by A A Bavar
“Like what?” interjected Patricia.
Sgt. Downing took a deep breath and lifted his eyebrows. “As I was saying before, there is no evidence of anyone, let alone someone dressed like the Joker, visiting your office. Then, there is the envelope opener stained with your blood and skin tissue, and finally, the results of your blood test.”
“Blood test? What blood test? Who gave you the right to do a blood test?” Patricia sat up, her back erect like a soldier. Her head felt heavy, and she heard a buzzing sound in her ear.
“We didn’t. The hospital did,” replied Sgt. Downing coolly. “It’s routine for suspected concussion situations.”
“Concussion? Do I have a concussion?” Patricia said in an almost pleading tone, her eyes shimmering. Slowly, she lay back down. “How could this have happened? Why me?”
Sgt. Downing’s stoic face broke into a gentle smile. “It’s okay, Ms. Fowler, you’re fine. I don’t know the details, but from what I heard the test results were normal.”
Patricia wiped a tear from her eye and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling so strange, so out of sorts. I’m usually a much nicer person, believe me,” she said with a timid smile. “It’s just that… I was so scared, and my mind… everything still feels so hazy, like I’m in a fog. I don’t understand it,” she said, and looked back. “But you said something about my blood test…”
“Yes, but before I continue, please bear in mind that we’re trying to put together, as best we can, what happened when you were attacked,” said Sgt. Downing. “The answers to these questions don’t mean anything, yet. But hopefully, they will help point us in the right direction. Okay?”
Patricia nodded.
“Good. So, Ms. Fowler—”
“Please, call me Patricia,” interrupted Patricia.
“Okay Patricia, can you tell me if you’re on any prescription medications?” asked Sgt. Downing, his eyes fixed on Patricia’s.
“No, I’m not on any medications.” Patricia bit her lip, controlling the urge to lash out again, and said in a controlled voice, “But I’ve already told the doctor all of this. They have my records.”
“I still have to ask,” said Sgt. Downing. “How about anything over-the-counter. Sleeping pills, maybe?” His tone was softer than before, but his eyes were still hard, attentive to Patricia’s every move.
“What? Why? I don’t understand what this has to do with anything. What would it matter if I was taking sleeping pills or multi-vitamins for that matter?” replied Patricia, and glared and Sgt. Downing. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned with how this psychotic woman got in and out of my office without being seen?” Patricia shook her head, as if trying to clear her mind. “Oh my God, why am I so angry? I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Ms. Fowler… Patricia. Don’t worry yourself. It’s normal to feel angry,” said Sgt. Downing. “Just remember that we’re on your side. Our biggest concern is to find out what really happened, and I guarantee you that my team is looking into every possible detail. But in the meantime, I have to eliminate other possible scenarios.” Sgt. Downing paused for a second then continued, his tone more cautious, “The drug zolpidem was found in your system. Do you know what that is?”
Patricia’s eyes grew into wide, round saucers as she stared at Sgt. Downing. “Are you serious? No, I have no clue what that is. Have you not been listening to a single word I said? That crazy bitch sprayed me with something that literally knocked me out cold! Remember? Have you stopped to consider that’s where this zol… zilo… whatever came from?”
Sgt. Downing nodded. “Yes we have. I just wanted to know if you knew what it was. The name of the chemical is zolpidem, it’s the active ingredient in many sleeping pills as I understand it,” he said and paused. Patricia crossed her arms and stared back unimpressed. “Patricia, you just said that the woman in the Joker costume sprayed you with a gas. Correct?”
“Yes.”
“But in your previous statement to officer Burns,” said Sgt. Downing, tapping the pad in his hand, “you said that the gas was released from the orchid, which caused you to become paralyzed and fall to the ground. Can you clarify which it was?”
“It was from the orchid, like I said before,” said Patricia, her head light with dread. “Why is this important? You make it sound like I did something wrong. Don’t you believe me?”
“Just going over the facts, Patricia. We need to make sure every detail is accurate,” said Sgt. Downing with a reassuring smile. “So what happened next?”
