Hospital Corners

by William Stafford

  “Makes a change from calling me ‘one of them’ I suppose. Well, I dawdled through the town, got myself seen. If Kasper’s out there, he’ll know where to find me.”

  Miller handed him some sheets of paper. “New sides,” she said. “From Monty,” she rolled her eyes. “This is the scene we’re supposably filming.”

  “That’s ‘supposedly’, Miller. No such word as supposably.”

  “And to think I missed you,” she pulled a face. “Right, places everybody.”

  “Oi,” said Stevens. He raised his voice, “Places everybody.”

  The police withdrew. Brough perched on the edge of the bed and scanned the pages. “What’s all this, Miller? This woman is dying and you’re scolding her about dirty bedpans?”

  Miller shrugged. “Matron has standards. Bunny was very firm.”

  “I think you’re playing it wrong to be angry. I think it’s Matron’s way of saying goodbye. She really liked Nurse de Screens. So she’s not really telling her off. She’s just saying what she’s always said but it’s to mask how sad she is. How sorry she is to see this young woman die. You need to be more tearful, and only mock-angry.”

  “Uh?” said Miller.

  “Never mind. Think I’m going to improvise. Just wing it.”

  “Won’t Monty be cross?”

  “Miller, it’s not a real scene. We’re not filming it, remember?”

  “Then why did you just give me all that direction?”

  “Oh, shush! Let’s get this show on the road.”

  “Aren’t we doing it in here?”

  “Don’t try to be funny, Miller.” He shooed her away with his hand. “Someone shout action,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “And... action!” said Stevens from behind the screen.

  Dr Kilmore, as played by D. I. David Brough, took the patient’s bandaged hand in his. “And so, Paula, you see, there’s nothing more we can do. The skin grafts were fine but I’m afraid the damage to your lungs was too extensive. And what with losing your eyes and your tongue - no, don’t try to speak. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time and not much time at that. You’ll be gone by morning. I’m sorry to be so blunt but you know I never sugar coat anything. Which is why I’ve never won the interdepartmental baking contests. But I’m going to sit here with you, my dear sweet girl, and we can just remember all the stolen moments we enjoyed in the supplies cupboard, in the X-ray room, in the morgue... Uh, Matron, that’s your cue... ”

  He looked around. Miller walked on stiffly. A panicked look in her eyes told him she had forgotten her one and only line.

  “For fuck’s sake, Miller. Someone call cut.”

  “Cut!” said Stevens from behind the screen. “Hey, Dave; that was really good. Trust Mel to fuck it up.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Miller. “I’m not used to this. Places, everyone.”

  “Oi, stop that!” Stevens complained. “Places, everybody!”

  Brough went through his speech again and it was even better this time - if such a thing were possible. Miller strolled on a little too early but she made it look as though Matron was waiting discreetly for the optimum moment. She picked up the charts from the foot of the bed, looked at them, pulled a face and put them back. She stood over the bandaged patient.

  “The next time I look I’d better see my face in those bedpans,” she said, flatly.

  “Jesus Christ, Miller.”

  “Cut!” roared Stevens.

  “I’m doing my best!” Miller cried.

  “Well, I think we should get that old budgie to do it,” said Stevens. “She can’t be any worse.”

  “Wanker,” said Miller. She stormed away, sobbing.

  “Go after her,” Brough jerked his head.

  “Piss off,” said Stevens.

  “No, go after her,” Brough insisted. “I’m supposed to be left on my own, remember. The trap?”

  Stevens gaped. “Oh, yeah, shit. Right.” He scooted after Miller.

  “Take five, everyone,” said Brough.

  “Oi!” Stevens called over his shoulder. “Fag break!”

  Brough stayed where he was. He realised he was still patting the dummy’s hand and released it. Around him, the hospital loomed, an agglomeration of darkness collected in its corners. It was easy to understand why people think it’s haunted. There’s an echoey quality to the air, thanks to the high ceilings and the cavernous scale of the room. But there’s also a lot of twisting corridors and little alcoves - in any one of which a crazed killer might be lurking, waiting to strike...

  Brough shivered. And here I am, sitting in a spotlight, waiting for him to come and get me.

  He jumped. He thought he heard a footstep or two. He listened: silence.

  He felt foolish. The whole scheme was foolish. No self-respecting killer, however crazy, would fall for such an obvious ploy. He decided to call the others and tell them it was a bust. They might as well pack up and go home.

  “Oskar... ” a voice hissed.

  Brough froze.

  “Oskar... ” the voice came from somewhere else. Brough spun around.

  “Is that you, Kasper?” he said, in the film star’s voice.

  A shadow emerged but the figure held back. Brough held out his hand.

