Fook

by Brian Drinkwater

  “Excuse me,” Derek greeted the overweight nurse behind the counter.

  “Yes,” she responded without looking up as her fingers continued to fly across the keyboard

  “Hi, yeah, the girl out front, Jessica, told me that my sister was back here and I was wondering if you could point me to the right room,” he looked around, feigning confusion.

  “What’s your sister’s name?”

  “Tillmore, Tabitha Tillmore.”

  “Tillmore, Tillmore, Tillmore,” the woman’s fingers stopped as she closed her eyes and thought for a moment. “Yeah, Mrs. Tillmore was discharged hours ago.”

  “Are you sure?” Derek asked, frustrated.

  “Yes I’m sure,” the woman responded with an exasperated sigh. “I just did the paperwork ten minutes ago,” she glanced over at the neatly stacked files on the other side of the keyboard. “Now is there anything else that I can help you with?” she asked in a dismissive tone, however before Derek could answer, a loud crash drew the heavy woman from her chair. “Debby! Really?!” she cried out at a young girl who’d just dropped an entire tray of urine samples all over the hall.

  Without so much as another glance, the woman made her way around the counter and over to the seventeen year old girl who’d already begun to cry as she hesitantly attempted to pluck each of the scattered containers from the yellow puddle surrounding her feet.

  Finally managing to pull his attention away from the chaos taking place all around him, Derek returned his gaze to the stack of completed paperwork beside the computer. Looking around, he cautiously made his way behind the nurse’s station, and ducking below the counter, he removed the stack of files from the desk and began flipping through them. Between the stack in his hand and the pile of unaddressed charts on the other side of the computer he wondered what the hell was going on that day or was this just a typical day in a Boston city hospital?

  Johnson, Gilbert, Murray, he riffled through the names at the tops of the forms.

  Perez, Michaels, Tillmore.

  “What are you doing!?”

  Looking up, Derek spotted the redheaded nurse standing on the other side of the counter looking down at him. He didn’t have an answer, so he did the only thing he could think of. Pulling Tabitha’s file from the stack, he threw the other files at the angry nurse as he leapt over the counter and bolted for the doors.

  “Security!” the woman yelled as she tried to grab Derek as he passed, but failed as he contorted his body to stay just out of reach.

  Somehow forgetting about the lake of urine, and young Debby still trying to salvage what she could from it, his foot hit the puddle as he began sliding down the hall, doing everything in his power to maintain his balance as his feet kicked the scattered cups even further from the girl’s desperate reach.

  Clear of the yellow ocean, he managed to regain his balance and burst through the doors, back into the waiting room where Jessica was still pleading with the angry crowd in front of her.

  Running past her, “Thanks again, Jessica!” he yelled as he spotted a security guard emerging from another hallway.

  “You! Stop!”

  “You're welcome,” Jessica, along with the rest of the waiting room, stood in shock as Derek nearly crashed through the automated glass doors, out onto the street.

  Though glad to be out of the building, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the police showed up and with nowhere to run, he didn’t know where he should go.

  “Get in the car!” a voice suddenly called out to his left.

  Turning, Sarah came into view behind the wheel of a car as she pulled alongside the curb.

  “What are you doing here?” Derek asked, both surprised to see her and by her impeccable timing.

  “Hey!” the security guard emerged from the building as Derek opened the car door and dropped into the passenger seat.

  “Go! Go! Go!”

  With the tires squealing, the car lurched forward just as the guard’s hand smacked against the window.

  “What the hell was that?” Sarah questioned, her adrenaline pumping as she weaved the car along the street, around the corner and out of sight of the hospital.

  “I told them about the future thing and they tried to lock me up,” Derek joked.

  “See. I told you.”

  “Why’d you come back?”

  “Something told me you might get yourself into trouble. I came back to stop you but I guess I was too late and now the cops are going to be looking for me too.”

