by Beth Aldrich
The room is deathly still, cold and impersonal. I wonder if I should bring flowers or a card or something the next time I come, just to soften the unemotional feel. In the corner is a wooden chair with ugly upholstery next to a rolling adjustable table that can be used by the patient, when or if they become conscious again. The trashcan next to the chair is empty, proof that family or friends have not enjoyed a snack, or anything for that matter, to toss in the bin during a visit. Maybe I should be staying here longer when I come to see him? It’s just that I don’t know what to do. After Steven stops communicating with me, my thoughts return to the stalker I’m tracking.
The door opens, derailing my rambling thoughts as we’re abruptly interrupted by Henry, the janitor who works at Dr. Deller’s office. I didn’t realize he worked in this building, too.
“Oh!” he says, shifting uncomfortably and looking like he wants to get out of here, fast. “I didn’t realize there were visitors. Scuse me.” As he finishes, he is already wheeling his cleaning cart back through the door.
My mind is racing. Why would a janitor from my doctor’s office building be working here, too? Or be parked by my son’s school? And why, of all rooms, would he be cleaning up this one? It’s quite the coincidence … or maybe it’s not a coincidence at all.
“Henry, it’s okay,” Dr. Deller says. “Were you coming in just to empty the trash or clean up?”
“I’ll come back later,” he says and disappears.
“That’s odd. Did you know that Henry also works here?” I ask Dr. Deller.
Dad chimes in. “Yes, that’s peculiar, don’t you think?”
He shrugs. “Not really. Since our office building is part of the large surrounding hospital campus, the custodial staff is shared.”
“Hmm, okay,” I sigh, not wanting to get into why I find this so fishy. I look at Dad and raise my eyebrows, indicating that we’ll discuss this later.
“So, having looked over Steven’s chart, I can confirm what you’ve been told already.” My doctor reads from the chart. “He’s stable, which is a blessing, but the surgery was a major one, as you know, so the best thing you can do for him now is to wait and pray.”
“I have been,” I say. “But how much can a person take?”
He puts the chart back and turns to me. “Steven is a strong person, but he’ll need to be here for at least a few more days. In my opinion, it doesn’t look like there’s anything suspicious happening here. The doctors have been pretty transparent with their notes, so, at this point, I think they’re right that it’s best for you to go home, get some rest, and spend some time with your sons.” He finishes with a warm smile and look of assurance.
I smile in return, trying to sound relieved as I say, “Thank you for everything. We’re going to stay here for a little while. I’ll let you know if I hear anything. I’ll see you soon.”
“All right. Betsy, Mr. Anderson, I’ll be thinking of you. I hope Steven recovers quickly. I’ll see you next week, Betsy.”
There’s no time to waste; as soon as we’re alone, I close the door to Steven’s room gently, so it doesn’t make a loud click.
“Dad, if you don’t mind, can I meet you at the cafeteria in about fifteen minutes? I want to sit quietly with Steven for a bit.”
“Not a problem, I’ll grab some coffee and read the paper. Take your time.”
Alone, I dim the lights and settle into the ugly, uncomfortable chair next to the bed and mentally reach out to my husband. I zero in on him despite all the tubes and wires and the IV pumping in medicine to control his blood circulation and pressure.
Steven, it’s me. I’m alone and want to check in with you. I know that the surgery went well. Dr. Deller checked your chart and says you’re doing okay, but you need your rest so I won’t stay long. I want to get home to the boys, but wanted to tell you I love you.
His quick response catches me off guard.
I knew you were here, honey. I could feel you, Cary, and Dr. Deller in the room with me. I’m doing okay, but I’m really worried about you. Your energy seems so drained.
Oh, Steven. it’s so nice to hear your voice. I’ve been worried about so much. I take a breath. I’ll get right to the point. I had a strong intuition that someone you didn’t know visited you today before your heart attack. Is that true?”
I want desperately to ask about his so-called brother’s visit yesterday, but I don’t want to cause him any extra stress.
