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Missing Without Trace

Page 9

by P. F. Ford


  There were two small flower pots close to the back door. I snatched up the first one and was immediately grateful that he had never taken my advice not to leave a key under it.

  In my panic, it momentarily became impossible to fit the key into the lock, but eventually, there was a click and the key was turning.

  The poor old guy was slumped on the floor behind the door. There was just about enough room to squeeze through. Betty, sitting by his side, didn’t seem to notice me sliding around the door. She nudged the inert body with her nose, then threw her head back and let out another heart-wrenching howl.

  ‘Okay, Betty, it’s okay,’ I said, trying to sooth her.

  There was panic in those big droopy eyes as she turned to acknowledge me, but she had no time for pleasantries and went back to nudging and cajoling her master, who was stretched out on his back looking pale and fragile. My first thought was that he must have fallen, and I saw a small patch of blood had oozed from beneath the back of his head as if to confirm it.

  I’m pleased to say my brain chose the cool and collected path from there on in. I don’t want to think what might have happened if I’d gone for the full-blown panic option.

  I knelt by his side and tried to find a pulse. A faint fluttering told me he was still with us and, putting my face close to his, I could just about feel his breath. So, at least he was alive.

  In just a couple of minutes, I had an ambulance on the way. I’d been advised not to try to move him, but to keep him warm. I found a blanket from upstairs to do that. There didn’t seem to be much more I could do for him, so I sat beside him and did my best to try and comfort Betty while we waited.

  After the frenetic activity that had heralded the arrival of the ambulance, and the subsequent journey and arrival at the hospital, there had been an agonising wait while he was examined. It was the not knowing that was worst of all.

  Now I sat by his bedside. The monotonous hiss, click, hiss, click of the respirator led a quiet orchestra of hums and beeps, indicating the presence of the machines keeping him going. I’d been told they believed he had had a heart attack and hit his head as he collapsed. He was in a coma, stable but very weak. Right now, it was too soon to know what the outcome might be.

  I’d been asked if I could supply the names of his next of kin. That was the moment it really came home to me that he didn’t have any. Positive Pete and I were the nearest he had to a family.

  I just hoped we weren’t going to be attending another funeral anytime soon...

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