Patricia took a deep breath and continued, “She threatened me. She said something about a scorned wife… staying away… and that this was the second warning, that next time it would be much worse!” Patricia gasped and buried her face in her hands. “Why is this happening?” she cried in between sobs.
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out, Patricia,” said Sgt. Downing, grabbing a box of tissues from the bedside table and offering it to her. Patricia took a couple and wiped her eyes. “I only have a few more questions. Are you okay to continue?”
Patricia took a deep breath and nodded.
“So what happened next?”
“I think that’s when she sprayed me with something from what looked like a perfume bottle. You know, the ones with the bulb? And then I woke up with Anne beside me, shaking me awake, and the Joker was gone. That’s it.” Patricia grabbed another tissue from the box and blew her nose.
Sgt. Downing rubbed his chin and looked down at his pad. He flipped back a few pages and studied his notes for a few more seconds. Without looking up he said, “You said in your statement that your assailant cut you with an envelope opener that she took out of her pocket. Right?”
Patricia nodded.
“When did she cut you, exactly?” Sgt. Downing looked up.
“I just told…” started Patricia, then stopped with a sheepish smile. “Oh, sorry, I forgot. I was on the ground paralyzed from the gas. The Joker took out an envelope opener, a very fancy and elaborate one, um… I think it was very old, an antique, and said she was going to give me a reminder and then cut me. That’s when she sprayed me and I passed out. Sorry.”
“No worries. That’s why I ask the questions,” said Sgt. Downing, looking back down at his pad. “So you had never seen that envelope opener before?”
“No,” said Patricia.
“You are aware that we recovered an envelope opener with your blood on it?” asked Sgt. Downing.
“Yes! But that’s not the one she used to cut me!” exclaimed Patricia. “Why are you telling me this? What’s going on? Please, tell me!”
Sgt. Downing hesitated a moment, then closed his pad and said, “Patricia, from where we stand, there is no evidence that supports your story. None of the cameras captured anything remotely suspicious, and the entry logs are clean. On the other hand, we have an envelope opener – a very ordinary kind – with your skin tissue and blood on it. So, if we disregard your denial of taking any sleeping pills, everything points to you having had a hallucination, which as your doctor confirmed, is a common side-effect of zolpidem.”
Patricia stared at Sgt. Downing, fear replaced by utter rage. “So you’re saying that I took some sleeping pills – which I did not – then imagined seeing a woman Joker walk into my office, prance around like a lunatic, and then what? I cut myself with an envelope opener and collapsed like a junkie? What for?” she demanded.
“There doesn’t have to be a reason, Ms. Fowler. Hallucinations can be like dreams, but feel very real despite being completely fabricated in your mind,” said a man’s voice with a slight accent from Patricia’s right. Patricia turned to find a young, middle-eastern looking doctor, maybe in his mid-thirties, walking towards her from the door. He had a stethoscope around his neck and was holding a clipboard. “Hi, I’m Dr. Hamidi.” Dr. Hamidi stopped beside her bed and smiled.
“I don’t want to be rude, doctor, but you are definitely mistaken because I don’t take any kind of medication. Check
my chart and you’ll see,” said Patricia, pointing at the clipboard. “As I told Officer Downing before, obviously whatever I was sprayed with had this zolpidem in it. That’s why it’s in my system. No?”
Sgt. Downing looked at Dr. Hamidi who shook his head. “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. Zolpidem doesn’t work that way,” said Dr. Hamidi, and added with an almost apologetic tone, “And of course I’ve looked at your chart.” Dr. Hamidi gently placed his hand on Patricia’s arm. “I believe the confusion is exactly due to your chart. It seems like you were prescribed Ambien, a common sleeping pill, and Zoloft, an antidepressant, both earlier this month. Have you been taking them?”
“What? That can’t be! There must be a mistake!” Patricia looked from Dr. Hamidi to Sgt. Downing and back. “I’ve never taken anything like that in my life, especially sleeping pills or antidepressants. Never! I hate medication… that information is not correct, you have to believe me,” she exclaimed, the pain in her head suddenly acute. Patricia grabbed her forehead, her body trembling.
