by S A Tameez
Nick glanced in the direction of the sofa – she wasn’t there. The television was off. The place was quiet and cold as if the heating was off. Stacey would never turn the heating timer off and always had the place at a warm to hot temperature. She hated being cold – and being pregnant made her stupidly pedantic.
“Stacey?” Nick called as he removed his coat and shoes. Perhaps she was taking a warm bath, another thing she had started to do since she had become pregnant. There was no response.
After having a quick scan of the house, he removed his phone and saw five missed calls and two messages.
Shit!
Three calls from Stacey, two from a number he didn’t recognise. He opened the messages and sprung to his feet.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
He ran, almost stumbling over the sofa cushion he had knocked to the floor in his panic. Grabbing his coat and with his feet half in his shoes, he blasted out of the house.
****
Zoe stood outside her house for a moment and thought of the robotic routine that lay ahead of her. The idea of being alone was hard to stomach – an empty house with only her thoughts and anxieties for company. The television would mask the irritating hum from the fridge and the annoying loud clock her mother gave her as a gift. She thought to throw it away so many times but couldn’t do it. The guilt of throwing something her grandfather gave to her mother and her mother gave to her was too much. She didn’t need to add guilt to the cocktail of emotions consuming her insides.
She turned back from her doorstep and walked back to her car. Clenching the steering wheel, she stared into the distance. Being at the station was work, but it was better than being at home – being alone. The team was accepting her back – the Harvey incident was in the past – they were over it, that’s what she told herself anyway. It would take much longer for them to trust her again; she knew that much. But for now, people talking to her instead of about her was progress.
She thought of the café – the one she and Nick now hung out in. It would be closed at this time. Her mind then stopped at Nick. She wondered what he was doing. At home with his wife – talking, laughing. She was pregnant – perhaps he would be getting pillows for her back as they sat cosily, reading together, or watching a movie.
She didn’t know many people like Nick. He was calm, collected, rational. Loyal. The word handsome sprung to her mind, and she desperately tried to dismiss it. She started the car in a panic and revved the engine as if to drown her inner voice. She drove aimlessly for about twenty minutes before stopping at a 24-hour service station that advertised coffee.
Caffeine at this time was nonsensical – she should be at home getting ready to hit the sack and yet here she was parked outside one of the few places that catered for late-night travellers. She snatched her folder from the back seat and headed inside. She was one of the very few people who needed noise to help her concentrate. People talking, machinery, the clatter of cutlery – it didn’t really matter what it was – it just had to be there to mask the ear-piercing silence.
She sat at a small table after requesting a medium black coffee from the cheerful girl behind the counter. There weren’t many people around but enough to help calm her nerves.
She opened the folder and scanned through the notes and copies of statements. She had read through them a fair few times but hoped that by reading them again, something important would jump out at her.
The truth was always hidden in the details. And sometimes the details would be right there under your nose.
She skimmed through her notebook. What did they know about Sarah Fowler? What did they really know about her? She was a pretty young girl, troubled, a self-harmer, her friends weren’t really her friends, aside from Melisa who happened to be a compulsive liar.
Her father died not so long ago – possibly led to her self-harming habit. Her Uncle Crook, was probably the only person she confided in, but he knew nothing about her disappearance.
“What happened to you Sarah? What happened?” Zoe mumbled to herself as she stared at a grainy picture of her. She turned to the page in her notebook where she had made a list of all the possible suspects. Norman Hyde was at the top of the list. The obsessive stalker. Bedroom walls covered with photos of Sarah. Photos he probably took when she wasn’t looking. Stalker.
His clothing colour matched the colours of fabric fragments found on the victim. Not to mention his mother was trying to burn his faded blue top. And he was missing.
He was the perfect suspect.
And that’s exactly why he didn’t do it.
After ruling everyone else out, she was left with George Clooney and Brad Pitt. This was not the job of the Sailor; he was way too pedantic. A perfectionist. Besides, Sarah did not fit the profile of his victims. All his victims were well-composed women, strong, confident. Sarah was the opposite.
He didn’t do it — not this one.
“Here you go,” the young, bubbly girl said as she carefully put a cup next to her. “Be careful, it’s hot,” she smiled.
“Thanks,” Zoe returned the smile.
“Oh,” the girl glared at the table.
“What is it?” Zoe looked up at the girl.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to pry,” she said and then started to walk away.
“No, please,” Zoe said, “What is it?”
“No, nothing, it’s just you have a picture of Mr Hudson,” She pointed at George Clooney.
Zoe felt her heart thumping in her chest.
“You recognise him? This man,” Zoe moved the copy of the image closer to her, “right here?”
“Yes, he’s aged a bit, but that’s definitely Mr Hudson, my old history teacher from Gerard’s Secondary School. I, along with many of my friends, had a bit of a crush on him.” She blushed.
Zoe began scribbling the details in her notebook.
