STETHOSCOPE

Glimmering streetlights in the distance resembled lighthouses, faint beacons beckoning down the alleyway as he anxiously read the ticking on his stopwatch. Each second felt like eternity as he stood waiting to see Mr. Hughes’ humming vehicle stop by the bus station where he’d stood for an interminable hour. The road was quite harrowing, too quiet for a dense cityscape, and the lustreless image of the night in its sky posed the threat of an inundating deluge in the closest moment. The heart rate of the city seemed to lessen to a languid crawl, with time as timeless, as it draped the night in a suffocating enclosure of monotony, leaving only a sapless beam of moonlight spewed from the floating ash grey that tried to hide behind the overcast of a stratus cloud. The air, though cool, hung fairly stagnant and space-like empty, destitute of any whispers of excitement that always enlivened the city on merry Fridays – the city’s favourite choice for a round-the-clock revelry. A peculiar sensation nibbled at his toes, as the taste of silence permeated the vacuum alley like a dark disembodied spirit wandering through, weaving an eerie euphony that seemed to echo through the heavy stillness. The night wasn’t too deep, though. Except, Mondays were like the most decent times, people hardly spent nights in pubs and clubs, just ‘living the arms of time’, as the clause usually read from the very many voices. As he stood in the desolate alley, the weight of the night pressed down on him with the stretching moments, and the streetlights continued to flicker in a stark contrast to the oppressive lifelessness that enveloped the city. His breath hung in the air like a wispy exhalation that dissipated into the void, swallowed by the silence within the vacant alleyway. Suddenly, a distant rumble broke the tranquillity, the low growl of an approaching engine cutting through the night like a jagged blade. His heart quickened as the sound drew nearer, anticipation coiling in his chest like a taut spring. The sound of Mr. Hughes' vehicle was unmistakable with the twin headlights piercing through the gloom with a brilliant beam. As the car pulled up to the bus station, he could see Mr. Hughes behind the wheel, his face barely visible. The door creaked open, and he stepped out, “Bachelor,” a sense of ‘things didn’t go as planned’ in his movements. “Howdy? I'm, so sorry for the delay,” Mr. Hughes said, his voice low and quite exhausted. “We need to get going.” “You said you were not going to keep me waiting,” Elyas reminded and got into the car. “Guess, you aren’t much of a timekeeper.” “Whose guess?” Mr. Hughes followed. “Elizabeth thinks I’m going to see another woman – prettier, much flexible, not shapeless like she is, and doesn’t really deal much with trust issues.” “And, how does that change being-on-time?” “No idea . . . Maybe, spending forty-five minutes convincing her not to think like my archaic wife, Theresa – who always had a thousand reasons to divorce me squeaky clean? Yes. But, right now, I think she’s suffering from brain ageing, so I can’t blame her. She’s just being aware that she’s passed being my taste.” “You are something,” he muttered. “That is, in a good way, right?” Mr. Hughes asked as he started the engine. “If you prefer I lie instead, then, yes, it is in a good way.” “One day, a question I’ll ask God will be; How does an operating surgeon live this cold, and still hasn’t murdered a single patient yet?” “Because I do my job well,” Elyas replied. “Where are you taking me? It’s best I have a fair idea, whether heaven or hell.” “Heaven, only for bachelors.” Mr. Hughes jested. He grabbed the hand wheel, jolted the steering gear, and set the car loose onto the road. “But, fear not, I promise I won’t kill you. It’s better – in a way – than the ‘house of horror’ I’m sparing you from for the next few hours.” The cityscape blurred past them, the streetlights becoming a distant memory as they coursed through the labyrinth of empty streets. “I must say, you look fascinating in that blue cardigan,” came Mr. Hughes, making a turn to the right. “You should wear this colour more often, it has a touch on you.” “Blue isn’t quite my colour,” Elyas disagreed. “But it suits you,” Mr. Hughes came again. “It paints you out, the picture of a romantic doctor whose life, forever would remain dedicated to his bracing love life, and his impeccable life savings . . . It’s a nice description, don’t you think? Just picture it – by the sea, standing like a tall tree. She walks to you with a radiant smile, her eyes sparkling with confidence and warmth. Her curly hair bounces with each step, framing her heart-shaped face and bright, expressive features. Her skin glows with a healthy, sun-kissed radiance, and her full lips curve into a subtle, inviting smile. Her curves are accentuated by a fitted dress that hugs her body in all the right places, showcasing her toned physique and effortless style. She moves with grace and poise, her hips swaying with an insidious, sensual rhythm that commands attention. But it's not just her physical appearance that makes her – it's her confidence, her wit, and her infectious energy. She owns the area with her presence, and her warm, engaging personality draws you in like a magnet. You’d admit she’s a true knockout, inside and out.” Elyas