A Deadly Promotion

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  Passing the time, I checked my wristband to see if my identity had been entered correctly. “Paige Davis,” I mumbled to myself upon reading my name and noticing my correct birthdate had been added. I speculated whether Paul Williams stayed at the hospital long enough to give my vital statistics. Perhaps he simply handed over my purse upon admission and someone poked through my wallet to discover my ID. I wondered why he accompanied me in the ambulance and how he had returned to his car. Though it didn’t matter.

  Suddenly the curtain rings slid around the track creating a harsh metallic sound as Dr. Sai Bakshi approached my bedside and leaned in, hovering over me. “So, you’re back with the real world,” he commented. Blinking several times, I tried to orient myself to his abrupt presence. “Do you remember what happened to you?” he asked in a thick Hindu accent.

  “No, I don’t … other than leaving work with my friend Julie. We went into the stairwell and then I woke up with these injuries.”

  He nodded. “A concussion can cause loss of memory regarding the actual injury and the events leading up to and immediately following an impact,” he explained.

  “Will I ever remember?” I asked, hoping it might lead to what happened to Julie.

  “In time you may be able to recall what happened more clearly.” He paused, reviewing his medical notes on a handheld tablet. “In addition to your concussion, there was minor trauma to the occipital lobe. This injury may result in visionary problems, including the interference in recognizing colors, shapes and the perception of distance. There’s also the possibility of experiencing hallucinations.” He noted the frown on my face. “This area of the brain isn’t particularly vulnerable to injury because it is located at the back of the brain. However, you took a nasty hit to a concrete wall. But with your young age and possibly some rehabilitation, I feel confident you’ll be able to overcome any problems you might encounter over time.”

  “Might it be permanent?” I asked. “I thought brain injuries were irreparable.”

  “I think you’re going to be lucky. Most of your damage was to the protective skull. The other injuries were more related to a sudden jarring of the brain and not actual penetration. Besides, the latest studies suggest the brain may have the ability to heal itself. According to recent information, the human brain may be capable of growing new brain cells, or rewiring itself to bypass any broken connections.” He looked at me and smiled. “You’re going to be perfectly fine. I wouldn’t worry.”

  I forced a nod, feeling only somewhat comforted and a little apprehensive about what lay ahead for me. “How long will I have to stay in the hospital?”

  “A few days to allow us to monitor for any neurological problems. We also want to make sure there isn’t any further bleeding to the brain, and we need to watch for blood clots. Tomorrow, we’ll conduct a few tests to see if there are any areas of rehab you may need. If so, I’d like to get you started as soon as possible to improve your chances for a full recovery.” He paused to make a few notes on his electronic device and then focused back on me. “Do you have any questions for me?” he asked still checking his notes.

  “Yes, you said I took a nasty hit to a concrete wall. I thought it might have been an aluminum bat?”

  He shook his head. “If it would’ve been an aluminum bat, you might very well be dead. No, your injuries are much more consistent with your head abruptly contacting with a cement wall. Weren’t you in a stairwell?”

  “Yes,” I responded, remembering coming to on the landing between the 11th and 12th floors.

  “See,” he said, “you must’ve tripped and hit your head.”

  “No, my falling wouldn’t have involved my friend, Julie,” I disagreed. “She was at the bottom of the stairs, down from me … dead.”

  He bit at his lip. “Then I suspect one of you tripped and grabbed hold of the other to break the fall. Instead, you both ended up falling. If your friend ended up farther down the stairs, she most likely took the greater tumble.”

  Is that what happened? Or maybe even one of us tried to save the other and we both ended up falling. But if so, who was lurking in the hallway with an aluminum bat?

  Chapter Four

  “Well, get some rest,” Dr. Bakshi instructed. “We’ll know better about things tomorrow once some of the swelling has subsided.

  “Thank you,” I told him as he made a few notes on his iPad. “I’m not sure I want to be closed off,” I said as he pulled on the curtain to encase my bed.