Honestly, I don’t know. This whole accident and heart attack has really taken its toll, and I don’t seem to have one hundred percent awareness all the time. When a strong energy of love is near me, I can identify the presence—especially when you directly speak to me. I did sense your fear when you came in the room. Please don’t worry about me, just take care of the boys, baby, Barney, and yourself. I wish I could help, but I’m just so tired…
I sit silently receiving the response from his motionless body, lips unmoving.
Oh, honey, I understand; please don’t worry. I am concerned about your health, but I know you’re in good hands.
I realize that based on what Steven is sharing, he’s not reading my mind, the way I thought. Instead, he’s somehow picking up energy—positive or negative, my desire to communicate. Given this, I need to clarify what it is I’m trying to figure out when I tap into his consciousness. I realize that if I tell him the visitor could have been a threat, it could impact his health and healing.
I’m about to give up when he says, Betsy, I did pick up the energy of a man coming into my room earlier.
Who was it?
Someone I’ve seen before.
My heart begins to race. Wait, Steven, you’re telling me you’ve seen this man before? Where? When?
Silence.
This is important! I beg him to hear me. I need to know who it was… Steven!
Silence.
Knowing that he’s checked out for now, I try to get in one last thought before I leave. I love you! He needs to know I care about him.
Back at the house, we give Mom full details about running into Dr. Deller and my talking with Steven, as well as updates on his medical condition. We also share our suspicion of Henry and his barging in on us.
She lets out a vanquished sigh. “Betsy, I truly believe he should be the prime suspect because he’s always lurking around. It just seems too coincidental.”
“I understand, Mom, but I’m not totally convinced yet, and am not ready to rule everyone else out.”
“Understood, dear.”
Dad ends our update with Dr. Deller’s expectation that Steven will slowly but surely recover.
“Well that last bit is good news,” she says. “We need all the good news we can get because the boys are starting to wonder why he hasn’t called them in the last few days. I keep telling them he’s busy at work, but sooner or later, they won’t buy that.”
“I know, Mom, I have to talk to them about Steven. And I will. But what I’m most stuck on now is identifying this mystery man who’s gone into Steven’s room twice now. I can only assume this person is also the so-called brother. The hospital staff claim they ask for ID from visitors to the ICU, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s someone that works on the hospital campus, which would include the two adjacent buildings and the offices of Dr. Deller and Dr. Hildebrandt. The custodial staff works in several of the buildings on the medical campus, too.”
“Honey, have you thought that, if it’s not the janitor, then maybe your doctor is involved in some way?” Mom gets up from the kitchen table, stands for a moment, and then hastily crosses the room to make sure the side door is locked. “I can’t believe we forgot to do that earlier!”
My eyes follow her, waiting for the follow-up comment.
“Look, dear, all I’m saying is that we have to consider all suspects. I know you like your doctor, but hear me out. You’ve got to admit that you’ve been his patient for many years. Maybe he’s developed some deranged crush on you. Cary, what do you think?”
“Karen, it’s hard to know which one of these guys is the culprit.”
I understand what she’s saying because I do have a nagging hunch that something just isn’t right with him or his office. I can’t put my finger on it, though. Could my doctor, who has access to my personal information in his files, be stalking me like some sick and twisted teenager?
“Mom, I agree with you… but let’s look at this for a minute.” I motion for her and Dad to come back to the table and sit with me as Barney runs over and sits by my feet. I take a swig of my water and continue. “If, in fact, my doctor is out to get me, and has been sending me filthy letters that seem like they were written by a bunch of crude, shipwrecked sailors, then why has he also been so kind and sympathetic to me in real life?”
“Well, that’s simple. If he’s guilty, he’s not going to let on, is he?”
Mom is the one who got me hooked on the television series, Murder, She Wrote, when I was younger. She has the same sleuthing skills that I picked up from the show. “True. But then what do you suggest I do? Just stop seeing my doctor a month before my baby is born? Give birth at home in the tub?” Barney chuffs in agreement.