“Sorry, I really need to get back to—”
“Wait,” Zoe said, looking at her nametag, “Racheal, I am Detective Sergeant Zoe Hall and I really need to talk to you about this. You could help us with a crucial investigation.”
“Erm…” the young girl looked nervous.
“I should be working, and I don’t want to get in trouble,” She looked around nervously.
“Please, it will only take a minute and I’ll make sure you don’t get in trouble. It’ll be OK, I promise – we need to find this man and just ask him a few questions,”
“OK,” Racheal sat opposite Zoe and told her about herself, previous school and Mr Hudson.”
“Is Mr Hudson in some kind of trouble?” she asked before they parted.
“I’m not sure – but he might be an important part of our investigation, and you have been incredibly helpful, thank you.”
Zoe swigged her coffee and drove to the station. What were the chances? They had spent endless hours searching though CCTV footage, showed his image to hundreds of officers and had them actively search for him and he gets identified by a random girl at a random service station. Crazy.
She felt the gaze of some of the officers on the night shift as she marched in.
“We might have to start charging you rent,” Sergeant Johnson said as he saw her try to rush past his desk.
“Hi Keith, sorry just need to—”
“No need to explain to me,” he saluted comically.
She barged into the Indexers’ room.
“Hi Curtis,” she said and stood next to a man in front of a computer.
“Zoe,” he replied without taking his eyes off the screen. She hadn’t seen Curtis since the Harvey incident. His greeting indicated that he might still be a bit bitter about it all.
“I really need a person check,” she removed her notebook.
Curtis slid a piece of paper towards her.
“Details,” he said, eyes still glued to his screen. Zoe wrote the history teacher’s name and the name of the school.
“Thanks,” she said, “I’ll be in my office.” She walked hastily to the office tr
ying not to think about the fact that Curtis and she were once people who talked normally. Not friends exactly but friendly. The atmosphere sometimes reminded her of school – the taking sides, the cliques – the pressure. Not that she had room in her congested mind for any of that right now.
The coincidence of running into Racheal, an ex-student of a potential killer, was remarkable.
It really was a small world. A messed up, twisted, small world.
Chapter 28
Nick barged into the entrance of St Thomas' Hospital and ran to the reception desk.
“I’m looking for my wife, Stacey Bailey. She’s here somewhere.” He gasped.
The grey-haired lady peered over her reading glasses but offered no smile.
“How’d you spell the surname?” she turned to face the computer screen.
“K—N—O—X,” Nick recited the letters.
“Date of birth?”
“I… I don’t know,”
She turned to face him again.
“You don’t know your wife’s date of birth?” she said in a judgemental tone.
“No, I just can’t remember right now. Can you just please search the name.”
“I can but it would be much quicker if you could tell me the date of birth.”
It would be a lot quicker if you just shut up and searched the name.
“21… 22 August… 76, that’s it, 1976,” he said as if he had answered the top question on a game show.
“Thank you,” She started tapping away on the keyboard.
Nick stared at the wall in dismay. That was her date of birth, he was sure of it. That also meant her birthday was a few weeks back and he had forgotten all about it. She hadn’t said a thing about it. Surely, she didn’t forget herself – it was easily done by someone as gormless as him, but she definitely wouldn’t have forgotten her own birthday.
What an idiot!
“Ah,” the grey-haired lady said after what felt like hours, “There she is. Stacey Bailey. She’s in theatre.”
“Theatre? Why is she in theatre? She messaged me saying she was having heavy contractions.”
“I’m not sure as there aren’t any details here.”
“I need to see my wife – I need to know she’s OK,” Judging by the look she had, she had registered the panic he was projecting.
“Tony,” she called out to a man walking past in a blue uniform, “Hi, you don’t mind taking this gentleman to the theatre room. His wife is there.”
“Sure,” he smiled, “Please, follow me,” he gestured.
“Thanks,” Nick smiled and the followed the man down a long corridor. Nick hated hospitals – the smell of disinfectant, disease and death. The walk felt never ending and his feet were burning more ferociously than ever.
How could he have forgotten her birthday? Was he that absorbed in everything other than the woman he loved? The woman he married. The woman carrying his baby.
Bile rose up his throat – he fought the urge to vomit.
The woman carrying his baby… the thought registered in his mind.
Was the baby OK? The painful image of Michael resurfaced in his mind, followed by the image of Katie. The woman he had once loved so much it hurt.
He couldn’t go through that again – he couldn’t lose Michael again – he couldn’t lose Katie again.
“Just through there,” the man scanned his card to release the magnetic locks of a door, “There’s a small reception desk on your left – you can enquire about your wife there.”
Nick barged through the door without looking back without thanking the man – every second he wasn’t with his wife was torture and enough time had already passed.
He saw the desk ahead. A young woman with tightly tied brown hair sat talking on the phone. She acknowledged Nick with her eyes and a half smile.
“OK, thank you. Will see you shortly,” she hung up the phone and looked up at Nick, “Hi,”
“My wife is here, Stacey Bailey,” His stomach was now in his chest and his knees felt weak.
