by T F Lince
“Charon, not Sharon. How was I to know, Molly?”
Dean clicked on the link and read the text out loud to himself.
Oh my God, he thought, so Charon transported the souls of the newly dead into the underworld. And anyone who could not pay the fee had to wander the shores of the Rivers Styx and Acheron for a hundred years.
He stood up and checked his trousers, locating the large coin. Looking at the gargoyle on the coin and then back at the Wiki page, he clicked on ‘danake’. He was sure Molly had called the coin a danake.
The picture on the page was identical to his coin, complete with the anchor on the back. So this coin was an all-expenses-paid pass to a place Dean didn’t want to visit anytime soon. He had avoided the ferry once and death at least twice; he now had to concentrate on proving to the man in black that it would be a good idea to let him go back to the real world. The world of Sarah and Jodie. It was comforting knowing where ‘back’ was all of a sudden.
He then typed in ‘the Grim Reaper’. Who else could the man following, judging and testing him, be? Google didn’t let him down. The picture accompanying the text speculating about The Grim Reaper’s role in mythology was of a skeletal figure with a scythe, not a tall, thin man with a silver cane, but Dean guessed that anyone who had seen him had probably never lived to correct Wikipedia. But it sounded like his man.
He needed to go back to the hotel as that was where all the proper answers were. Picking up his phone, he called Mrs McCauley to book in for next weekend.
“Welnetham Hall, how can I help?”
“Hello, Mrs McCauley, can I book in for this Friday?”
“Of course, Mr Harrison, I’m glad you’re coming back. We would love to see you; we thought that your visits were all over.”
“I’m glad they’re not. Can I have my normal room?”
There was a pause and a rustling of paper on the other end of the line.
“I’m sorry, Mr Harrison, but that room is taken. Someone else is in need of Room 119 that week.”
“But I always have that room. Can they not be moved?” Dean enquired.
“It’s not all about you, Dean, we do have other guests in need of our services.” Mrs McCauley was very matter of fact, and Dean knew the lady was not for turning.
“Have you got any other rooms?”
“Of course we have other rooms. We’re a hotel, that’s what we do. Room 117 is free. It is next door to 119 and is a fine room. I’m sure you will find it acceptable. You don’t need 119 anymore.”
Dean felt that he was not getting the full picture, but reluctantly accepted the alternative.
“OK, that’s fine. I’ll be there at the usual time.”
“You’re all booked in. It will be lovely to see you again, Mr Harrison, good day.”
With that, she hung up.
Dean thought about ringing Sarah and Jodie, but knew that it would be fruitless. There was probably very little connection between where he was and where they were, let alone a good mobile signal. He wanted more than anything to get back to the real world and put things right; he missed them so much. He was a fighter, though, and was now armed with the knowledge Wikipedia had provided him. Whatever the fight brought with it, he finally felt like he was in control of his own destiny.
Sarah was getting ready to visit Dean in the hospital when the phone rang.
“Sarah, it’s Jack.”
Sarah had her phone balanced between her neck and shoulder, and was slipping on her shoes as she replied.
“Jack, what’s up? Are you OK?”
Jack was always OK. The question was more “Is Dean OK?” Jack seemed to be at the hospital more than she was. He had been a rock to her since she’d found out about Dean’s accident.
“Yep, I’m fine. A couple of the boys from work want to visit Dean this afternoon. Is that OK?”
“Yes, that’s fine, Jack. That’s nice of them. Which boys?”
Jack paused.
“Martin and Oliver…”
“Oliver? I thought he hated Dean. You told me…”
Jack stopped her.
“Leopards can change their spots, Sarah. I think he’s feeling a bit shit about what happened.”
“Well, so he should be. Dean wouldn’t be in hospital if it wasn’t for that prick.” Sarah went on the attack. “He’s a floppy-haired upper-class dick, Jack.”
“I know, Sarah, but he begged me. I think he needs to get a few things off his chest. He really means it, too – don’t you, Oliver?”
“Hi, Mrs Harrison, and you’re right, I am a prick.” Oliver was obviously sitting next to Jack in the car, and it dawned on Sarah that the phone call was on loudspeaker.
