Hutch Nightmare Men

by L. J. Vickery

  “You’re still here,” Paxton said from a few feet away, also sitting.

  “Looks like it.”

  “I didn’t sleep much,” the guy admitted. “I kept looking over all night to see if you disappeared.” He jerked his head to the other man, snoring slightly. “Gunni’s not a bad guy, but I don’t think he’s going to be much help with…all this.”

  “About Gunni,” Hutch whispered.

  “Yeah?”

  “I need you to know. If I’m not missing my guess, I think he’s got an addiction problem.”

  Paxton’s eyes grew wide and he hissed. “No shit.”

  “That going to be a problem for you. With your mother and all?”

  “I don’t think so.” He shook his head slowly. “But are you sure? He’s a pilot… Oh, damn. That’s probably why he’s here. He’s probably gorped when he flies.”

  “That’s my presumption. I just wanted to give you a head’s up.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep my eyes on him. And Hutch?”

  He saw sadness in the young man’s eyes.

  “Yeah?”

  “You’re disappearing”

  “So I am.”

  “See you back in the real world.”

  Paxton’s words faded out while Hutch tumbled into darkness of a new kind. It wasn’t purgatory, it wasn’t sleep. It felt more like…

  He didn’t have time to analyze it as a voice spoke right above his head. “I think he’s coming around. Honey! Get the doctor!”

  “Mom?” he mumbled.

  Aware that his mouth wasn’t moving right, he tried again. “Mom, is that you?”

  “Oh, Hutchinson, we’ve been so worried.” Her perfume, always cloying, told him he wasn’t dreaming.

  He forced his eyes open in time to see his father hurry from the room.

  “Where am I?” He turned his head and looked around. “Hospital?” He became aware of the rhythmic beeping by his head. Heart monitor.

  “We had you brought to Northwestern Memorial, sweetheart.”

  “How?” He cleared his dry throat. “Why am I here?”

  “You lost consciousness in the parking garage at your office. Thank God your secretary found you. He called an ambulance, then got our number from your contact information. And it’s a good thing. They were going to take you to—” she mentioned a hospital she disapproved of, “but I told them you needed to be here.”

  He cleared his throat again. “How long?”

  “You’ve been here almost two weeks.”

  Time had passed differently in purgatory, but not by much.

  His mother fussed with his blankets. “They ran every test possible and couldn’t find anything wrong.”

  Guess purgatory doesn’t show up on hospital monitoring equipment.

  He moved his arms and legs. They felt pretty strong for having gone unused. His brain was fully functional, too…and it told him to get discharged as soon as possible so he could go find Darby.

  She needed him. He felt it with an urgency he hadn’t noticed in the dreams.

  The door pushed open. “Well, Mr. Bates. Back to the land of the living, I see.” The doctor unwound his stethoscope from his neck, crossed the room and held it to Hutch’s chest. “You had us all pretty worried.”

  His father entered behind him.

  “Dad, can you get me some water?” Hutch rasped, noting the IV drip that did nothing for his thirst.

  “Of course… I think.” He turned to the doctor who was listening to Hutch’s chest. “Is it okay, Doctor?”

  “Certainly. But nothing else until we run a few more tests.”

  Not happening.

  “Sorry. But I’m fine now, and I’ve got things to do. All I need is a nurse to remove my lines,” he was hooked up to a catheter as well as his IV, “and get my discharge papers.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” the doctor admonished, taking a step back. “You’re not going anywhere. You’ve been out for two weeks. We need to do a few more—”

  “The labs and tests you’ve already run have been inconclusive. I fail to see how more will change that. Get me untethered,” he warned, “or I’ll do it myself.” He’d been to medical school, dammit. He knew how to free himself.

  “This is highly inadvisable.” The doctor’s brows lowered. “And regardless of what you want,” he almost looked smug, “your limbs will be uncooperative, having been dormant for so long.”