“Yes, Mrs Bailey is currently in theatre,” she said not having to look at any notes or on the screen of her computer – she already knew about her.
What did that mean? Surely, there must be so many patients here – why did she know about Stacey by name? Oh God!
“Why is she in theatre? What’s going on?”
“Mr Bailey, is it?” she asked.
Nick nodded.
“Your wife had some complications – I’m actually the midwife who saw her when she was admitted – her waters broke on the way here. When we checked the heartbeat of the baby, it was irregular.”
Nick felt a hard kick to the gut. His world was about to crumble again. He could sense it. He wanted to know everything yet wanted her to stop talking. He couldn’t handle the pain, the misery. Not again. Why was this happening?
“We couldn’t take any chances, we had to take her in to theatre for an emergency caesarean.”
“Is she OK? And the baby?”
“We’re just waiting for the surgeons to update us – it won’t be long.”
“I want to see her.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible at this time. Not while they are operating.”
“I need to know she’s OK.”
“I understand that,” she offered a sympathetic smile, “I’m sure they won’t be long. If you could just take a seat in the waiting room,” she pointed to a small room with a few neatly placed chairs opposite the desk, “I will update you as soon as they are done.”
She had a smooth voice and words rolled off her tongue in a way that helped with his nerves. The way a mother would talk to a child to reassure them things would be fine. Not that she could promise that. No one could promise that. He, of all people, knew that.
He reluctantly walked to the waiting room. His legs gave way immediately and he sank into the chair. He was officially the worst husband in the world. He had forgotten his wife’s birthday – she hadn’t even said a thing about it. She was probably so used to him not showing her any attention that she expected it and didn’t even care anymore. He thought back to the fuss she made on his birthday, the card, the present, the dinner and the cake she spent hours baking. She made him feel special even when he didn’t deserve it.
“Mr Bailey,” a tall man with dark hair and blue overalls approached.
“Yes,” Nick stood springing to life.
Please be OK, he thought. Please be OK. If you are OK, I promise to take care of you – spend more time with you. Go on holiday – anything, just be OK!
“Hello,” he offered a faint smile. It pushed up his heavy eye bags and his eyes shrank under the swelling. Overworked – exhausted. “My name is Dr Waheed. I am one of the surgeons treating your wife.”
“What do you mean treating?”
“There were some serious complications and we had to carry out an emergency procedure to prevent further problems.”
“I don’t understand… she was fine this morning… is she OK? Can I see her?”
“She came in with high blood pressure and extremely poor vision. After some tests we detected high levels of protein in her urine. We suspect she has Pre-eclampsia.”
“I remember her talking about this, saying that it was common and… it could happen but wasn’t something to get too worried about. She read all about this stuff.”
“Preeclampsia is usually mild, she was right. It usually doesn’t cause major problems but in rare cases it can, and this case it did. Mr Bailey, your wife developed major fits, eclampsia and this was a serious risk to her life and your baby’s.”
Nick’s head felt light, so light that a gush of wind could knock him off his feet and send him crumpling to the ground.
“But, she’s OK? And our baby? They’re both OK, right?” The thought of losing everything in just a moment sent vicious vibrations up his spine and to his brain.
“Your son is fine,” Dr Waheed said, “We managed to get him out before he suffered a
ny serious repercussions from the seizures.”
“Thank God,” Nick muttered under his breath, “And my wife?”
“Your wife is in a coma, we—”
“What?!”
“We’re hoping she makes a full recovery but unfortunately there’s nothing we can do except wait.”
Nick cupped his face with his palms. His world was crumbling again. Except this time, he wasn’t sure he would be able to piece it back together. Perhaps it was him – he was the problem – the reason why this kept happening. He was a useless husband and would be a useless father. The universe was not allowing him to have a family because he wasn’t fit for it. He wasn’t worthy.
“Mr Bailey,” Dr Waheed put his hand on Nick’s shoulder, “Can I get you some water or something?”
“No, no thanks…” Nick swallowed, “Can I… can I see my wife?”
“Of course. And in a short while after the doctors have finished their examination, you can see your baby boy.”
Nick wanted to smile, he wanted to be happy, thrilled at meeting his son for the first time, but he couldn’t. There was no excitement, no joy… nothing. He wanted to share this moment with Stacey – he wanted them to hold their baby together, as a family. He wanted this to be Michael – he so wanted this to be Michael – the boy who never made it.
“Follow me,” Dr Waheed said and walked out of the room. Nick followed, wanting to rush to get to his wife but his legs felt heavy, forbidding him from moving fast. He was trapped in a nightmare, desperately trying to run but unable to.
They walked into the room where his wife lay motionless. His stomach turned and twisted as if he were on a roller coaster. Images of Katie lying on the bed sobbing her eyes out flashed before him – her sunken eyes looking to him to make things OK. Him, helplessly looking back, desperately wanting them to be but knowing they never would be. Nothing would be OK again.