For a few days, while I was pregnant with Kyle, I’d flirted with the idea of having a home birth. I researched doulas, birthing tubs, and doctors who would be open to that type of delivery. The idea was squashed quickly after I talked with another mom who’d birthed at home. The part about floating in a warm tub of water in a dimly lit room was enticing, but the thought of gut-wrenching pain without medication ruined it for me. Not having thought about that aspect, I came home and immediately told Steven that I had changed my mind. I gave birth in the hospital—with an epidural, thankfully.
“Honey, we know that’s unrealistic. What your mother is trying to say is to be careful, that’s all.”
“Yes, be careful. But there must be a way to get to the bottom of this without you having to switch doctors. Perhaps while we continue to round up clues, you should act like everything is normal with him.” Seeing Mom in “solution” mode is more inspiring than observing the stress in her body over the past couple of days. It’s nice she’s turning anxiety into action. I need to follow her lead. My father is her perfect wingman, always supporting her ideas.
“Everything is normal with him,” I remind her. “At least, as of right now.”
“I understand how you must be feeling, darling. Just make sure you always bring someone with you when you go from now on.”
“Seriously, who has that kind of time, Mom? I go in there twice a week to check on the baby, or for my ultrasound—it’s quite the time commitment.”
“If we’re not free to join you, I’m sure your friend Misty would go along,” Dad says.
My mom nods her head in agreement.
The doorbell’s chime interrupts our conversation as Misty uses her key to enter. “Hey, neighbor, how’s it going in baby land? More importantly, how’s Steven?” Dressed in a tight pair of yoga pants, a pink tank top, and a matching zipper jacket, with dewy droplets glistening above her lip, Misty could’ve just run over from the gym.
“Misty, I’m so glad to see you. We were just talking about some things. Why don’t you join us for some tea while I fill you in?” I top off my lukewarm tea with a dollop of hot water from the kettle, add a packet of Stevia, and turn back to the conversation.
“Great,” she says, “but do you mind if I get myself a water instead?” I nod as she grabs a bottle of mango-flavored water from the fridge.
“So, get me up to speed, folks. My daughters are at their father’s house for the weekend, so I asked if they could stay an extra night tonight. I figured you could use some extra help around here.”
“Oh, wow!” I suppress the urge to jump up and hug her. “Thank you, Misty. You’re the best. Now let’s get serious and kick some stalker butt!” A spark of excitement races through me. It feels good to be excited about doing something other than sitting around waiting to be attacked.
“Yes, let’s. You, feisty little mama, you!”
Dad clears his throat, his brown eyes flashing serious. “Okay, girls, here’s the plan. Mom and I will stay here late until Betsy and the boys go to sleep and lock up as usual. Tomorrow, when she goes to the doctor, Misty, you can drive her over there and stay in the car to stake out the parking lot while she’s inside. With the staff and nurses, Betsy should be fine at the appointment. My concern is in the parking lot, because anyone could be lurking there in between cars or by the buildings.”
My mom chimes in, “We have our eye doctor appointment in the morning, but we’ll come straight back here afterward. Does that work for everyone?”
“I’m game to do anything, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. I’ve always wanted to be a Secret Service agent.” Misty assumes the shooting pose for added effect. Mom squints her eyes in distaste but doesn’t voice her thoughts. Luckily, Misty doesn’t notice.
“Fine by me. I’m happy to know I don’t have to go over there alone.” The spark of enthusiasm for our plan gives me hope and emboldens my belief that with their help, I can defeat this madman. “Misty, I’ll drop the boys off at school then swing by and pick you up on the way to my appointment, okay?”
“Sounds like a plan,” she replies. My new bodyguard gives a quick nod of her head and salutes me. Her dedication and energy is contagious.
Looking around the room at my security detail, tears of relief flood my eyes—falling quickly to my cheek, and trickling to the end of my jawbone, then onto my lap. There is no stopping this flood of emotion. Now that I have a chance of identifying this unknown enemy or preventing a potential attack, the release is overwhelming.