  “Hutchinson,” his mother broke in, her voice concerned. “Please do as the doctor says. Clearly you’re not yourself.”

  Nor did he ever want to be that pale shadow of a man, again.

  His father came in with a bottle of water, and taking it from him, Hutch downed it.

  “You should go slowly,” the doctor suggested acerbically, clearly not liking the defiance. “Your stomach won’t be used to it.”

  He felt fine. He felt more than fine. And hungry.

  “All my stomach needs is a giant burger, and I’ll be great.” He remembered Paxton pining for red meat and grinned.

  “We’ll start you off on clear liquids, and if you tolerate those—”

  Hutch growled. “What about me being discharged did you not understand?”

  “Hutchinson,” his mother admonished. “Be polite to the doctor.” She looked mortified.

  “Okay.” He regarded the physician. “I have something very important to take care of, and until I do, my blood pressure is going to be elevated, and I’m going to be an extremely belligerent patient. If, after you remove my lines, I fall flat on my face, you will receive a heartfelt apology, and may stick me with as many needles as you want. But unless that happens, I’m asserting my rights and demanding release papers.” He turned to his mother. “Is that polite enough for you?”

  “Oh, Hutchinson.” She looked crestfallen, and he realized she’d watched over his comatose body for two weeks. He softened.

  “I’m sorry, Mother. If my mission wasn’t urgent, I’d relish laying here and having you dote on me. But I have a patient.” He turned to address the doctor as well. “A patient who has been without my help for too long, and whose life may be in danger.”

  They would think he had a suicidal case on his hands.

  Let them.

  “Time is of the essence.”

  The doctor nodded. “I understand. I’ll get the nurse.” He shook his finger toward Hutch. “But if you feel faint, confused, nauseous, you are to come right back. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes Doctor. And thank you.”

  Two hours later—why did everything take so long in a hospital—he’d dismissed his parents, tested his legs and his equilibrium, pulled his clothes from the closet—the ones he’d worn every day in purgatory—and proved he was well enough to go.

  His briefcase was also there, as well as his uncharged phone. He pulled on his pants and stuck his head into the hallway. “Nurse?” he bellowed.

  When three stuck their heads out of rooms, he pinpointed the one who’d deftly removed his catheter. “I need a phone charger. Do you have one?”

  She nodded. “I’ll bring it to you in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” He pulled his head back in and finished dressing. By the time he was knotting his tie, the nurse had delivered the wire and he’d plugged his device in. Waiting impatiently for it to charge enough to sustain itself until he got to his car, he pondered his next few hours.

  Call an Uber. Retrieve his vehicle. Stop for food. Head to his condo, and with the help of his laptop, find Darby.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  For someone who’d been away from the real world for two weeks, he felt great. The burger had tasted like heaven, and his home…

  It smelled like shit.

  He held his breath and looked at the sink. Right. He’d left two meals worth of dishes, along with pans and scrapings in an inch of water. Bad timing, having fish. He went to the windows and cranked them open, uncaring of the cold air. He needed to breathe, then clean up.

  Fifteen min
utes later, pans scrubbed and dishwasher full, he pulled a carton of milk from his refrigerator and sniffed. Not bad. He poured himself a glass and set up his computer on the table.

  “Okay, Darby. Where are you?”

  The first thing he typed was Arkie’s.

  He got a grille, two barber-shops, a baker, lures…

  Nope. He tried again.

  Arkie’s Convenience Store.

  Twenty-two hits. He scrolled. A few had pictures. Those he could discount immediately. He knew what he was looking for. Patiently, he Googled directions, perused each map and hit “street view” when available, narrowing his search to three without visuals. One was in Memphis, Tennessee, one in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and one in Detroit.

  Memphis was the farthest away, so he called it first. Excitement had his foot tapping under the table.

  “Arkie’s. How can I help you?” A feminine voice answered.

  “Uh, I’d like to speak to Darby, please.”

  “I think you have the wrong number. We don’t have anyone here by that name.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry. Thanks.” He hung up.