  “No problem,” he said as he slid it back open on one side. “The nurse will be in momentarily to check on you. If you need any pain meds, I’ve already authorized their use.”

  “Thank you,” I repeated, thinking I wasn’t in any pain right now, probably still affected from the anesthesia. But later I might be glad the orders were already in place.

  Once he left, I regretted not having him completely open my curtain. It was still closed on the window side of my bed and against the end of the bed which blocked the TV. While I wasn’t sure I wanted to watch any television, it would’ve been nice to see the clock to know what time it was. As my thoughts rambled on, I wondered if Paul Williams was able to let the police know I’d noticed someone hovering in the hallway with a bat. I also wondered whether anyone from the police department would come by and question me.

  Eventually my thoughts landed on Julie. While I couldn’t remember anything about the accident, it broke my heart knowing she was dead. While she wasn’t a close-knit friend, I had enjoyed our office companionship and taking the stairs together. We often shared lunch in the breakroom and many a time we found ourselves in a full-blown gossip session over office politics. I would truly and deeply miss her. Overwhelmed by loss, mixed with survivor’s guilt, tears spilled over my cheeks and saturated my flimsy hospital gown.

  Having cried myself to sleep, I was awakened by the sound of the curtain opening to its full radius and the assault of a blinding overhead fluorescent light. Prying my eyelids apart and looking around, I saw a nurse was checking the machines I was connected to.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she apologized. “My name is Nancy. I’ll be your nurse for the night. How are you feeling?”

  “Sleepy,” I answered, unable to assess myself properly.

  My eyes followed her as she moved around the medical equipment, making notes on my heart rate, oxygen level, and even a urine bag. She looked blurry and I wondered if this was residual anesthesia, temporary symptoms of a concussion, or a life-lingering problem from the damage to my occipital lobe. Even knowing I was so lucky to be alive, much luckier than Julie, I couldn’t help but worry.

  “I’d like some pain medication,” I decided, feeling a tremendous pounding making its presence known in the back of my head.

  “Coming right up,” she said, making a note on my chart.

  Once she finished with her check-up and left to retrieve the medication, I noted it was dark outside the window, the night only lit by a multitude of streetlights and the illumination coming from interior lights glowing from the windows in nearby buildings. Glancing at the now visible clock, I saw the time was just after eleven. I supposed the police were giving me time to recover from my surgery, but would be by in the morning to question me … though I didn’t have much of anything to say.

  Several minutes later the nurse returned with a pain pill. “Here you go,” she said, offering me a tiny paper cup with an elongated capsule inside. “Oh shoot,” she said lifting a blue plastic container from my bedside table. “No one filled your water jug. I’ll be right back.”

  Disappearing from the room, I held the cup in my hands and closed my eyes, trying to relax against the piercing pain emanating from the back of my skull. Once she returned, she poured me a jug of water and screwed on the lid containing a flexible straw poking from it. After swallowing the pill, I took several long sips, feeling immediate relief to my parched throat.

  “Anything else?” she asked.

  “Do you know if my pur
se was left with me?” I asked, wondering what Paul might have done with it.

  “No, I don’t.” She checked the tiny closet and in each of the drawers but came up empty. “Sorry, it doesn’t seem to be anywhere.” She gave me a frown at seeing my disappointment. “Is there anything else?”

  “No, thank you,” I answered. She dimmed the lights as she was leaving. “If you don’t mind, I’d like the curtain closed to block the hallway view.”

  “Yes, of course,” she responded. “If you need anything else, just buzz me on your call button.” She made sure I could access the device and positioned my TV remote where I could reach it. “Get some rest,” she said as she closed the door and disappeared.

  Alone in my room, I did nothing but stare out the window and worry about my purse being somewhere unknown. It contained my phone, my driver’s license, credit cards and a good sum of cash as I was planning on a shopping excursion this weekend with my best friend, Amy Hunt. Did Paul have it? Had he turned it over to the police? Or was it lost or stolen between surgery and my in-patient room? Though I knew there wasn’t anything to be done about it, it added to my stress and increased the pounding in my head.

