by Joanne Fluke
“I’ll stay in, Stan. I promise. But when can I see you?”
“Not for a while.” Stan sighed. “Naturally, they’ll assume you’ll try to contact me. And that means they’ll watch me like a hawk. Let’s set up a time for a daily call. How about nine o’clock every evening? That’s not too late for you, is it?”
“No, that’s fine. But won’t they tap your phones?”
“Good thinking, Mikey.” Stan had raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t expected his brother to be reasoning that clearly. “I’ll call from a different phone each night. But don’t call me, whatever you do. Got it?”
“Okay, Stan. You’re the boss.”
“I’ve got to run, Mikey. Judge Strickland won’t be very receptive if I’m late for the meeting. Now stay inside, and if you need anything at all, just tell me and I’ll make arrangements to have it delivered. Check?”
“Check. Stan? The apartment’s great, and the clothes all fit, and—well, thanks, Stan, for everything.”
“Don’t mention it, Mikey. I ordered a bunch of movies, so you can play catch-up. And if you want to read, there’s a shelf in the bedroom with the latest novels. Now, I’ve got to run. You take it easy, and I’ll talk to you again at nine tonight.”
Stan hung up the phone and glanced around. No one seemed to be watching him. He thought about going to the men’s room, but that could wait until he got to the office. Denny’s facilities were undoubtedly adequate, but he preferred the luxurious surroundings of his own executive bathroom.
After his conversation with Stan had ended, Michael assessed his reflection in the mirror. He hadn’t slept well without his medication, and the king-size bed had felt too large. Despite his lack of sleep, and his nerve-wracking escape from the hospital, he thought he looked better than he had in a long time. Freedom had visibly changed him. The slack, hangdog look of despair that had pulled down his features had disappeared. It was a brand new life, and he was ready to live it to the fullest. Stan had told him about the video, the man-on-thestreet interview that had never been aired. He still didn’t remember the details of the night, but now he understood his reaction at Oakdale when he’d pictured a man with a microphone shoved in his face. From what Stan had said, he was still a prisoner, in a sense, but his surroundings were palatial compared with his small hospital room at Oakdale. And as soon as Stan had positively identified him as the man on the tape, he’d truly be free.
Was it time for his shower? Michael laughed out loud as he realized that there was no longer a regulated time for his shower. And he could stay under the spray as long as he liked. None of the old get wet, soap up, rinse off, step out routine for the man who was now known as Mike Kruger from Cleveland. He was free to act just like a regular person.
Even though he knew that there was no one watching to see how long he took, Michael finished his shower in the allotted five minutes. Old habits die hard. He dried himself on a fluffy green towel, the first colored towel he’d seen in years, and put on the blue warm-up suit he’d found hanging in the closet. A pair of brand new Reeboks in his size were nestled in a shoebox on the shelf, and he found dozens of pairs of expensive athletic socks in the dresser drawer. It was a pity that no one could see him. Not only could he act like a regular person; now he looked just like a regular person.
Michael figured he could get used to this kind of life. It would be a lazy day, no appointments with his caseworker, and no interviews with the reality therapist. His stomach growled, and Michael headed for the kitchen. He was hungry, ravenously hungry. He hadn’t eaten since his dinner at Oakdale, and when he’d arrived at the apartment last night, he’d been too exhausted to even think about food.
His mouth began to water as he opened the door and saw the array of food his brother had provided. Sliced ham, roast beef, and turkey breast, all wrapped in see-through plastic. A whole wheel of Brie, his favorite cheese, plus cheddar, and Jarls-burg, and Monterey Jack. There was a jar of Gulden’s brown mustard, the kind he loved, and deli pickles. He’d make himself a triple-decker sandwich and go to the living room to eat it. Maybe he’d catch the morning news or whatever daytime soaps were popular now. Attention Ward B patients. Michael Hart can eat while he’s watching television!
