An Angel of A Different Order: Dr Peter VonNetzer, the bloodletter (Danger Angel Book 1)

by S. R. Rashad

  “Hello,” says Peter’s new riding companion.

  Peter squirms. He is annoyed, but he motions hello, not looking at his new companion, just nodding and tilting his newly purchased John deer cap, which he had to buy a few stops ago, because his wig was starting to look horribly mangy.

  She continues…

  “My name is Claire. What's yours?”

  “Frank,” he mumbles but doesn’t turn to face her as he continues to look out the window.

  “Pleased to meet you, Frank. How far are you going?”

  Peter is not in the mood to answer questions and he is much more leery of strangers now, but he knows if he is too rude, it draws more attention. He is hoping he can find the appropriate middle ground, of neighborliness and isolation.

  “Just to Traverse City,” he says, which is a partial truth. The route ends there. Then he takes a ferry up to the U.P. but she doesn’t need to know that.

  “Oh, Traverse City. Fun…You live there, or tourist?”

  She is not going to stop with the questions.

  Peter sees chatting was the wrong approach. She's not gonna stop, forcing him to be rude.

  “Claire, normally, I’m quite talkative but it has been a long ride and I would love to rest a bit.”

  “Oh, sorry, I understand.” She says feeling embarrassed.

  She’s quiet for a bit, then she says “Fudge! There’s great fudge, there.”

  Peter doesn’t engage. He knows if he says a word. She won’t stop. He feels the best strategy at this point is to pretend to sleep.

  “I can see you want to sleep, so…”

  She is silent again. She remains so long enough for Peter to really start dozing off. He leans his head on the window, falling asleep. His cap and wig begin to slide off his head. Claire notices. That’s weird, she thinks. Then she remembers her aunt Cindy who had cancer wore a lot of wigs. Cancer! that’s why he’s so irritable. She thinks. The bus hits a bump. Peter is jarred from his sleep. He feels his wig falling off his head. He is embarrassed. He quickly adjusts the cap and wig, turns and looks to see if anyone noticed but no one does, except Claire. She leans into him…

  “Don’t worry. I don’t think anyone saw. No need to get agitated. Your secret is safe. Continue to rest if you need to. I can adjust your wig if it falls while you sleep.”

  Peter is not sure what is happening here. Does she know who he is. And why is she willing to help. He’s not sure. But he is going to stay on alert.

  “I don’t think I’ll fall a sleep again,” Peter says.

  “Ok, but if you do, I got you covered,” Claire says and smiles.

  “Ok, Claire,” he says with trepidation. The wig begins to itch something terrible. Peter tries to sneak a scratch. He slides his index finger up the side of his head and gently scratches the itch. But, he really wants to lay into it. Claire sees he needs to scratch.

  “Frank…” she whispers “go head, scratch.”

  “What’s that.”

  “Don’t be bashful. That thing looks itchy.”

  “Oh, yea…um…it is.” He says still not quite sure what to think about Claire.

  “Listen, I bet it would make you feel better to give it a proper scratch. My aunt Cindy…well…The big ‘C’, right. That’s why the wig, right. Otherwise, it just looks stupid.”

  Peter is perplexed for a minute, then he thinks the big C? cancer? Yes, cancer is a good cover.

  “Is it that obvious, Claire?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “Oh, I don’t want to trouble anyone with my illness.”

  “No, trouble, Frank.”

  So Peter decides to be a cancer victim. This will give him the ability to wear wigs and dark shades. People will think he’s a man trying to mask his sickly cancer ridden body. Frank the cancer victim. He likes it. There are animals in nature that mask their true identity to its prey. And then, there is the Venus fly trap luring its prey in. How he likes this notion.

  “So, are you close to your aunt, Claire?” He begins.

  “Yes, Frank I was. She’s dead, now.”

  “I see.” He says. Then he remembers, he needs to show more empathy as a person talking to another person. He often forgets how interactions are supposed to go.

  “I mean, I’m sorry. How are you doing?”

