Joe Gribble - Darkest Edge

“Hi,” Mark said to the receptionist.

The receptionist had already seen him. She had a grim look on her face, and she had already picked up the phone and had hit a speed dial key on the console. She held her finger up, indicating Mark should wait a second. She spoke into the phone: “That guy is back.” She listened for a bit. “Okay.”

She hung up the phone and addressed Mark. “You’re to stay right here until Ms. Benson can come up.”

Mark nodded. He stepped back away from the desk and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. But it wasn’t Pamela who arrived first — it was the big orderly.

The orderly didn’t say anything, just stood facing Mark, big arms crossed in front of him.

Pamela arrived a moment later, cell phone to her ear. “I understand. I’m sure it will be fine,” she said, then killed the call and put her phone in her pocket.

“I have to say, Mr. Wilcox, I wasn’t expecting you back,” Pamela addressed him.

Mark was surprised when Pamela extended her hand. Mark shook it. ‘I didn’t think I’d be back here, either,” Mark said. “However, some things have happened…”

“I know,” Pamela interrupted. “That was Natalie Drexel. She told me you might come back to see Bradley.”

Mark wasn’t sure if this was a good sign, or a bad one. He looked at the orderly, but spoke to Pamela: “And?”

“Dr. Drexel said that would be fine,” Pamela said.

Mark breathed a sigh of relief.

“She said it would do you both some good.” Pamela turned to the orderly. “Would you show Mr. Wilcox to Bradley’s room? No need to monitor them.”

The orderly dropped his arms back to his side. “Of course,” he said. He turned to Mark: “Just follow me.”

Mark thanked Pamela, then followed the big orderly down the hall to room one-sixty-two. The orderly stopped outside the door. He knocked on the door, then opened it without waiting for a response. “I think he’ll be happy to have a visitor,” the orderly said.

Mark went inside. The private room was clean, but somewhat sterile. There were no family photos, no decorations. He saw Bradley, laying in the middle of the hospital bed. He was awake, staring at the ceiling. There was a TV in the room, but it wasn’t on. No noise whatsoever. Mark walked up to the side of the bed. He wasn’t sure what to do.

Mark reached down and took the man’s hand. His father’s hand. Held it. He stared at the man he never really knew, at least didn’t remember, not until last night.

“Hi, Bradley…. Dad,” Mark finally said. Mark eased up on the side of the bed, sitting beside the man he never got a chance to grow up with, still holding Bradley’s unmoving, limp hand. Then Mark started babbling, telling Bradley about this and that, none of it probably making any sense to the man, even had he been able to hear and understand the stories Mark was telling him. Mark told Bradley about his life, the struggles, the trials, the successes. He brought up Rachel, and told Bradley everything about her that Mark could think of. One subject he didn’t broach was Jackie. Mark didn’t have the heart to tell his father that she had died. Had killed herself. Even though he couldn’t understand what Mark was saying, Mark didn’t want to take that chance. What good would it do, anyhow?

Mark didn’t know for certain how long he had been talking, but realized it was getting late. He needed to head back to Chicago.

“I’ll be back, Dad,” Mark said. “I’ll bring a picture of Rachel for your room when I come next time,” Mark said.

He wasn’t certain, but he almost thought he felt a small, almost imperceptible squeeze from Bradley’s hand.

Mark wasn’t looking forward to checking in with his boss. But, on the other hand, he was. Mark realized now he needed to own up, to apologize for his behavior over the last few months. He was convinced Art was going to let him go, so he was pleasantly surprised when Art welcomed him warmly.

“Mark, come in,” Art said.

Mark wasn’t expecting Art to get up from behind his desk to come around and shake his hand.

“Sit,” Art said. “You need some coffee?” Art punched a button on his phone.

Mark recognized Judy’s voice: “Yes, Mr. Hill?”

“Would you grab a cup of coffee and bring it to my office for Mark?” Art looked at Mark: “Black, right Mark?”

Mark nodded.

“Make it black, Judy.” Art punched the button on his phone. He turned back to look at Mark.

Art didn’t say anything at first. He looked at Mark, then shook his head.

Mark wasn’t sure if Art was being condescending — that would conflict with his ‘I’ll have my admin bring you some coffee’ attitude. It seemed like more of an ‘I can’t believe it’ gesture. “I got a look at the early draft you put together on the insane asylum,” Art said.

“They don’t call them that anymore,” Mark said. “How’d you get the draft?”

“Ellen sent it to me,” Art said.

“I bet she did,” Mark said. “It’s not ready for you to trash. It’s not done.”

“I know it’s not done,” Art said. “In fact, it’s still pretty rough. But, I thought it was good enough to send up to the publisher.”

“I can’t believe you did that, Art,” Mark said, throwing his arms in the air. “Shit.”

“Easy, Mark,” Art said.

Judy rapped on the door. She stepped in and handed Mark a cup of coffee. She smirked at Mark before walking out.

“So, I take it I’m out?” Mark asked. “Ellen sent it in to show how bad the story was?”

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Mark?” Art asked. He smiled. “The story was great!”

“Huh?” Mark asked, his mind swimming.

“This was some true Sixty Minutes kind of reporting,” Art said. “The whole ‘we’re gonna’ have to shoot this on a phone camera’ bit was amazing. We haven’t put out that kind of story in years.”

“But the producer?” Mark asked.

“She loved it, too. Turns out she had a relative that was in the Dayton Insane Asylum…”

“Mental hospital,” Mark corrected.

“Whatever they call it,” Art said. “Her relative had been treated well. Had a good recovery due to some of the innovative techniques your Dr. Hans Drexel came up with.”

“Why didn’t she tell us that before she sent us on the story?” Mark asked.

“Didn’t want to taint your perspective.”

“I can see that, I guess,” Mark said. He sat a few seconds, then took a sip of his coffee. “Listen, Art, about Ellen…”

“I know you didn’t want to take her with you,” Art said, “but I thought the two of you would eventually hit it off. Guess I was right.”

“You were?” Mark asked.

“Wasn’t I?” Art said. “Ellen hasn’t stopped talking about the trip.”

“I’ll bet she hasn’t,” Mark said. “Listen, I know we didn’t get along all that well, but I think she might make a good reporter. I suggest you fast track her, get her some assignments. She’ll probably surprise you.”

“Didn’t get along?” Art walked back around to sit at his desk. “Ellen only had glowing things to say about you. Said you knew your stuff. Said she learned a ton from you.”

“She did?” Mark was stunned.

“You sound surprised,” Art said. “But you’re right. I already have her pegged for a story down in Crestwood. Another corruption scandal. Big surprise, huh?”

“Yeah, big surprise.” Mark thought for a bit. “I want her help finishing the Dayton story, though. If that’s all right?”

Art nodded his head. “That’s fine. It’s due tomorrow. After that, I have another big project for you. If you want it? Here in town, this time.”

“Of course,” Mark said, relieved he still had a job. “Whatever it takes.”