  “Come on,” he said softly. “It’s all right. I ain’t going to hurt you. You’re my brother.”

  Kasper hesitated. Brough took a step closer. He smiled Oscar’s million-dollar smile.

  Kasper roared with hatred and betrayal. He launched himself at the imposter, knocking Brough to the floor. He squeezed his hands around Brough’s throat. Brough struggled for air. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t call out. Where the fuck were the police? Had they really gone out for a cigarette break? Fucking idiots! He writhed on the floor while his attacker squeezed all the harder.

  Kasper’s eyes were wide and rolling. Spittle flew from his lips. His hair hung over his face as he sweated from his exertions.

  A metallic clang rang out. Kasper froze and then slumped. He fell on top of Brough who wriggled to get out from under him. The bandaged figure from the bed was standing over them, brandishing a bedpan.

  “Freeze!” yelled Stevens. “Nobody so much as fart!”

  Brough got to his feet.

  “Get back!” Stevens roared. “I’ll tazer the shit out of you, if I have to.”

  “Ben - it’s me,” said Brough, but he raised his hands anyway.

  “And who’s the fucking mummy?”

  “It’s me,” came the muffled voice of Oscar Buzz. Brough helped him unwrap his face.

  “What the fuck?” said Stevens.

  “Never mind that,” said Brough. “Get the one on the floor safely under lock and key before he wakes up.”

  Police officers moved in to secure the prone figure of Kasper Buzowski.

  “What are you doing here?” Brough asked Oscar, “You should have stayed at Serious.”

  “And leave you in danger, David? No fucking way.”

  “But - I wasn’t in danger!”

  “Oh, no! You forgot your fucking contacts, you - what did you always call me - you plum! No way was that going to fool anybody for a second.”

  Brough gaped. “But all the people in town... ” He turned red. They must have thought I was a right weirdo, he realised. Some poor sad Oscar Buzz wannabe. Oh God, I’m so embarrassed...

  “Don’t I get a hug?” Oscar opened his bandaged arms. Brough was reluctant. “I just saved your life, man. After all this time, you still ain’t going to give me a hug? I thought we were close. Dude!”

  “I’m technically on duty,” said Brough, lowering his voice. “But I’ll come to your hotel later. If that’s acceptable.”

  “I guess... ” said Oscar. And then he g
rinned. “But, please, dye your hair back to its natural colour. I don’t want to feel like I’m fucking one of my brothers.”

  20

  The following morning the team assembled at Serious. Wheeler was grinning from ear to ear. This was the part of her job she enjoyed the most - well, perhaps second only to biting someone’s head off - the congratulations and the acclaim that come after every successful arrest.

  Kasper Buzowski was in a secure unit, receiving psychiatric care. He would be flown back to the States as soon as he was deemed fit to travel. Luka Buzowski was at the Railway Hotel - nowhere near as glamorous as his millionaire brother’s accommodation but better than a kick up the arse with a pointed shoe. He had spent several hours filling Wheeler in on what he knew of his family’s early history and now she was about to impart that to her team in a debriefing.

  Lina’s doctor had been mistaken. She had not been carrying twins but triplets. The news had come as a terrible shock. The attendant nurse - Luka had tracked her down - confessed she had taken matters into her own hands. She told the cash-strapped mother that the third baby had died in its cot, when in reality she had sold him to an unscrupulous couple. Luka had tracked them down too. They said the boy had run away years ago and if they saw that nurse again, they’d demand a refund.

  The trail had ended at the facility for the criminally insane. Kasper, following years of cruelty and abuse, had travelled across the States leaving a trail of corpses and mutilated farm animals in his wake. When Luka told him who he was, Kasper had stared. It was like being stared at by a doll, Luka said: the eyes lifeless and malevolent.

  Luka’s visit spurred Kasper’s efforts to escape. With two guards dead, he got out and paid brother Luka a visit at the farm. Finding only Luka’s adoptive parents, he had killed them and burned their homestead to the ground. Then he’d set about tracking down his other, more famous brother, to take out the resentment he felt on him.

  “He blamed his mother,” said Stevens.

  “Haven’t you been fucking listening?” said Wheeler. “The mother thought he was dead. It was the nurse’s fault.”

  “So why didn’t he kill the nurse?”

  “Perhaps he would have, if we hadn’t stopped him.”

  “Er... ” Brough raised a finger. “Oscar stopped him.”

  “Either way,” Wheeler continued, “you don’t need to worry about the nurse. Harlan has sent his deputies to pick her up from her retirement home. Fuck knows how many unwanted babies she sold over the years.”

  “Who’s Harlan?” said Pattimore.

  Wheeler jerked her thumb at the white board behind her. “Sheriff Hardacre, to you.”