  “Thanks for asking. I’m fine now. It was a few years ago.”

  “Is your cancer, pretty bad?”

  “Well, I think so.”

  “Oh.” Claire says. Now, she is feeling bad.

  Peter thinks to change the subject. One, cause he sees it’s making her feel bad, but mainly, cause he really doesn’t know how he is supposed to act as a cancer patient.

  “So, where are you going, Claire?”

  “That’s tricky. Frank.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Well, cause I don’t really know. I just hopped on the bus to clear my head.”

  “So, smelly, crowded, cramped buses give you clarity, Claire?” Peter asks her with an obviously odd expression on his face.

  “No, Frank. Not really. I know it sounds weird, but I don’t know what else to do. I think my boyfriend is cheating on me and this is not the first time either. I was going to confront him, but I chickened out, and instead hopped on this bus at the last minute.

  Peter’s survival and predatory instincts kick in. He knows vulnerability; what it looks like and what it sounds like in others. His keen awareness sees flaws, and hones in on all the weak points. Hers is her feelings of despair, of pain and rejection and a deep seeded loneliness. All this makes her very suggestible. Peter has a brilliant idea. He doesn’t know how safe it is for him back at home. Now that his face is everywhere and now that a gunman is after him. The gunman, the police and everyone else will be looking for Dr.VonNetzer, not Frank, the cancer patient and his nursemaid. Her grief and her feels for her dead aunt Cindy, will help sway her, and if not by his charm, there’s always money and by the looks of her, she could use a few bucks. Everything about her screams trailer park, her cheap shoes, dime store dress and poorly applied drugstore make up and the fact that she got on at Flint. Peter is sure what side of the tracks she’s from.

  “So, Claire, you just plan to ride the bus till you get a clear head?”

  “I think, so.”

  “Well, that may work. But you know what, I have a better idea. Let’s say you come get some fudge with me, in Traverse City. You deserve a little break. And then, you can see how you feel. How’s that sound?”

  “It sounds…ok… Wait, that sounds perfect, Frank.”

  “That's good, Claire.”

  Peter appears to listen sympathetically for the next couple hours as Claire fills him in, on all the craziness in her life, her alcoholic, loser boyfriend, her failed attempt at nursing school, her many abortions and miscarriages, her being abandoned by her father. Her tales of woe could be to gain sympathy. But more likely, it's just the therapeutic airing of a heavy load, people are prone to share with strangers.

  As the bus approaches Traverse City, Peter decides to ham it up a bit. If he wants to enlist Claire into his plans, he knows he has to seem weak and near helpless…

  He begins coughing and complaining of pains. As he gets off the bus, he begins to wobble. Claire’s nursing instincts surface. She grabs Peter’s arm…

  “Here Frank, lean on me.”

  “Oh, you are so helpful…you would make a good nurse.” Peter says as he takes her by the arm and rubs her forearm, patting it and smiling.

  Claire likes hearing this. It makes her proud. Although she knows she isn't good with school work, she is good with people. And if that's all she needed, she'd be a nurse already.

  Peter hasn’t quite figured out which cancer he is supposed to have, nor does he truly know what the symptoms look like. So, he just takes on a generally weak posture and limp, with a slow stride.

  “My whole body is starting to ache. I just think it's that long bus ride. I'm feeling more fatigued. There's a pharmac
y here in town. Let's see if they have a cane or crutch I can purchase.”

  “Ok, Frank. Let's get you that cane. What meds are you taking? Sometimes, that could be the problem too.”

  Peter has no idea how to answer that question…

  “Crap! I left all my meds on the bus.” He says in a worried tone.

  “This is no good, Frank.”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll call my doc and see if he can fax a list to the local pharmacy here.”

  “I hope he can. That would be great.”

  He buys a cane and a small traveller’s shawl, for his chills, as he believes most sickly people suffer from chills. His ensemble is beginning to come together. Between the cane, the shawl, the wig and the hunched walk, even a blind man can see Peter must be sick. He feels confident in his role now. He just has to win over his would be nursemaid, for the long haul.