There was a huge loaf of crusty rye on the counter, and Michael put together a massive sandwich. Paper plates were in the cupboard, right where he’d expected them, and there was a built-in microwave over the stove. Michael cut his sandwich, covered it with a piece of paper towel from the wooden holder on the wall, and nuked it for forty-five seconds. Perfect. Now all he needed was a pickle and something to drink. Stan had laid in a supply of root beer, his favorite soda.
Ten minutes later, there was nothing left but crumbs. Michael realized he’d forgotten to carry his sandwich into the living room and sighed. Old habits again. He put the plate in the garbage, wiped off the counter, and poured the rest of his root beer into a glass, a real glass. Then he carried it to the living room, sat down on the couch, and clicked on the television set with the remote control.
Jeopardy was on and the host was still Alex Trebek. He didn’t really look any older although Michael knew he must be. Perhaps this was a rerun. Michael wasn’t sure. He hadn’t seen it before and it was new to him.
Michael leaned forward as the program was interrupted by a news flash. This was what he’d been waiting for, the news of his escape. They’d probably flash his picture and warn everyone that he was considered dangerous.
A picture appeared on the screen, and Michael frowned. A fire in Santa Monica? This wasn’t what he’d expected at all! He knew it was crazy, but he felt vaguely disappointed. He’d expected to be the center of attention, and his escape wasn’t even important enough to interrupt Jeopardy!
Michael shut off the television and headed back to the kitchen to heat himself a cup of instant coffee. If he hadn’t made the news by now, he probably wouldn’t. But the sense of being an unimportant cog in a giant wheel stuck with him as he waited for his coffee to heat. In the confined world of Oakdale, events had seemed to revolve around him. There were Michael Hart’s medications, Michael Hart’s meals, and Michael Hart’s time for therapy. But the real world was huge, and there were other, more important events. Out here, no one except Stan even knew or cared that Michael Hart existed. It was a sobering dose of reality.
Antonia Novak stood in the hallway, staring at the closed door to apartment 301. She was waiting for her best friend in the building. Doris Evans, so they could go for their morning jog.
The door to the stairwell opened, and Doris came barreling through. She was in her forties, with frizzy blond hair, and this morning she was dressed in a bright yellow warm-up suit that made her look like a very plump grapefruit. Doris had taken up jogging last year on her doctor’s advice. She’d lost a few pounds, but it was an uphill battle. Doris claimed all the exercise just made her hungrier.
“Hi, Toni. Have you seen him yet?”
Toni laughed and shook her head. Doris was the unofficial information network for the building. She knew almost everything about everybody, and this morning she’d called to say that someone had moved into apartment 301, right across the hall from Toni.
“No one’s come out, Doris, but I’ve only been here for a couple of minutes. How do you know he’s a he?
“By the footsteps. They were too heavy for a woman.” Doris bent over and started to do her stretching exercises. “I took some cookies down to Mrs. Ryskind in 201, and we both heard him. If we find out he’s single, and he turns out to be nice, I think you should try to make friends.”
“Forget it, Doris.” Toni grinned as she took the rubber band off her wrist and pulled her long red hair back in a ponytail. “You’re always trying to set me up, and it never works out. I’m perfectly content the way I am.”
Doris nodded. “That’s what you say now, but think about the future. You’re not getting any younger, and you haven’t even lived yet. It’s not natural for you to stay cooped up in your apartment wi
th only your computer for company. You’ve got to be lonely.”
“Okay, maybe I am. End of lecture, Doris. Now let me stretch, and let’s get started. I’ve got a lot of work to do today.”
Doris raised her eyebrows as Toni began her exercises. This was the first time Toni had ever admitted that she was lonely, and it was a step in the right direction. Toni was an attractive woman, but she never dated. Doris had a theory about that. Since Toni’s mother had died when she was quite young, no one had taught her feminine wiles. All Toni really needed was a couple of lessons on how to catch a man, and she’d be just fine. It was a good thing Doris was around to teach her.