  “I doubt they got a good look at you or your plates and you guys don’t have traffic cameras or iPhones yet so I think we’re fine.

  Sarah just looked at him with a puzzled look. “What’s an iPhone?”

  Holding Tabitha Tillmore’s stolen file up, “It’s not important. I’ve got the address but we need to get some proof first. Head south.”

  Doing as instructed, Sarah took the on-ramp for I-93 South as she sniffed at the air. “Did you pee yourself?”

  THIRTY-FOUR

  “Here you go, Daddy,” Katie entered the living room with a beer by her side and a bottle opener in her other, outstretched hand. “Can you give me hand with this? I can never get these things open when I want one,” she smiled, unable to hold a straight face.

  “Funny,” Phil grinned as she lowered the bottle opener and handed him the beer.

  “Who’s winning?” Katie asked as she curled up on the couch beside her father’s Lazy Boy recliner.

  “Not the Sox,” Phil huffed.

  “White Sox?”

  “Red Sox sweetie,” Phil glanced over at his daughter, confused by the fact that they’d lived in Massachusetts her entire life, yet when it came to sports she still didn’t know who the local teams were. Even if she could name the Boston teams she’d probably tell you that the Patriots played basketball, the Bruins played football, the Celtics played baseball and the Red Sox played hockey, even though they were currently standing in the middle of Fenway as shown by the new, twenty-six inch television in the corner.

  “The picture looks really good.”

  “It does,” Phil smiled proudly. He’d been talking about getting this TV for weeks, ever since they’d seen it at their local Bradlees a month earlier.

  Tired of hearing her father talking about the television and how much he hated the old fifteen inch he’d been watching games on for the past six or seven years, she’d finally had enough and snapped at him during one of his rants the previous week. She’d blamed it on hormones at the time, which seemed to pass as a reasonable excuse and would be making its way into regular rotation. Really though, she was just tired of hearing about the television. He used to do the same thing with her mother. He’d see something he wanted but out of a sense of responsibility, would decide that it wasn’t needed. For the next few weeks, all he’d do is talk about the item relentlessly until, just as she had done, her mother would finally snap.

  “Just buy the damn thing!” She’d usually shout, followed by an apology and the hormone excuse as well.

  Feeling justified in his purchase at that point, he’d run to the store and once again, the household could live in peace.

  “I don’t know how much better they can get,” Phil continued his admiration for his new toy. “When I was your age, the only TV we had was a thirteen inch black and white set with two big knobs and three channels.”

  “That’s horrible,” Katie gasped. “What did you watch?”

  “The only thing I really remember was the news and Mr. Ed.”

  “Did he read the news before Tom Brokaw?”

  Phil again stared at his daughter.

  “What?” Katie questioned her father’s confused look.

  “You don’t know who the Red Sox are but you know the lead anchor for NBC’s Nightly News?”

  “I know who the Red Sox are,” Katie smiled. “We don’t even live in Chicago and I know who they are.”

  Phil couldn’t tell if she was joking or being completely serio
us, managing to conceal her emotions behind a blank face as she continued to watch the game.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  “Pull in there,” Derek pointed to the dimly lit entrance, manned by a glowing sign which read, Cranston Liquors - Lowest Priced Spirits in Town.

  “Do you really think this is a time to be drinking?” Sarah questioned as she pulled into the tiny, abandoned parking lot.

  “We’re going to need some sort of proof if we hope to convince Mrs. Tillmore that she’s in danger.”

  “I’m not even sure I’m convinced yet,” Sarah smiled as she pulled the car up to the front door. “Besides, what sort of proof do you expect to find in a liquor store, except 100 proof,” Sarah couldn’t help but chuckle at her own joke.

  Though he found her inappropriately silly humor cute, he had only one thing in mind, get his ID back from the dickhead clerk and get to Mrs. Tillmore before Jason could.

  “Seriously though...,” Sarah’s humorous tone subsiding, “...what are we doing here?”

