took a step, kicking the nearly empty whiskey bottle across the carpet. He trudged over to the door and leaned his head against it. “What is it?” he said, loud enough to be heard through the door. Loud enough for him to hear the painful echo between his ears.

“It’s almost nine-thirty. You okay?” Ellen asked.

Shit. Nine-thirty. He pushed his head away from the door: “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I overslept. I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit.”

“Okay,” he heard Ellen say. “I found something. You’re gonna’ want to see this. Hurry up.”

Hurry up. Right. “I’ll be right down,” Mark said. “Just give me a few minutes to shower.”