  The closest Arkie’s was in Detroit, only a four-hour drive. He tried that one next.

  “Arkie’s Grocery. This is Jack.”

  “Hi, Jack. I wonder if I could speak to Darby.”

  “Nobody here by that name, bud. You got the right place?”

  “Uh, sounds like I don’t. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No problem. Good luck.” The line disconnected.

  He had one try left, and if he struck out, he’d have to look back over the pictures he’d dismissed. Maybe the place had been given a face-lift, and Darby’s dreams showed it in its “before”.

  He hoped it was Minneapolis. The drive was just over four-hundred miles. Better than anyplace half-way across the country. He dialed.

  “Good afternoon, Arkie’s Convenience.”

  “Yes, I wonder if I could speak to Darby.”

  “She’s not on right now. Would you like to leave a message?”

  Hutch’s tongue tangled around itself. He’d found her.

  “Hello?”

  “Uh, sorry. Cell coverage. You dropped out for a second.”

  “Right. I said she doesn’t work this shift, but I’ll take a message if you want.”

  “No. That’s okay. I’ll call back. When is she in?”

  “Who is this, anyway?” Now the person sounded suspicious.

  Hutch thought fast. “Just a customer, but she had me try a cup of coffee a few weeks ago, and I really liked it. I thought she could tell me the brand.”

  “Oh, man. You like that sludge?” He laughed. “Better you than me. But, yeah, you’ll have to talk to her. She changes it up every few days.”

  Thank God. If it had been a store brand, this guy might have had the answer.

  “She’s in at four tomorrow morning, and works ‘til eleven.”

  “Thanks. Have a nice day.”

  “You, too, man.”

  What the hell was he going to with the next twelve hours?

  Shower, pack, and drive to Minneapolis.

  A few minutes before midnight, he checked into a downtown Marriot. He wasn’t surprised it was a number of miles from his ultimate destination. With more research, he’d found that Arkie’s was in a rough neighborhood with little commerce.

  It raised his fears for Darby, but assured him he was doing the right thing. He wondered how Beletseri would view his rash behavior. He hoped she’d cut him some slack, because being hauled back to purgatory right now wouldn’t work.

  Sleep was out of the question. He was too nervous. And he’d been sleeping, in a way, for two weeks. What he did crave was food, and was pleased when the hotel clerk suggested an all-night diner a block away.

  He walked rapidly, laptop under his arm, pushing into a warm, retro eatery. The air was thick with the smell of coffee, pancakes, and syrup. He breathed it all in, sat, and looked at the menu.

  “I’ll take the hungry-man breakfast,” he told the tired-looking waitress. “And keep the coffee coming.”

  “You got it,” she told him.

  He opened his computer and searched the Minneapolis Star Tribune’s archives using the word “Arkie’s”. He got a hit from four months ago.

  Woman Assaulted During Robbery

  Early Tuesday morning, a clerk was badly beaten during a robbery at Arkie’s Convenience store on Wildwood Blvd. Police say the thieves got away with just over three-hundred dollars in cash, but not before a vicious assault that sent a young woman, whose name has been withheld for privacy purposes, to the hospital with serious injuries. She is said to have sustained a concussion, three broken ribs, internal bruising, and received over two hundred stitches. Police are asking the public for any help identifying the perpetrators. The investigation is ongoing.

  Hutch, having witnessed the attack through Darby’s dreams, hadn’t realized the extent of her injuries. As brutal as it had appeared, she must have downplayed it in her nightmares.

  He searched the News Tribune and the Minnesota Daily, but they told him nothing new. After he talked to Darby, he’d try to get a copy of the police report. That might give him more to go on.

  Two-thirty. He looked out the window onto the darkened street, and imagined she’d be awakening soon. She’d brave the cold and the dangerous, empty boulevard to get to work. He wondered how she did it.

  A lot of courage.

  With an hour to kill before her shift, he brought up his client notes from the week before purgatory.