  Once the pain pill began taking effect, my eyelids drooped to the point I could no longer hold them open. Drifting into slumber with my head wrapped in a gauzy ball of bandages, I twisted my body farther to the side and fell asleep.

  Sometime later I awoke, feeling the presence of someone and figured it was Nurse Nancy doing another check. Blinking a few times and hoping to clear my blurry eyes, I focused on the curtain, expecting it to fling open and the lights to come on. When nothing happened, I strained my eyes and stared at the white drapery, just making out the silhouette of a figure standing on the other side.

  “Who’s there?” I called out. A rising panic in my chest caused my voice to come out in a croak. “I know someone is there,” I emphasized in nothing but a squeak. “I’m calling for the nurse,” I yelped, fumbling around for the call button. While my hand searched in a wild rage, I kept my eyes glued on the figure.

  “Can I help you?” a voice answered once I mashed the heck out of the button.

  “Help! Someone is in my room!” I screamed out.

  Then, just as quickly, the figure disappeared, melting away as if it had never been there.

  It was only seconds later when Nurse Nancy flew in the door, slammed on the light and yanked the curtain open. “What’s wrong?” she asked in a demanding voice, her eyes flitting about the room, but not seeing anything or anyone.

  “Someone was in here,” I told her, my attention steady on the door. “I saw a figure on the other side of my curtain.”

  She gave me a skeptical look. “I didn’t pass anyone on the way in here.”

  “Check the restroom,” I suggested, knowing it was the small room just inside the doorway of my room.

  Humoring me, she flipped on the bathroom light and made a good effort at looking around. “Nope, no one is in here.”

  “But someone was in this room,” I tried to convince her.

  “You know, I think you may have had a hallucination. It can happen after damage to the occipital lobe occurs.” She paused for a moment, taking in the look of disagreement on my face. “Look, why don’t I leave the curtain pulled and the door open? I’ll bring you another pill to help you get some rest.”

  “Okay, fine,” I relinquished. But in the back of my brain-damaged head, I knew beyond all doubt … someone had been there.

  Chapter Five

  When Nancy brought me another pain pill, I faked swallowing it. As soon as she left, I fished it from my mouth and tucked it under my pillow. There was no way I was sleeping. Not with whoever killed Julie, looking to kill me too. By all accounts, I had already been left for dead once. As far as I was concerned, once Paul showed up, the shadowy figure with the baseball bat had hid in the hallway, and now he had sneaked into my room and was just about to smother me … but instead I woke up.

  So, there I was, lying in a hospital bed, this time staring at the open door to my room. Taking on an all-night sentry duty, my eyes stayed glued to the hallway, watching as nurses periodically passed by in each direction. The only thing distracting me from my blurry watchful eyes, was the momentary glances at the clock ticking by so slowly I thought the night would never end. But even so, as the night drew on, I was more than once tempted to take the pain pill because the pounding in my head was killing me.

  Several times Nancy came and checked on me, concerned that my pain medication hadn’t put me to sleep. “Do you need another pill?” she asked, making a note in her chart to the effect I wasn’t resting.

  “No, I’m fine,” I lied, my head throbbing like a bass drum.

  When morning finally arrived, I was utterly and completely exhausted. Nothing else happened during the entire night and now what? Did I stay awake all day, hoping no one came in to kill me? In my mind, I had assumed daylight hours would make it more difficult for anything dreadful to happen. But with visiting hours beginning, it was more and more likely for people to enter and exit with less noticeability. The daily hustle and bustle might be more cover for my would-be killer. I should’ve thought this through better.

  My breakfast, consisting of biscuits and sausage gravy, included a nice warm cup of coffee. Hopefully, the caffeine would perk me up for a little while. Downing the last of the meal, I had just pushed the rolling tray back when Dr. Bakshi came by to check on me.

  “How are you feeling today?” he asked, reading my chart and then looking back at me. “It says here you didn’t sleep well.”

