Lisa Stone - Stalker

The sign next to the lift showed that the HDU ward was on the second floor. With a shudder he got in and pressed for Floor 2. He hated hospitals and usually avoided them. His mother had been in hospital for two weeks when he’d been a child and at the time it had seemed she’d gone away forever. He’d visited her with his father but not every evening. His father wasn’t a good man and had resented having to look after his son. Derek remembered how unkind he’d been to him. He now associated hospitals with acute unhappiness and beatings.

The lift stopped and the doors opened. As he got out a woman stepped in. The HDU ward was signposted down a short corridor to his left. He stopped at the security locked double doors to the ward. If they asked who he was he’d have to say a relative. Summoning his courage – he hadn’t come this far to turn back now – he pressed the intercom button and waited, the tic at the corner of his eye began to agitate. Nothing happened so he pressed the button again and without any need to identify himself the doors released.

He was in.

The clinical smell of the hospital ward immediately hit him and brought back memories he’d rather have forgotten, so he could have easily turned and run. He breathed shallowly to avoid ingesting the full smell of the ward and went down the corridor, glancing into the rooms on his left and right. Patients were attached to monitors and drips, some awake and propped up in beds of sterile white sheets, others asleep. None looked like Mrs Hanks.

‘Can I help you?’ A young nurse approached him.

‘I’m looking for Mrs Hanks,’ he replied, touching his eye to still the tic.

‘Room seven, down there on the left,’ she said, pointing.

‘Thank you.’

She hadn’t asked him who he was and he continued steadily along the corridor, then gingerly approached the open door to room seven. He looked in. There were no other visitors, a huge relief, but Mrs Hanks didn’t look well at all. She was lying on her back, eyes closed, mouth hung open and a big bandage around her head. A tube ran from her arm to a drip.

‘Hello, Mrs Hanks,’ he said quietly, approaching the bed. Could she hear him?

There was no response. A dark purple and black bruise was spreading from beneath the bandage across her forehead and around both eyes. In contrast her cheeks were deathly pale, and she was unnaturally still. Her arms lay on top of the covers and were straight at her sides like a soldier lying down on duty, he thought. He’d never seen her so still. She was always on the move, far more vibrant than her husband; phoning her friends and arranging outings, shopping trips, visits to the spa, or entertaining them at home with a coffee or glass of wine. Even when she was alone she was busy, keeping the house nice – dusting, polishing and hoovering. She kept a neat and tidy home, he had to admit. Yet here she was like a corpse. He wished she could be that person again now. He’d have given anything to turn back the clock and undo the harm he’d done.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘I never meant for him to hurt you. Really I didn’t. If I’d known this was going to happen I would never have sent him that email.’ He waited to see if she’d heard, but there was no reaction. Was she unconscious or heavily sedated?

‘I’ve brought you some chocolates,’ he said feebly, holding out the box. ‘You’ll enjoy these when you feel better. They’re your favourites; I know because I’ve heard you say. I’ll leave them here on your bedside cabinet so you can reach them when you wake up.’

He set the box on the bedside cabinet next to a jug of water and looked at her again. It was difficult to know what else to say and he found her unresponsive silence unsettling. When his mother had been ill she’d been sitting up in bed when they’d visited her, giving out instructions, not lying motionless. Only the steady rise and fall of her chest and the line on the pulse monitor showed Mrs Hanks was alive.

He thought about drawing up a chair but decided to remain standing. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, ‘but it wasn’t all my fault, you know. I didn’t make your husband do this. He needn’t have hurt you; that wasn’t my intention. He should have packed his bags and left. That’s what I intended, then you would both have been happy. He could have retrained as a nurse as he wanted and you could have seen your lovers.’

Suddenly she stirred and gave a small moan as if she might have heard some of what he’d said, possibly even knew who he was, but her eyes stayed closed.

‘Can you hear me?’ he asked. Nothing. ‘Are you going to be well again?’ She made a noise that could have been ‘nurse’, then groaned.

‘Do you want a nurse?’ he asked.

A small movement of her head that he took as yes.

He hurried out of the room and down the corridor to the nurse’s station. ‘I think Mrs Hanks wants a nurse,’ he said, and without waiting for a response turned and headed off.

He’d seen enough and the smell and memories were really getting to him now.

But who was this in the distance? The man coming along the corridor towards him was surely Mr Hanks. He could tell from his outline, the way he walked. He saw so much of his clients that he often recognized them in the street. As he drew closer, Derek saw his grim, haggard expression and could have almost felt sorry for him. His eyes were fixed firmly ahead on the doors to the ward and he took no notice of Derek as they passed. Well, it was your fault more than mine , Derek told himself. You lost control and battered her. If you’d just left like I intended, she wouldn’t be in the state she is. You’ll have to live with the consequences. Before this you were the innocent party, but not any longer.

Outside, he breathed in the fresh air and tried to shake off the nauseating smell of the hospital: diseased bodies and disinfectant; it made his stomach churn.

Unlocking his van, he got in and sat for a moment trying to calm his thoughts. It had been unsettling being in the hospital, seeing Mrs Hanks like that, and then passing Mr Hanks on the way out. Although he doubted Hanks had even seen him, let alone recognized him. By the look on his face he was in pieces and barely coping, and even if he did make the connection it wasn’t unreasonable for Derek to be there. He could have been visiting someone, or there on work – repairing one of the hospital’s cameras. Yes, even if Hanks did recognize him he could come up with a reasonable explanation. Derek was good at explanations, covert operations and covering his tracks. That was what his work involved and he excelled at it.

His phone rang, making him start. The caller display showed a private number. Perhaps another new client? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had seen his van parked and noted his contact details.

‘Hello, Home Security, Derek Flint speaking.’

‘Mr Flint, it’s DCI Aileen Peters, returning your call.’ Good, about time, he thought. He was looking forward to hearing that those two upstarts had been given a good bollocking. Hopefully even suspended. ‘Is it convenient to talk?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve had a chance to speak to DC Matt Davis and DC Beth Mayes and they want to apologize for any upset they may have caused your mother. That wasn’t their intention. The police spend a lot of time building good relations with the public and I am deeply saddened when I hear something has gone wrong. I hope you will accept their apology and pass it on to your mother.’

‘Yes, I will on this occasion,’ Derek said, his confidence growing from the apology and feeling he had the upper hand. ‘But I want your assurance that they won’t come near me again, either at my office or home.’

‘It shouldn’t be necessary to visit you again. They were at your home because they were under the impression that you ran your business from there.’