I peek through the slits between my eyelids, halfway amid sleep and reality. The pink, billowy clouds covering the rising sun remind me of cotton candy. Smiling, I roll over and see my loyal companion sitting on the floor, at attention, next to my side of the bed.
I imagine he’s asking, Mom, can we please go outside? He tilts his head to the side.
“It’s so early, buddy, go back to sleep. I don’t have to get up for another hour and a half.” I stuff the body pillow between my legs and squeeze my thighs together, forcing the feathers to retreat to both ends.
Resolutely, my dog stands his ground; the moan in his throat reverberates like an old door creak. He’s not giving up. He must really have to go.
“Okay, geez!” Rolling over onto my side, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, my toes meet my slippers. Balancing baby, we pad over to the bathroom to let mama pee first, then get dressed quickly and brush my teeth. Since I’m up this early I decide we could use a real walk this morning, not just our usual in-and-out experience that we’ve been doing the past few days.
I slip on a loose pair of brown maternity yoga pants, long-sleeved T-shirt, and a baggy white sweatshirt with zipper pockets that should keep me warm. I’m thankful it still fits over my ever-growing bump. I slide my sneakers on and pull my messy curls into a ponytail at the back of my head, positioning it directly into the adjustment hole in my baseball cap. Next I glide a thin layer of pink lip balm across my lips, lather a layer of moisturizing sunblock over my face and neck, and zip downstairs with my pup, grabbing my house key and phone to text Misty.
I quickly send her a text message to see if she’s already up and working out, and ask her to come over to my house in case the boys wake up while I take the dog on a much-needed long walk to the beach to regroup and get some fresh air.
She quickly types back, “Sure, gimme a couple of minutes.”
Confirming on the antique grandfather clock in the hall that it is indeed 5:35 a.m., I know that I have a good hour before I should be home to wake the boys for school. It’s Friday, which means they’ll be raring to start the weekend.
A few minutes later, Misty locks the door behind me, ensuring my sons are safe and secure as I head out into the early morning light for a brisk walk with my buddy. I put my pepper spray in my pocket, just in case I need it.
However, I can’t imagine my stalker being up at this hour.
While we walk along the desolate sidewalk at dawn, I think fondly of how often Barney and I have enjoyed early morning walks to the beach—just the two of us and a random squirrel or seagull.
This morning, the beach is deserted and peaceful, but I keep Barney on his leash until I’m completely sure there are no other dogs present. He tends to be very protective and will sometimes charge at other animals, including innocent ones. I don’t think I have the capacity to run and chase him down today.
The rising sun, coming from the east—the Michigan side of the lake—pops up slowly from what looks like the end of the earth, making its entrance for the day. The orangey-pink sprinkles float on the rippling surface of the water, reflecting on the dotted collection of boats in the harbor. The shiny rays of hope bring a new day.
The temperature near the lake is always cooler, with a slight breeze. I close my eyes to take in the fresh lake air bathing my face and the sounds of the seagulls grabbing their breakfast. My big sweatshirt is just enough to break the slight whining wind at my back.
The waves gently make their way to shore in a slow, melodious way, rhythmically setting the pace for our walk along the moist surface beneath our feet. With each step, the squish-squish soothes my senses and eases my mind, opening it completely—a good habit I learned while meditating.
Barney is walking one step ahead, keeping our pace as he swishes his head back and looks at me, as if to say, Mom, I love walks.
I decide to take this time and let him know what’s been going on lately. Not knowing if he understands me or not, I try.
“Barney, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy and have cut down on our walk time. I’m so worried about Daddy, the baby, and the bad man who’s bothering me.”
I imagine his response. I’ll help get that bad man. I love you, Mom.
I know this dog would do anything for me, and I for him. My imaginary conversation with him gives me a secure feeling, almost as if I were out walking with a friend.