  “You are so helpful. There's a fantastic restaurant a block away. Let me buy you a meal for all your efforts.”

  “Are you sure, Frank?”

  “Yes, definitely.”

  “Ok, I am a little hungry.” In fact, she's very hungry. She forgot to eat with all the worry about her boyfriend.

  As they enter the restaurant, Peter hands her a fifty and says eat what you like. I’ll be back. I need to chat with my doctor and see about those meds.”

  She’s worried for him but she is extremely hungry as well. “Ok, I'll stay here. Do you want me to order you something?”

  “Yes, some kind of vegetable soup would be great. But order it after you eat, I may be on the phone awhile.”

  Peter has a few things he needs to take care of. First, he goes over to a branch of his local bank, removes his disguise, meets with the branch manager and withdraws a large sum of cash as he is going to need it to move about freely. Then he takes his phone and goes and sits at a café across from the restaurant to do research on cancer; the types, the symptoms and the kinds of meds one would take. Once he feels he has learned enough, he’s ready to go back. He goes in the restroom and disguises himself again. Then he returns to the restaurant just as Claire is finishing up.

  “Hi, Frank. So, how’d it go? Your soup is coming now.”

  “Great…my doctor suggested I stay in town and rest a bit while he chats with the local clinic about my meds. He also suggested I get a nursemaid. I don't want some stranger here. I have a little cash…” He pulls out several hundred dollars. Claire’s eyes go wide. “I know you may need to get back home, but if you stay for just awhile, I can pay you. I mean, you are practically a nurse and hell, you are very helpful. What do you say?”

  “Are you sure you want me?”

  “I’m certain. You know what. I don’t want to pressure you.”

  Peter pretends to faint and catches himself, resting against the wall. Claire has a scared look in her eyes, she’s afraid for him. He continues to ham it up. Peter is really enjoying himself now.

  “I’m sorry. I think the stress is taking it’s toll on me. I’ll just go to my cousin’s place up north. Perhaps, someone will be there to help me although I know he’s probably not even around. I’ll be fine. Thanks for being here. I have to go.”

  “You know what, Frank. Of course I’ll help. Let’s get you to your cousin’s, ok?”

  “Ok, you’re sure.” He says as he wobbles over to the table and sits down looking as though he may faint again.

  “Oh, poor thing. Let’s go up north, ok.”

  Peter puts his head down on the table, not to fake feeling sick this time, but to hide his smile of satisfaction. He always gets his way. Clever boy, Clever boy, he thinks to himself. He raises his head and looks at Claire. Forgetting his role as weak cancer patient for a second, the cold predatory eyes come out. A chill runs through her. She’s not sure what it’s about but she thinks she senses something strange, here. But no, it could just be her feelings about her boyfriend Dan creeping in. That has to be it. Besides, she knows there’s good money to be made here.

  “Let’s go then, Claire.” He says in an icy tone as he lets some of the monster slip out.

  They grab the next boat to the U.P. As they get off, they head to the park and ride. Peter’s truck is still parked in the lot. He never locks the door on the driver’s side and the keys are usually in the visor.

  “Hey, Claire. My cousin keeps a truck over here in the lot. We’ll take it. Oh, and he has a handicap son. So, he removed the lock and handle from the passenger side door, cause he was always trying to jump out.” Peter has to cover up for the fact that there’s no way to exit the passenger side door since he removed everything.

  “Oh. That’s clever.” She says. “ This way he can’t hurt himself.”

  Peter knows she isn’t the smartest person around, but man, he doesn’t even have to try hard.

  As they approach the truck…

  “Oh, Frank. Do you want me to drive since you are feeling weak.” She says with concern.

  There is no way Peter is sitting in that passenger seat.

  “Oh, that’s thoughtful of you, but my cousin is particular about who drives his car and I am not sure if he’s around. We don’t want him to be troubled, seeing someone other than me driving. You understand, right.”