  Margaret Wilverton: An older woman who’d lost her husband, and couldn’t sleep. He’d prescribed zolpidem. No additional notes had been taken.

  Hutch sighed. He hadn’t done his job. Not even close.

  Tanzy Dutchins: Peritraumatic dissociation due to a childhood sexual assault. Experiencing an altered sense of time with flashbacks. He’d written scripts for an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer, telling her he’d see her in two weeks.

  He looked over ten other cases, each with different symptoms, each having been prescribed drugs. He hadn’t attempted any psychiatric evaluations.

  Yeah. He was an asshole.

  He closed his laptop and took a long sip of coffee, appreciating the second chance he’d been given. He could…and would, do so much better.

  Thank you, Beletseri.

  He looked at his watch. Five minutes ‘til go-time.

  His hand shook as he took the phone from his pocket. What would he say? Hi, you may not know me, but I’ve been in your dreams. Or how about, I’m a licensed psychiatrist and I think you have need of my services. No. He could try, I believe your life is in danger.

  Every single one of those statements made him sound like a psychopath, but what choice did he have? Trembling fingers dialed the number.

  One ring…two…

  “Good morning. Arkie’s. Can I help you?”

  “Darby?”

  There were a few seconds of silence.

  “Yes, speaking. Who’s this?”

  “It’s Hutch.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Darby dropped the phone.

  She’d had a shitty morning. When she’d relieved Cy, he’d been more aggressive than usual, but she’d been lucky. An early morning cleaning crew had come in, which had sent him out the door with a parting bark about seeing her tomorrow. And now…

  She backed up against the counter, terrified. Who was really on the phone? Her eyes fastened to the window, she bent and wrapped her fingers around the baseball bat. Someone was outside, watching for her reaction. She was sure of it.

  Refusing to be cowed, she fumbled, yet retrieved the phone. “I have a weapon, and I’m calling the police,” she said.

  “No! Don’t! Darby, hear me out. Please.”

  Her brain screamed “hang up”, but her gut made her listen. “You have thirty seconds.”

  “I know this sounds crazy, but I was in your dreams. My name is Hutchinson Bates, and I’m
a psychiatrist from Chicago. You can Google me.”

  “Anybody can steal a name,” she retorted sharply.

  “But you know what I look like. You’ve seen me. We held hands. My picture is on my website. Look me up. Please.”

  Shaking, she dug her cell phone out of her pocket and punched it in. His website. His picture…

  “No,” she whispered in horror.

  “Yes. It’s me. And I need to see you.”

  “You’re in Chicago.” She should run, screaming from this impossibility, but instead she was acting like everything was normal. It had to be shock.

  “I’m here. In Minneapolis. I came to see you as soon as I could.”

  Hurt rose, unaccountably, and won out over incredulity. “You weren’t in my dreams the last two nights. Why did you leave me?”

  “It’s difficult…crazy, really. I didn’t want to. I need to see you to explain.”

  “How did you find me?”

  His laugh sounded genuine. “There aren’t too many Arkie’s in the country. I narrowed it down to three and called them all.”

  “You’re real,” she said, almost to herself.

  “I’m very real.”

  Her mind spun and she couldn’t access words, yet he remained on the line. Patient.

  “Darby?” he finally asked.

  She swallowed the huge lump in her throat. “Yes?”

  “Can I come see you?”

  “I’m at work.”

  He laughed again. “I know. I called you.”

  “Right.”

  “You’ll know me. I have on the same suit, the—”

  “You can come.” God, she hoped she wasn’t out of her mind. It could be some highly skilled con artist who’d planted subliminal… Wait. What was she thinking? Who would waste their time and resources on her?

  “Thank you.” It sounded like he was walking. “I’m so excited to see you again. I mean, meet you in person. Ah, hell, I don’t know what I mean. I’m an adrenaline mess right now.”

  A thrill moved through her. “Me, too. I think.”