As he sat at the table, enjoying his coffee, Michael decided that even instant tasted great. Caffeine had been restricted at Oakdale, and coffee and tea were forbidden fare for patients. He could understand that sort of restriction if there were medical reasons, but it was depressing to wake up to a gloomy day at the hospital without something hot and comforting to drink for breakfast. Cold juice or cold milk as the first beverage in the morning just wasn’t right. Why hadn’t they thought to serve decaffeinated coffee? Or even hot chocolate? He felt it would give the patients a lift.
The unfamiliar caffeine gave Michael’s system a real jolt, and he decided to make himself useful. The paper from the pickles made the whole kitchen smell like the inside of a deli. It was a nice smell, but normal people carried out their garbage every day. If he remembered correctly, he’d passed an incinerator slot by the elevator door when he’d come in last night.
The metal door was there, right where he’d remembered it. Michael dropped his bag inside and listened to it slide down the tube and hit the hopper in the basement. He was about to close the door when someone shouted.
“Hello, there!”
Michael turned to see a plump blond woman dressed in a blinding yellow warm-up suit. She was smiling, and he smiled back. Then he noticed the woman who was with her, and his smile widened. The second woman was gorgeous. She was much younger, and she had long red hair. Not even the baggy grey sweatsuit she was wearing could hide her delectable shape.
“New tenant?”
Michael nodded. He didn’t trust his voice. The older woman had asked the question, but Michael couldn’t seem to stop staring at her companion, who was jogging in place.
Her whole body was jiggling, and it took an effort to tear his eyes away from certain parts of her anatomy. He guessed that was because he hadn’t seen a woman in anything other than a white’s nurse’s uniform for years. Everyone wore uniforms at Oakdale, even the maintenance people. It was a convenient way to set the staff apart from the patients.
“You’re in 301?”
Michael nodded again. The younger woman was wearing a perfume he thought he recognized. Channel No. 5? No, that wasn’t right, but whatever it was, it certainly made him feel very short of breath. The women on the staff at Oakdale hadn’t worn perfume. It was against the rules.
“You must be the strong silent type, Right?”
Michael nodded for the third time, and the older woman laughed.
“Well, you may not be much on conversation, but at least you jog. Good shoes, those Reeboks. And I like your warm-up suit. It’s that new lightweight material isn’t it? I like a man who’s serious about his workouts. Most of the people in this building think that physical fitness mean driving to pick up their pizza instead of having it delivered. Were you looking for the track?”
Michael nodded again. He really couldn’t force out a word with the younger woman so close.
“There’s one two blocks from here, but they haven’t resurfaced it in years. I’ll show you our personal two-mile circuit instead. My name is Doris Evans, from 408. And this is Antonia Novak, apartment 305. You can call her Toni. Now, what do we call you?”
“Mike, My name is Mike Kruger.” Michael gave the name on the phony identification Stan had provided.
“Nice. I like it. Michael means ‘honorable’ in Hebrew. Of course, you probably already knew that. Most people know what their name means. Mine means ‘sea goddess’ in Greek, but I haven’t let it go to my head. Come on then, Mike Kruger, do your stretching and then we’ll go.”
Before Michael could think of an excuse. Doris had him going through a series of stretching exercises right there in the hallway. As she supervised his routine, she asked more questions.
“Are you married, Mike?”
“No. I’m single.”
“So is Toni. I’ve been married for twenty years to the only man who’ll put up with me. My husband is a man of infinite patience. Are you new to this area, Mike?”
Michael was about to shake his head, but he caught himself just in time. Mike Kruger had an Ohio driver’s license.
“I just moved here from Cleveland.”
“You’ll love California, Mike. It’s a paradise compared to the Midwest or the East. Of course, it always takes time to get used to a new area, so if you need to know where something is, just ask me. Or you can ask Toni. Isn’t that right, Toni?”
Toni looked surprised, but she nodded. “Of course. I’d be glad to help.”
Michael felt a pleasant jolt as he heard Toni’s voice, for the first time. It was warm but slightly tentative. He could tell she wasn’t as outgoing as Doris.