“OK, I suppose that will be fine, Jack.”
Dean had tubes coming out of his mouth and was still wired up to multiple machines, but everyone seemed to be amazed with his remarkable recovery over the last few weeks. His heart monitor was strumming a constant beat and his breathing was stable. However, although that was good, Dean had not shown any other signs of life. There was no REM; no movement or acknowledgment of any kind.
He was allowed visitors as the doctors thought that voice recognition could be the kick that he needed to get him out of a coma. And Oliver might just strike the right nerve.
Jack led the boys straight to Dean’s bed, then left them to it and headed off to the café for a coffee for them all. Oliver sat next to Dean and bowed his head, then looked at Martin.
“Martin, I’m so sorry for what happened. It’s all my fault.”
Martin could see that Oliver was hurting inside, but also knew that he was right. It was his fault.
“It’s not me you need to be telling, Ollie.” He pointed at Dean.
“I know, I know.” Oliver held Dean’s hand. “I know you won’t believe me, Dean, but I am so sorry. I bet you would not have crashed your car if it hadn’t been for me. If I could take it all back, I would.”
Martin walked round to Oliver’s side of the bed and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “The car crash is not your fault, Ollie, but maybe think next time, yeah?” Martin was not good in hospitals. He looked at Dean. “We are all rooting for you, Dean,” was the best he could come up with.
Jack arrived with three coffees. “Here you go, boys.” He could see the redness of Oliver’s eyes. “Have you said sorry yet, Oliver, you floppy-haired upper-class dick?” That was Jack’s new favourite saying.
Oliver took a coffee from Jack. “Leave it, Jack,” he said, “I feel like shit enough already. Do you think he will be OK?”
“He’s pulled through before and he’d been dead for five minutes then, so we know he’s a fighter. I don’t think he’s ready to go just yet, Oliver. Listen, what you did was wrong, but a lot of water has gone under the bridge since then, so don’t beat yourself up about. Isn’t that right, Yorkie?” Jack patted Dean’s hand.
“Thanks, Jack. Dean, you just make sure you pull through, OK?” Oliver vacated his chair for Jack and looked over to the next bed. There was an old man in the bed, all rigged up to machines like Dean. Oliver asked the lady sitting by the old man’s side if he could borrow the empty chair on the other side of his bed. She said nothing, but nodded before looking back at her husband, lovingly stroking his hand.
Jack had just sat down as Sarah walked in and headed straight for him. Like a well-rehearsed dance move they had been practising, Jack immediately gave up his seat and Sarah slid into it.
“Any news, Jack?”
“Nothing, Sarah. He’s not even batted an eyelid, not even when that floppy-haired dick was speaking to him.”
Jack smiled at Oliver; Oliver cast an ‘Is this going to last all day?’ look in Jack’s general direction, and got a gaze which said, “More like all week.”
“Hello, Mrs Harrison, I’m sorry about Dean, I really am.”
Sarah looked at Oliver, who did look sorry. All the confident edge that Dean had described had gone, and anyway, it was not a day for fighting.
“It’s OK, Oliver, what’s done is done. Hi, Martin.”
“Hi, Mrs Harrison. I think Dean looks well.”
Oliver gave Martin a kick under the table. Dean didn’t look well at all, but Martin felt like he had to say something and that was the best his brain could come up with under pressure.
“Yes, he’s never looked better, Martin.” Sarah smiled at Martin, letting him get away with his crass comment. Oliver might not have got the same response if he had said it.
“Right, you two, let’s give Sarah a bit of time with her husband.” Jack gave Sarah a kiss and said he would be back tomorrow evening. “Martin, Flopsey, come on. Mr Falconer will be wondering where you two are.”
As they walked out, Oliver and Martin turned and said, “Bye, Mrs Harrison,” as if they had rehearsed it for school assembly.
Chapter 26 – I’m Not a Nurse, I’m a Doctor
Sarah spent the rest of the afternoon with Dean, reminiscing about how they had first met.