  “This is the guy that emptied my wallet last night,” Derek responded, peering through the windshield at the dark store windows in front of them.

  “The guy that was nice enough to drive you all the way into the city and leave you on my doorstep was the same guy you think robbed you?” Sarah asked confused.

  “I guess nothing’s free, is it?"

  “What makes you think he still has your ID anyway? He probably just took your money and ditched everything else.”

  “Probably, but I have to at least check. What other proof do we have?”

  “There you go with we again.”

  “Stay here. I’ll be right back,” Derek instructed.

  Making his way to the door, he attempted to see inside, to confirm whether or not the same asshole was working, but between the tinted windows and dozens of advertisements plastered all over the glass, it was nearly impossible. Grabbing hold of the door, he pulled toward him, only to be denied by the rattle of the lock as it pushed against the door’s metal frame. “What the hell?” he looked behind him at the glowing sign and then at the hours posted on the door.

  Mon. - Friday, 9:00 - 11:00

  “Looks like they’re closed.”

  Turning, Derek saw that Sarah had gotten out of the car and was now standing behind her open door.

  “I told you to stay in the car,” Derek barked.

  “I’m not a dog,” Sarah protested as she closed the car door and joined him at the entrance.

  Realizing that an argument with the independent and stubborn girl was pointless, “They’re not closed. It’s Wednesday. We have at least another twenty minutes,” he pointed at the sign before wandering away from the door.

  “Maybe they were dead and closed up early.”

  Derek didn’t respond as he made his way along the side of the building and around the corner, out of view.

  “Hey! Where are you going?!” Sarah shouted as she followed.

  Turning the corner, she saw Derek, walking along the side of the brick building and eventually disappearing, once again, around back. Jogging to catch up, Sarah rounded the corner to find Derek standing in front of a solid metal door.

  “What are you doing?” she questioned as Derek looked the door up and down.

  “I’m trying to figure out if the door has an alarm on it.”

  In her typically impulsive manor, she reached past him, grabbed the handle and pulled. To both of their surprise, the door swung freely open and to Derek’s relief, no alarm sounded.

  “You said we were in a hurry,” Sarah shrugged before proceeding into the building.

  Impressed by her dominance over the situation and apparent lack of fear, he quickly followed.

  The back door led into a back storage room with a small desk in the corner, on which sat a small TV monitor and VCR, likely connected to the store’s security cameras. The desk’s chair lay upside down on a pile of boxes beside the desk, two of its wheels resting on the box beside it as a cheap plastic, elementary school type chair stood in its place in front of the desk.

  “Hello!” Sarah called out suddenly.

  “Jesus,” Derek shouted in a hushed tone, almost reaching for her mouth to keep her quiet.

  “What?”

  “Do you want to get us shot?”

  “I’d rather let someone know we’re here than get my head blown off poking it though that doorway,” she motioned at the door leading into the store. “Besides, I don’t think anyone’s here.”

  “And what makes you think that?” Derek asked, curious. “All of the lights are still on and the back door was open.”

  “Woman’s intuition.”

  “Really?”

  Sarah smiled.

  Derek just shot her a look before slowly approaching the doorway. “Hello!” Noticing the look on Sarah’s face, “What?” he whispered. “Male intuition.”

  “Doesn’t exist.”

  “Hello!” Derek continued. The front door was locked! We were wondering if you could help us!”

  “I told you, I don’t think anyone’s here,” Sarah insisted from close behind him.

  Having received no response, he decided to test her theory and slowly peeked around the doorjamb, hoping that the bullet would travel wide and lodge itself in the wall instead of his head. As the store came into view though, no gunfire arose and Derek realized that Sarah too, eager for a look, was leaning around him to get her own view of the empty space.

  “See, told you,” she smiled as they both stepped through the doorway.

  Scanning the store as he walked, Derek made his way toward the front counter.

