Chapter Eight
1196 Words
After Elizabeth left, he used the button next to his bed and rang for help. He waited a few minutes before a nurse came to see him.
“Is there any chance I can get discharged today?” he asked even before the nurse had reached his bedside.
The nurse, a woman in her sixties with white hair and a washed-out face, frowned at him. “Mr Douglas, I don’t think you will leave today. It’s too soon after your injury and the doctor would like to keep you for a bit more observation.”
“What more is there to observe?” he demanded. “As you can see, I’m doing fine.” “There’s no need to raise your voice to me,” the nurse said, but her clear blue eyes sharpened and skewered him to the spot.
If he were a teenager and saw a look like that, he would tremble, but not now. He wanted out.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t like hospitals,” he apologized. “Could you possibly speak to the doctor and get him to come and speak to me,”. His tone and speech were respectful, and it seemed to appease her.
“I will look for him, now,” she promised then she pivoted on her heels and left.
George could see she was still a bit peeved at him and the way he had spoken to her. He wondered if she would go in to see the doctor or dally just to spite him.
He meant it when he told her he hated hospitals. The whole night he was in the hospital room, he never slept a wink. It was as if he could feel all the people who passed away going about as if they still had unfinished business. He hated the thought of ghosts.
George had not always hated hospitals. His dislike started when he was eighteen and his grandfather, Michael, passed away in a hospital like the one he was in.
He remembered going to the hospital, seeing his grandfather’s feeble form lying on the bed. Waiting for death.
Hospitals were lonely places, and he hated the idea of being alone, which was why he wanted to leave as soon as he could. He knew he would recuperate better in his place. The longer he stayed in the hospital, the more he felt like a sick person.
He shifted in the bed a few times, unable to get comfortable. Manoeuvring the bed into a sitting position, he adjusted himself and wondered if he could pull the IV out from under his arm and leave the hospital like they always showed in the movies.
It would be stupid, but the walls of the room felt too small, and he wanted fresh air. He would have gone through his morning routine of exercise, shower, then breakfast and work. The thought of eating the hospital breakfast, though it was nutritious, did not appeal to him.
With his good hand, he got his phone and found Ross’s number.
He put the phone on speaker mode and listened as the phone rang a few times before it was picked up.
“What is it? Are you dying?” Ross hissed in a sleepy voice.
Shaking his head, George smiled.
Ross was still not a morning person. “Can you pick up some breakfast for me?”
“Did you just ring me to bring you food? Do I look like your woman?”
George grinned at the phone. “You may as well be my woman the time I spend with you.”
“Nah, I like my women less hairy,” Ross laughed, now awake.
“What should I bring you?”
“Get me a shake and some cereal bars,” he said. Do you know the brand I like?”
“Of course, you’re a brand snob,” Ross laughed.
George could hear the rustling of covers and he could imagine Ross getting up out of bed.
“I’ll drop them off on my way to work,” he promised.
“This is why you’re my best friend,” George commented with a laugh.
“What best friend?” Ross grumbled. “I’m more like your b***h. You let me do all the dirty work.”
He grinned down at the phone. “Quit your bitching. You Know You Like It.”
“Fine, I’ll only be your b***h this once because I feel like I’m responsible for what happened to you.”
George felt the need to reassure his friend. Hearing him say he felt responsible made George wonder why he felt this way.
“How can you feel responsible?” he asked. “Did you send that guy to come and stab me?”
“Of course, I didn’t. I felt as if I had been there sooner and hadn’t come late, I would have been able to catch him,” he responded.
George could almost imagine Ross standing and pacing and rubbing his bald head as if it was a crystal ball.
“Come on, there’s no need to feel like that.”
There was a pause on the line, as if Ross were thinking what to say.
“Do you think it was the same guy you met in Jamaica?” he asked.
He thought about the man’s eyes and his voice. “Yeah, I think so,” he responded. George tried to move his shoulder and a stab of pain shot up his body, reminding him of his injury. “Don’t you find it a bit suspicious that it’s the same person?”
George listened to Ross as he breathed. “I think all the people we have as suspects need to be re-evaluated,” Ross said.
“Yes, I think so too,” George answered. “I’ve been thinking about it all night and there’s someone I haven’t thought about. When you get here, I’ll tell you, my thoughts.”
“Sounds good,” Ross agreed.
“Don’t forget my food.” George raised his voice just as Ross rang off.
Once George hung up the phone, he set the bed to recline.
Staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts were chaotic. He had laid in the room all night and all he could think of was else but the attacker and who could have known about the USB.
All the time there was one person he never considered who could have been responsible for what was happening to his company. He believed this person did not appear to be someone who would do something so heinous, but maybe he was wrong.
With nothing better to do until Ross arrived, he got his phone and began making notes as he thought of the person and how they could have been responsible for transporting drugs without his knowledge.
- Writer