“What’s going on here?” demanded a voice from behind Dr. Hamidi. “Patricia, are you okay?” asked Paul gently as he quickly stepped around the doctor. Patricia looked up, her eyes swelling with tears, and grabbed Paul, hugging him tightly. Paul held his place, his arm around her. She was still trembling, her head pressed into his chest, sobbing quietly.
“Oh Paul!” cried Patricia.
“Shshsh, shshsh. Everything’s going to be okay, we’ll find out who did this,” said Paul softly, looking down at Patricia and caressing her hair. “Won’t we, sergeant?” he added as he looked up.
Sgt. Downing looked amused, his eyes catching Paul’s every movement, and frowned. “We’re doing our best, but there really isn’t much for us to go on here. And there is the compelling fact regarding the,” his eyes quickly strayed to Dr. Hamidi and back, “sleeping pills, which makes me be more inclined to—”
Paul waved his free hand in the air, interrupting Sgt. Downing. “Sergeant, I think that you are acting precipitously. I can personally vouch that Ms. Fowler is not the kind of person to take medications unless absolutely necessary,” he said. “From what I know of her, she believes in and is very strict about treating her body in a holistic way.”
Patricia looked up at Paul and smiled gently. Paul the big company director is here, she thought.
“She’s also a valued member of our team, a tremendous asset, and we need to know exactly what happened. I’ve instructed Mr. Marino, our chief of security, to help you with anything you may need,” he said as he took out a card from the inside pocket of his jacket and held it out to Sgt. Downing. “He’s going to be installing more cameras in the building today, especially Ms. Fowler’s new office, but he can be reached at any time. His direct number is on the card.”
“New office?” said Sgt. Downing surprised as he took the card. “Why a new office?”
Paul looked at Patricia and said, “Ms. Fowler was offered a new position earlier this week. She will be working in my department.”
“I see,” said Sgt. Downing, his steely eyes centered on Paul.
Suddenly, Patricia gasped and put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God! The man from last night. That’s what she was talking about. Paul, do you see?” Patricia looked up at Paul, who looked back bewildered.
“What man from last night?” asked Sgt. Downing. “Did someone visit you last night?”
“What? No! I’m talking about the man from the restaurant! This proves the Joker wasn’t a hallucination. Paul, tell him!” Patricia looked at Sgt. Downing, a triumphant look on her face.
“Ms. Fowler, I think you’re mistaken,” said Dr. Hamidi, glancing from her to Sgt. Downing and back. “You’ve been here since yesterday morning. Do you remember anything at all after the attack or since you were admitted to emergency care?”
“What? Paul, what the hell is he talking about? Is that true?” Patricia leaned away from Paul and looked up.
Paul nodded.
Patricia slowly lowered her head and focused on her hands. They were in her lap, facing up on the sheets, shaking. The silence in the room was deafening, all eyes on her, and she knew it. I have to take control. Enough of this crap. I’m not imagining things, and they need to accept it! Patricia took a deep breath and as she exhaled said in a controlled voice, “Okay, so I blanked out all of yesterday. But I’m sure that’s not uncommon, correct Dr. Hamidi? And it doesn’t mean I made everything else up.”
Dr. Hamidi cleared his throat and raised his brow, then with a slight nod said, “Not uncommon, considering both the physical and emotional trauma. And there is the fact that we don’t really know what you were exposed to, which could have possibly exasperated your condition. But it is also possible that—”
Patricia turned to Sgt. Downing. “So, the night before last,” she started, interrupting Dr. Hamidi, her voice still controlled but challenging, “Mr. Blast and I had a business dinner about my new position. That’s when this monster of a man attacked us as we were leaving the restaurant. He threatened Mr. Blast, telling him to leave me alone if he knew what was good for him, and then threatened me. I tried to pepper spray him but missed…” Patricia’s voice wavered, the control she was imposing on herself slipping away. She glanced up at Paul who was looking at her with concern.
“What happened next?” asked Sgt. Downing as he jotted down more notes in his pad.
Patricia cleared her throat and continued, “It’s a bit hazy, but I remember we ran across the street and I twisted my ankle on the curb and fell back down and almost got run over by a truck… this can’t just be coincidence. I mean, I almost got killed twice in two days for Pete’s sake!”