  “What kind of idiot leaves on all the lights and leaves a door unlocked? It’s like he’s asking to be robbed. Maybe he left my stuff back here,” Derek motioned behind the counter as Sarah wandered further into the store.

  Rounding the counter, the gun, which Derek had feared existed, was laying on top of the safe, directly below the open, register drawer.

  Looking around again, he suddenly had a very bad feeling about their situation as he made his way toward the open register. Surprisingly, all of the cash was still inside the till, only the coins were missing. “What sort of thief would steal only the coins?” he thought, staring at the register as the answer came to mind…”the interrupted kind.”

  “Eeek!” a scream suddenly filled the store.

  Startled by the sudden cry, Derek leapt over the counter and ran toward the scream. At the end of an aisle, toward the back of the store, eyes wide and hand over her mouth, stood Sarah, staring at the ground ahead of her.

  “What?!” Derek shouted as he came up alongside her. She didn’t need to answer him as the source of her scream became instantly evident.

  “Is that?” Sarah spoke through her hand.

  “Uh huh,” Derek nodded as he struggled unsuccessfully to look way.

  Sprawled across the linoleum floor was the body of the man he’d come to confront, only it looked as though someone else had already beaten him to it. On the floor beside the man was a broken bottle of Grey Goose vodka, its former contents sprayed all over the surrounding floor and displays. Its guilt in the recent murder evident by the red stains on its jagged edges and the dislodged shards still buried deep within the man’s throat.

  “What’s in his mouth?” Sarah continued in her horrified and muffled speech.

  Not noticing at first what she was referring to, Derek finally pulled his eyes away from the man’s wounds. Sticking out of the man’s mouth was what appeared to be a thin piece of plastic. Taking a step closer...

  “Don’t,” Sarah grabbed his arm.

  Freeing her grasp, he continued closer, carefully avoiding the diluted red puddle around the body.

  “What is it?” Sarah asked again.

  As he knelt down beside the body he made the mistake of looking into the dead man’s wide open eyes. It didn’t take a genius to see the horrific nature of his death but if there were any doubts, the terrified expression o
n the man’s pale face was enough to put them to rest.

  Concentrating on the barely protruding object, Derek tilted his head to get a better angle but still couldn’t make out what he was looking at. Trying not to touch the dead man’s skin, he grabbed the corner of the object.

  “Don’t touch it,” Sarah gasped and turned away as Derek pulled the thin plastic from the man’s mouth. “What is it?”

  Derek didn’t answer.

  “What is it?” she repeated turning and peeking through her fingers.

  “My license,” Derek held up the familiar card.

  Confused, Sarah just stared at the odd looking license. It looked nothing like the laminated card in her wallet. Leaning closer, it did say Massachusetts Driver’s License across the top with Derek’s picture below but even more unsettling was the date of birth beside the picture.

  11/18/91

  “You...the date...”

  “Hasn’t happened yet?” Derek helped her find the words. Finally he could see that she was starting to believe his story.

  “Wait a minute?” her belief began to fade, replaced by growing fear as she took a step back and placed her hands over her mouth again.

  “What?” Derek looked up confused before realizing what she was thinking. “No, I didn’t do this.”

  Continuing to back up, Sarah bumped into a wine display, knocking it and its bottles to the floor in a explosion of red.

  Jumping to his feet, Derek reached for Sarah’s arm to prevent her from falling.

  Screaming, she turned and ran.

  “Wait!” Derek cried, running after her, slipping on the wine and crashing into the shelf, adding even more bottles to the mix before catching his balance and chasing after her. “I didn’t do this! You have to believe me!” he chased her back into the storage room/office. Grabbing hold of her arm he spun her around, causing their feet to tangle and sending them both stumbling into the television on the desk.

  “Let me go!” Sarah cried, flailing at Derek as their current position had him pinning her against the desk, trying to regain his balance. “Let me go! Let me go! Please!”