  “No, I didn’t. Someone came into my room and tried to kill me.” When my ears heard what I said, even I thought it sounded ridiculous. Then again, didn’t someone try to kill me?

  “Yes, I see the note,” he said in a tone, making it clear he didn’t believe me. “Well, remember, I mentioned you might experience hallucinations.” Then he looked at me as if my brain were totally messed up. “Are you experiencing any other symptoms?”

  “It was real,” I argued, ignoring his question. “Someone was there.”

  He frowned. “I’ve read studies about these hallucinations. One woman experienced seeing a headless person with arms attached to the neck.” He paused for a moment. “She also suffered from auditory hallucinations, hearing whistling noises like the sound of wind. Others have reported olfactory hallucinations, like smelling cigar smoke when there wasn’t any.”

  “No, it wasn’t a hallucination. Someone tried to kill me in the stairwell and then I saw someone in the hallway with a baseball bat.”

  “Ms. Davis, after having all night to think about things, do you remember what happened in the stairwell?”

  “No, nothing,” I replied. “I remember leaving work with Julie. We were walking down the stairs, and then bam, I was …” I trailed off. “Someone tried to kill me,” I finished.

  “I believe you and your friend fell in the stairwell and the man you speak of with the bat was most likely your first hallucination after the accident occurred. Last night was no exception. You’re scheduled for some tests this afternoon and hopefully we’ll know more about the damage once the results are back.”

  I just looked at him and kept my mouth clamped shut. It was real … both times. Someone was there.

  * * *

  Not long after Dr. Bakshi left, two men wearing suits hovered in the doorway, the taller one rapping on the metal frame.

  The police.

  My nerves escalated as the one in front called out, “Paige Davis, we’d like to have a word with you, if we might.” Instead of waiting for an answer, he barged in and approached my bed. “I’m Detective Tanner Sutton with the Fort Worth Police Department. This is my partner, Detective James Andrews.”

  “Paige Davis,” I said in introduction, though he already knew my name. He probably knew a lot I didn’t, and suddenly I felt unduly nervous.

  “I hope you’re feeling well enough to answer a few questions. We’v
e already spoken with your doctor and he has apprised us of your injuries. He believes as long as you feel up to an interview, we can proceed.”

  “I’m very tired right now and hardly remember anything at all, but I’m willing to give it a go,” I responded, hoping to get my interview over with. It was something I knew was coming, but something I had dreaded.

  Making himself at home, he shoved one of the complimentary chairs right up to my bed and gestured for his partner to pull up the other. Even through my blurry vision, I took in his broad shoulders and muscled chest, complimented by a strong chiseled jaw. For a moment I lost my tongue, admiring his overly handsome features. Self-consciously, I developed an awareness of my hair sticking out, my unbrushed teeth and the physical appearance of having been run over by an eighteen-wheeler.

  Pulling my eyes away from him to keep my mouth from gaping open, I distracted myself by watching the older of the two pull out a small pad and remove a pen from his shirt pocket. His partner was quite a bit shorter, slightly balding and chunky around the mid-section. However, my gaze immediately landed back on Detective Sutton when he removed his jacket and draped it around the chair. “It’s really stuffy in here,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No,” I answered, noticing his shirt tighten against his well-built torso as he pulled the chair underneath him.

  “To begin with, tell me everything you remember about the incident,” Detective Sutton began.

  “Okay,” I agreed. “Julie Mitchell and I both climbed the stairs each morning at different times, but we always left together after work. Yesterday was no exception. I vaguely remember hearing something behind me. Then I felt an impact to my head. It must’ve knocked me out because when I came to, I’d been there for at least an hour and a half. After realizing there wasn’t any cell service, and unable to stand, I scooted across the landing and used my butt to work my way down the stairs. When I began the lower half, I saw Julie at the bottom. I tried to hurry to her, thinking it might make a difference, but it was too late. Then I worked my way to the elevator and down to the lobby where I yelled for help. Eventually a man found me and called for assistance.”