“Put your hands down a little lower, Mike.” Doris gestured. “Now lean against the wall and extend. You have to get the kinks out before we start. So what do you do, Mike?”
Michael froze, what did he do? Luckily, Doris jumped in before he had time to think of an answer.
“No, don’t tell me, let me guess. If you were a businessman, you’d be at work right now, so that’s not it. And you don’t have calluses on your hands. That rules out manual labor. You’re not suntanned, so you work inside. And you watch people intently, especially Toni, but that’s understandable. She’s pretty, isn’t she?”
Michael laughed and nodded. Doris didn’t pull any punches. He glanced at Toni and noticed she was blushing, but she looked amused. Good. She had a sense of humor.
“Okay, Mike. Switch to the other leg. You’re almost ready to run. Now, back to the subject of what you do. I get the feeling that not much escapes you, and that makes you a student of human behavior. You don’t look like a school teacher, because you’re not burned out. And I can’t see you as a doctor or a dentist. I know! I bet you’re either an artist or a writer.”
Michael latched onto her suggestion. Not an artist. She might want to see some of his work.
“You’re right. Doris. I’m working on a novel.”
“I knew it! And you work at home?”
Michael nodded and Doris beamed. “That’s wonderful! Toni and I work at home, too. I do custom sewing for a local designer. Toni? Tell Mike what you do.”
“I’m a computer researcher.”
Toni stepped a little closer, and Michael felt his heart beat faster. Since she didn’t seem inclined to elaborate, he searched for something to say.
“I’m afraid I don’t know much about computers, Toni. What kind do you have?”
Toni began to smile as she described a laptop with a second external hard drive with a graphics card that was on the cloud and hooked up to her hotspot. Mike didn’t have the slightest idea what she was talking about, but he noticed that she didn’t seem shy at all when she was describing the equipment she used for work.
As soon as Toni stopped speaking, Doris reached out to grab his hand. “Okay, Mike. Let’s go get some exercise.”
Then, before he even had time to catch his breath, Michael was jogging down the hallway between Doris and Toni, heading for the door to the stairs.
“Where do we go from here?” Michael slowed a little as they approached the door.
“Up one flight and past the four hundreds.”
Doris led the way, running up the stairs backwards so she could continue to talk. Toni followed her, and Michael was treated to an even more enhanced view that thoroughly destroyed his breathing.
“In case you don’t know, this building has seven floors. We don’t bother with the first or the second. A couple of tenants down there have little dogs, and they always yap when somebody runs by. The hallways are six hundred and sixty feet long. We make a circuit, jog back to the starting point, and go up the stairs to the next floor. You’re breathing heavy, Mike. Are you out of practice?”
Michael grunted his assent, and Doris gave him an encouraging smile.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have you back in shape in no time. Anyway, by the time we’re back down on your floor, we’ve done exactly two miles. Not counting the stairs, of course. They’re a bonus.
“That’s nice.”
“Nice? It’s great!” Doris opened the door at the top of the stairs and motioned him through. “That means we can jog every morning, rain or shine. And the hallways are heated in the winter and air-conditioned in the summer. It’s an even seventy-six degrees, and we don’t have to inhale the smog. It’s a perfect surface for running, and no one’s home after eight in the morning, so we don’t disturb the tenants. I’m really glad you moved in, Mike. There are times when Toni and I feel like nuts doing this all by ourselves.”
They were jogging past the four hundreds now. As they approached the end of the hall a door opened, and a uniformed policeman came out. Michael’s heart jumped into his throat, and he turned his face away.
“Hi honey. Hello, Toni. Are you two girls ready to come down to the station and run my boys around the track?”
The two women stopped to jog in place, and Toni grabbed his hand, so he had to stop, too. Her fingers were firm yet soft. He’d forgotten what a real woman’s hand felt like.
“Not unless you put us on the payroll.” Doris laughed and kissed him. “Besides, your boys are so out of shape, they couldn’t keep up with us.”
“She always says that.” The man winked at Michael. “This looks fairly serious with the handholding, Toni. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