  “Oh, I do. Dan’s that way too. Men can be real pigheaded…Oh, I’m sorry, no offense.”

  “None taken. I know what you mean.” He smiles.

  Peter drives slowly, observing his surroundings for anything weird or suspicious.

  As they approach his home, he has a sense that something is not right and he wonders why there are so many tire tracks around his place. There’s no need for anyone to come this way.

  He stops the car several yards from the house and let’s Claire out and tells her to head over to the house.

  “Claire, I am feeling a little weak. Can you go in the house and get me some water or juice. I don’t believe anyone is home. The keys are under the small rock next to the larger flower pot.”

  As she walks over, Peter is looking around to see if anyone is watching. He grabs a set of binoculars from the truck and pans the surroundings. He sees nothing, but he still knows something is up. He doesn’t want to stay long but he needs to sleep.

  “Frank, here you go. I found some apple juice. I think the fructose will help to strengthen your blood sugar and it may keep you from fainting.”

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “You want to go inside and rest?”

  “Yes,” He says hesitantly.

  Walking over to the house, he can see things are out of order. Peter is particular as to where he places things. He puts the shovel three feet from the shed door, not two. It has been moved. The gnome with the white beard always faces east. It's not. It has been moved. This is disconcerting to be sure. He looks at his windows. They look tempered with as well, not good. His home has been violated. He knows it.

  He enters the house and to the untrained eye, all is in order. Everything is seemingly put in its place. But for the mind of a borderline OCD, the place is in disarray. This is a mess. His mind is frantic. There is so much chaos here. Magazines are spread too wide apart. Pillows aren't sitting squarely. His rug is three inches too far from the sofa. More than thirty items are not in their place. He believes someone was looking for something, for his workroom, perhaps, and being that no one is there to put him in handcuffs, he knows they haven't found it. But it could be a matter of time. He sees the curtains are left open. It was placed that way by someone who is probably close by, in order to spy on him. He is starting to assume the house may also be bugged.

  “Frank, everything ok?”

  “Yes, you are right. I need to lay down.” He says as he coughs and keeps his hand over his mouth, mumbling his voice.

  If the place is bugged, he likes that she calls him Frank. He thinks it best also to alter his voice, as much as possible, anything to throw the spying ears and eyes off his scent. He doesn't feel safe but he lies down anyway. He will rest. Then pla
n in the morning. His mind is racing and his body is too exhausted.

  “Claire, you take the bed. I’ll take the sofa. I am so exhausted. I have to rest.”

  “Of course, I understand.”

  Claire isn't tired. But she knows how tired and irritable cancer patients can be. She lets him rest as she goes and looks for ways to be helpful. She is starting to enjoy this role. She can be a nursemaid. Who needs school or a cheating boyfriend, she thinks. If she does good at this, perhaps she’ll have a whole new career. She can be more than a checkout girl and now is her chance to prove it.

  Chapter 16

  Recovery is a Dangerous affair

  I get to go home today, thank heavens! Any longer and I don't know what... After a week…no, nearly ten days in ‘infant care.’ At least this is what it feels like, with the way one is treated here. Lord, the indignity of it all, they change you, bathe you, feed you. And the way these damn doctors and nurses talk to you, I don't know. Am I an infant; time for your meds, time for your meal, time for you to rest. Note to self, never get shot again, it is extremely inconvenient. And Laura, girl, the only way I want to see you in the hospital, is as a visitor, never a patient. You have no time for this, lady. Let this chapter be done. Never revisit this kind of helplessness again. And Jen, poor girl, every time she came to visit, she was always tittering on the verge of tears or passing out, Lord help that one, please.

  Nurse ‘change you, bathe you’ enters the room…

  “So Laura, you get to go home today, girl,” she says in her deep island accent, something Caribbean, I think. I never asked.

  “Yes, you don't get to feed me anymore.”

  “Now girl, that was just a couple of times. Remember you couldn't even hold a fork or lift your head.”