ignored. “Where are you taking me?” he asked again. The drive seemed to continue onward without a due destination, the road still unfolding before them and disappearing into the murky night, behind them. “That’s not a possible answer. I told you, where we’re going is, only to be disclosed when you see it for yourself. Let’s call it a blind invitation.” “So then, drive,” Elyas said snobbishly, “Your car’s sweltering.” After a couple of minutes, they arrived at an end. Mr. Hughes brought his humming vehicle to a stop. “Uh-huh, here we are,” he said and stepped out, “Alan Johnson’s beautiful residence.” Elyas’ brow furrowed as he gazed up at the immense structure towering before him. Every extravagant carved detail spoke of wealth and prestige, but he couldn't fathom what business he had in such a surrounding. “Never seen a place like this, have you Bachelor?” Mr. Hughes quipped, misreading his puzzled expression. Elyas shot him a sideways glance. “As a matter of fact . . . no. Still care to enlighten me why we're here?” His inquisitive nature got the better of scepticism. There was clearly more happening beneath the surface – he only hoped Hughes would provide some needed context. His lips curled into a smile, as if privy to some private joke. Rather than answer, he nodded toward the entry. “All will be explained in due time. For now, let's greet our hosts, shall we?” He suppressed a sigh. Patience had never been his strong suit, but forcing the issue seemed impolitic. With cautious steps, he followed Hughes along the lavish stone pathway, mind abuzz with questions and theories. What sort of establishment demanded such opulence? And what role could he possibly play within its walls? Only time would reveal the answers, though his instincts urged vigilance. Little in life was truly as it seemed – here especially, he felt certain hidden agendas were at play. “Relax, they know you are coming, you are a guest.” Mr. Hughes patted him on the shoulder. “I told them all about you, so you don’t need to give a full intro about who you are.” Before he could ring the doorbell, someone opened the door, her face, sparkling with gladness. “Victor, you made it!” She hugged Mr. Hughes. “I wasn’t going to miss this proposal for the world.” “And you,” she looked across to Elyas – his hands pocketed, pretending he wasn’t there – and gave him a wave, “you must be Doc. Elyas, most spoken of by my good cousin here. Nice to see you!” He nodded, returning the gesture, “Likewise for me . . .” It was on the crest of his tongue to ask of her name when she ran into it, “Call me, Pauline, and I really prefer you’d both come inside so we can continue this conversation over dinner. We’ve been expecting you anyway.” She smiled and offered to lead them inside. The inside was no different from what he’d seen outside – it looked just an ornate exhibition hall, the kind that gave a rich feel of much to be admired with its aura of sophistication. Picture frames outstood on the white walls like a photograph album, each piece of solid memory, fragile and precious as the history it could give. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets as they walked, sighing as the picturesque atmosphere nestled him. “Bachelor,” Mr. Hughes shouldered, pointing to a younger picture of himself and the assumable Alan Johnson in a beach scene. “I miss those old years,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Alan and I, used to go there every year, mid-April. Watch the sea waves gracefully surge, and push throughout the tropical hours. And we’d play in the sand till the day ran dry.” Imagining amused Elyas, and he laughed. “I really need a day to listen to everything about your past life. Sounds interesting.” “Ah, those days, I would watch Victor and his cousin, like twins,” came Pauline, sharing with them the smiles on their faces. “Thereafter, I fell in love with Alan, many things, and as time passed on, we made a family with our daughter. She’s a doctor, just like you,” she told Elyas as they approached the dining room, her eager legs quickening. “Alan! Victor just arrived!” And there, another delighted face peeked from up a railway-like staircase. His hair, nearly grey but his body, with a strong masculinity that gave Elyas the doubt he was aged. “Victor!” He descended like a lose train, “And your guest, Doc. Elyas!” And when he reached, he hugged Mr. Hughes and shook Elyas’ hand till its joints felt failing. “Welcome.” “It’s very nice to meet you.” Elyas spread his lips like smiling, and slowly retrieved his hand. It seemed strange the boldness of Alan’s grin as he greeted, and the look of things imposed sort of a negligible scare. “Mr. Hughes told me all about you, and I deem it a great honour, to have a doctor in our midst for dinner tonight,” he said “The best of his kind, actually,” added Mr. Hughes. “I know your daughter too is a doctor, just like me,” Elyas mentioned, from Pauline’s words earlier. He glanced at Mr. Hughes slightly, the thought of an awkward happening trying to slip into his mind. “Yes,” answered Alan, “and she just came back home to stay today.” “That’s the occasion, Elyas.” “Then, I’m privileged.” Elyas gave the impression he wasn’t taking notice of how off-natural things looked; Mr. Hughes calling him by ‘Elyas’, and people he barely knew totally knowing him.