“Remember, Dean? I had just qualified from med school and was working in A and E down the corridor from here. It was tiring being a junior doctor, and I was near the end of a twelve-hour shift when you walked in. Well, more like hobbled in.”
Dean, in his alternative world, had fallen asleep on the sofa in his apartment. As clear as a bell, he could hear every word Sarah was saying. As she spoke, his dreams joined in and took him back to his younger years…
“Awww!” Dean hobbled into the hospital using Jack as his crutch. They had been playing a charity match against other trading companies, each donating £1,000 to a kids’ charity for the privilege, at Upton Park, then the home of West Ham United, and were both in full Middlesbrough kit. As Dean sorted the kit for the team and was a lifelong Boro fan, it was the same strip for every match.
Sarah was looking at her watch when they arrived in their football kits and attempted to walk over to the seating area in the waiting room. Jack got up to book Dean in at reception as Dean was struggling to sit, let alone stand.
“I think it’s broken, Jack,” Dean said as Jack wandered off.
After a ten minute wait, Sarah grabbed Dean’s paperwork. “Dean Harrison,” she called. Dean looked up when he heard the call, and that was the first time he ever saw Sarah. She had blonde hair tied up in a ponytail and was wearing a white coat with a stethoscope hanging from her shoulders. Dean tried getting up, but as soon as the weight hit his leg, he fell. Jack caught him.
“Do you need a wheelchair, Mr Harrison?” Sarah enquired impatiently.
“No, I’ll be fine. Jack, give me a hand.”
Dean and Jack followed the white coat down the corridor into a curtained off area. Sarah went through the formalities of identification to make sure she had the right Dean Harrison.
“So, let me guess – you fell off your bike,” she said sarcastically.
“No, it was football.”
“Really? I would never have guessed.” Sarah looked up and down Dean’s Middlesbrough kit, and Dean smiled as the penny dropped. “So, Mr Harrison, do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Well, we were on the attack, but 2–1 down. Jack put me through down the right wing…”
Sarah held her hand up to stop him.
“Do you watch Match of the Day, Mr Harrison?” she asked while kneeling down to look at his leg.
“Yes, I never miss it.”
She smiled. “So you understand the concept of highlights?” She paused before adding, “I don’t need the full match details, just the point when your leg smashed into another solid object would be a good start. And, for that matter, a good end, too.”
“I was getting to that! So, Jack put me through down the wing and the full back wiped me out. Caught my left leg about half way up on the side.”
“OK, Mr Harrison, does this hurt?” Sarah pressed on his shin.
“No.”
“Does this hurt?” She pressed around his ankle.
“No.”
Sarah looked up at him. “Do you know how much time I spend in here due to sports injuries, Mr Harrison?” she snapped. “I bet this hurts, though, doesn’t it?” She pressed the side of his leg, and Dean’s head flew back with the sharp pain.
“Yes, Nurse, it does. If you knew it would hurt, why did you do it?”
“You’re lucky I did it before you called me a nurse. I’m a doctor. OK, you need an X-ray, Mr Harrison. I think you’re the lucky owner of a fractured fibular. Take this around the corner. If you’re lucky, I might not be on duty when you get back.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Jack.
“Are you trying to get me into trouble, Jack? Thanks, Doctor, and sorry about the nurse thing. I should have known by the stethoscope thing round your neck.”
She pointed to her name badge. “You might have known by this.” Dean looked at the name badge: Dr Sarah Summers.
“Sorry, Sarah.” Dean gave her a North Yorkshire smile and a glint appeared in his eye. “I can call you Sarah, can’t I?”
Sarah looked at him.
“No, you can call me Dr Summers, although I finish in an hour so you will probably not get the chance to call me anything. Good luck, Mr Harrison, and Jack, look after him. We wouldn’t want him to fall, would we?”
Dean gave Jack a stare which said, “How come you get Jack and I get Mr Harrison?”
Around the corner, there was a queue of people sitting patiently, waiting for an X-ray. Dean and Jack sat at the back in the only two seats left together.
“Well, what do you think?” Dean asked. Jack looked at him.
“I think it’s broken, Yorkie.”
“No, not about my leg, about the doctor. Doctor Sarah.”