The room fell silent. The three men stood staring at each other.
“Oh, thank God you’re finally awake,” said Anna from the door. She was holding a tray with food and water. “It took them forever to get me this,” she said, and frowned at Dr. Hamidi as she walked over to Patricia and placed the tray on the bed table. “Have some water, you must be thirsty,” she continued, and swung the table in front of Patricia.
“Mr. Blast, anything you’d like to add? Maybe a little more detail, or something unusual you may have noticed about this man. Tattoos maybe, or other identifying marks?” asked Sgt. Downing. “And where did this happen exactly?”
Patricia opened her mouth to respond, but Paul shook his head and held up his hand for her to stop. “It’s okay, I’ll take care of this,” he said, and smiled warmly. Patricia smiled back. My knight in shining armor, she thought.
“Sergeant, I think we should let Ms. Fowler rest and eat. Why don’t we talk over there,” Paul said, motioning to the corner of the room with his hand.
Sgt. Downing shrugged and glanced at Patricia with uncertainty in his eyes, before turning and following Paul.
“I’m sure this is going to taste worse than dog food, but you have to eat something, right?” said Anna. She carefully removed the cover from the plate to reveal a mess of what resembled white, pasty, mashed potatoes with watery gravy, dehydrated thirty-year-old peas, and slithers of yellow, mystery meat. “Oh… my…”
“It’s okay, Anna. I’ll just drink the water. We should be leaving soon, anyway, right doctor?”
“Yes, whenever you would like. I’ve prescribed some pain killers to be taken as needed, but if there is anything else, please contact me,” said Dr. Hamidi, and held out a business card. Before Patricia could react, Anna grabbed the card.
“Oh, we will, doctor, you can count on that,” said Anna. “And you wait right here until I come back with these,” she said to Patricia. “In the meantime, have your lunch and rest.”
Patricia nodded automatically, looked to the corner where Paul and Sgt. Downing were talking, and bit her lip. Something wasn’t right. Something about Paul’s body language, his posture, was off. He was lacking his usual air of confidence, that I’m-in-control attitude that came to him so naturally. Suddenly, Patricia inhaled. Paul was nervous.
>
It was almost dark by the time they got to Patricia’s condo. Paul opened the door and stood back, allowing her to walk past. Patricia, still limping slightly, walked into the hall and stopped. The sight of her living room, the warm, earthy colors, and the familiar setting, was a welcome change from the harsh light and sterility of the hospital room. For the first time since she had woken up that morning, she allowed herself to relax.
“Home, sweet home,” said Paul, standing behind her.
Patricia turned and nodded. “It is good to be home. These past couple of days were just crazy, right? It almost seems like the universe was trying to ruin the moment,” she said, smiling sheepishly.
Paul remained silent, an amused but questioning look on his face.
“I mean, my new job… and getting to know you. It was all so unexpected and exciting, and I wanted it to be unforgettable, but in a good way,” said Patricia, and blushed. “You know?”
“I do,” said Paul, his eyes smiling. “And it’s been quite a unique experience. Believe me.”
“Good! Now that I’ve made things absolutely awkward, what do you say to a cup of hot tea? God knows I can use one.” Without waiting for an answer, Patricia turned and walked to the living room. She put her purse on the couch and doubled back, almost walking into Paul. “Oh!”
“Sorry, didn’t really know what you were doing,” said Paul, stepping to the side. He looked down at Patricia, his clear, blue eyes shining, a tentative but warm smile on his lips. They stood silently for a moment, then slowly, Paul placed his hand on Patricia’s face. “I’m so sorry for what happened,” he whispered, gently caressing her bruised cheek.
Patricia held his eyes with hers for a moment, then without a word, folded into him. Paul’s arms wrapped around her, holding her against him as she closed her eyes, encompassing her with his warmth. She could smell his usual musky cologne and felt her heartbeat quicken as he pressed her against his chest. Gently, he rubbed the small of her back, his hand moving methodically, his fingers massaging their way up, finally coming to rest behind her neck. His fingers were warm and smooth against her skin and she liked the feeling of having them entwined in her hair, parting them as he rubbed her neck.