  “Oh,” said Stevens, “The fat bastard.”

  “Have some fucking respect, you bell end.”

  The Serious team smirked. It looked like Wheeler had made a friend across the Atlantic.

  “Um,” said Harry Henry. “What’s going to happen about the film?”

  “I don’t give a shit,” said Wheeler.

  “I can answer that one,” said Miller. “I was driving Bunny home last night and she got a phone call from the producers. It’s all off. They’re packing up and going home. The Hospital Corners film is no more.”

  “Oh well, shit happens.” Wheeler was philosophical. Then she turned to Stevens. “Hang about; wasn’t this going to be your big break? Why aren’t you fucking off back to the States with your new bosses?”

  Stevens turned red and looked away.

  “Come on; let’s have it,” Wheeler persisted. “Did you talk to them? Did you go to them and have that chat?”

  “Huh,” Stevens grunted. “They wanted a chat all right. They’d noticed my moves, all right. It turns out that tin of toffees I chucked was only rented. Rented and dented. They wanted me to pay for it. Tight-arsed bastards.”

  The team roared with laughter despite Stevens’s instructions for them to shut up and fuck off.

  “It’s Bunny I feel sorry for,” said Harry Henry when the merriment had abated a little. “I always used to watch her with my mum.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about Bunny,” Miller dismissed his concern. “As I was driving her home, she had a second phone call. All the publicity over the film and the murders has renewed interest in the old television series. They’re releasing the lot on DVD - and Bunny’s been asked to do a whatsit, a commentary on every episode. That should keep her gainfully employed for years.”

  “Will you keep in touch, do you think? You and your showbiz chum?” Pattimore asked Miller but he was looking at Brough.

  “I don’t know,” said Miller, “I hope so. See her for drinks at Christmas or something. Only not sherry, please God!”

  Everyone laughed. Except for Brough. He was grinning broadly, remembering his night of lovemaking with Oscar Buzz.

  “Oi, bugger-lugs,” said Wheeler, nudging him out of his reverie. “I said first round’s on me.”

  “Um,” Brough looked at his watch. He jumped up in horror. “Is that the time? Fuck, shit!”

  “Are you coming to the pub?” Pattimore asked, with a hopeful look in his eye.

  Brough shoved him aside and tore from the room.

  “I guess not,” Pattimore was deflated. Stevens put a consolatory arm around his shoulder.

  “Come on, fuck-faces,” said Wheeler, ushering them towards the exit. “We can drink his share and all.”

  21

  Brough and Oscar Buzz stood face to face at Birmingham International. Oscar’s flight to L.A. was due to leave in a few minutes. Around them, camera flashes went off and reporters yelled questions, and called Oscar’s name trying to get his attention. But Oscar only had eyes and ears for David Brough.

  “Your hair looks great,” he grinned.

  “You saw it last night,” said Brough.

  Oscar’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, was that you?”

  They laughed.

  “I can’t believe it happened,” said Brough. “I can’t believe you were really here. It all seems so... unlikely.”

  Oscar shook his head. “You put this down to coincidence? You really are -what’s that word again? - a plum. You forget I have clout. I was determined to come to England and meet the friend who’d kept me going these past twelve months. So when I heard they were going to make a movie in your home town, well - I pulled all the strings I could get my hands on.”

  “You - you chose to come here?”

  “Of course I did. I didn’t want to be in a crappy hospital-stroke-terrorist movie. I wanted to meet you. But I didn’t know where to reach you; you never gave me your address. And then -”

  “And then Dan the stand-in turned up!” Brough blushed. “I knew I should have been straight with you from the start.”

  “Oh, no,” Oscar laughed, “the last thing I want is for you to be straight with me.”

  The public address system announced last call for the flight.

  “You’d better go,” Brough’s face fell. “Hollywood awaits.”

  “Fuck Hollywood,” said Oscar. “I’m going to spend some time with my brothers. I’ll set the one up with whatever he wants, and make sure the other has everything he needs. Movies can wait.”

  “So this is goodbye, then?”

  “No, this is just a ‘see you’,” Oscar took Brough’s hand. The camera flashes went into overdrive. “This is a ‘tweet you later’.” He pulled Brough closer to him and folded his arm around him in an embrace. “This is a - well, I guess this is a status update.”

  He kissed Brough long and hard on the lips. The reporters couldn’t believe their luck. They clamoured for Oscar’s attention but he ignored them. With one last killer smile, he turned from Brough and walked towards the gate.

  The reporters swarmed around the mystery boyfriend and bombarded him with questions, but the my
stery boyfriend didn’t answer. He was watching his movie star lover walk away until he disappeared from view.

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