Jack laughed. “Yorkie, you do take the biscuit. Do you really think you have a chance with her? She is way out of your league – she is beautiful, she has brains and she takes no shit.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
“I’ve already given you a few, but here are some more. One, she is gorgeous, so I’d be very surprised if she’s single and available…”
Dean stopped him. “She didn’t have a ring on. I checked.”
“Can I carry on?” Jack got permission with a rolling hand signal. “Two, she’s got brains, so she won’t fall for your bullshit. Even though you’re good at bullshitting, she’ll see through it. And lastly, she hates you. I thought she made that quite clear.”
“Yeah, but apart from that?” They both laughed before Dean added, “She is lovely, though. My type of girl. The fact she takes no shit is a bonus – in another world, maybe.”
Dean was called after an hour and had his X-ray handed to him in a brown folder. With the evidence, he was sent back to A and E where he handed it in and waited for an assessment.
A deep voice sounded. “Mr Harrison?” It was a doctor, but not the one Dean had been hoping for. Dean looked at the doctor’s name badge: Dr Darren Squires.
“Follow me, Mr Harrison,” Dr Squires said, taking the brown envelope from the tray on reception.
Dr Summers appeared from around the corner in jeans and tee shirt, having had a shower before getting changed. “I’ll take this one before I go, if you like, Darren. It’s getting busy in there and I know the history.”
“Thanks, Sarah, you’re a star. I know how much you like football injuries. Good luck, Mr Harrison, you’re going to need it.”
Dr Squires winked at Dean as he passed the X-ray folder to Sarah.
“Take a seat. Let’s have a look at the damage, shall we?” Sarah attached the two X-rays onto the viewer and flicked the light on. “Here it is.” With a pencil, she pointed out the break to Dean. “It’s not actually that bad, but it’s a fractured fibular as I expected. It needs to be in plaster for four weeks, I would say. It’s not a supporting bone, so it should be OK, Dean.”
“Thanks. Hey, you called me Dean.” If Dean were a puppy dog, he’d have been chasing his tail. Sarah looked across the room at Jack as if it had been an error. Th
ey both knew it hadn’t been.
“Officially I’m off duty…”
Dean was good at spotting opportunities, and he spotted one now.
“Well, if you’re off duty, maybe I can have your number. And when I’m all fixed up, I’ll take you out for dinner to say thanks.” Dean’s blue eyes looked bluer all of a sudden and were aimed directly at Sarah’s. She seemed to welcome the attention, but tried to give nothing away.
“Jack, is he always like this?” The question did not require an answer. It was more to buy time as Sarah thought on her feet. “I’ll tell you what, my dad owns a couple of racehorses. One of them, a two-year-old filly, is called Baby Doctor – I know, and yes, he did name her after me. She will be running in the next few months or so, not sure where yet. I expect I’ll be there for her first race. If you happen to be at the racecourse, wherever and whenever it is, pop by and say hello.”
Sarah gave Dean a wink which said, “If you want me, you’re going to have to do a lot better than ‘What’s your number?’” Her head tilted to one side, she smiled.
“Deal. Baby Doctor. Sarah, I’ll see you there.”
Sarah filled in the paperwork and put it back in the brown file.
“Right, back to the waiting room. They will call you to put you in plaster. It’s been nice meeting you, Jack.” She extended a handshake to Jack. “And, Mr Harrison, make sure you keep the weight off that leg.”
Sarah walked out of the room, shaking her head and wondering if she had really just been chatted up by an A and E patient. Dean had some balls, she had to give him that, and he was sort of northern cute. She smiled. Maybe he would show up, maybe he wouldn’t.
Let’s see how much he wants dinner with me.
Sarah gave Dr Darren Squires a wave. “That one is done, Darren, broken fib.” She handed him the file. “Right, I’m knackered. I’m off home – my bed is shouting for me. See you tomorrow.”
“Why the hell did we become doctors again? We never get any sleep.”
She patted him on the back.
“’Cos we love it, Darren, and we save lives.” Sarah turned and left the hospital, hoping autopilot would last long enough to allow her to get into her car and find her way home.
