For Everything a Reason Read online

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Joseph looked towards his unexpected guest. “Yeah, why?”

  “What you watching?” Gore enquired.

  “Something about football and Michael Tucker.”

  Gore grinned knowingly. “Show Time!” he said. “Guy’s got a temper on him – that’s for sure.”

  “Yeah,” Joseph said. “Real glad he doesn’t box.”

  “I heard that.”

  “You want to watch the rest?” Joseph asked.

  Gore looked at his watch again. “Sorry buddy, replacement’s coming in ten minutes.”

  “You have a good night.”

  “You too. I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

  Joseph nodded. “Going home to a wife and kids?”

  “Nah… I like peace and quiet, got me a nice pack of Bud and a New York Rangers game.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Okay, you get some rest.”

  “Will do,” Joseph replied.

  The policeman disappeared as abruptly as he’d arrived, leaving Joseph to enjoy the show.

  Gore scooped up the magazine and placed it face down on the seat. He paced around for a few minutes, stretching cramped muscles. He checked his watch again. It was almost eight o’clock. Where the hell was his replacement? Then he heard the elevator doors roll open again. Like the last time, the carriage was empty. Was the damn thing malfunctioning in some way? He took a few steps closer, catching a small reflection of himself in one of its mirrored walls. Understanding his duties, he halted, about-turned, and then returned to the chair. The elevator’s doors rolled shut. A faint whine of machinery sounded as it continued on its way.

  Irritated, Gore grumbled and swore beneath his breath. He checked the time again. 8:05PM. He reached up to activate his two-way radio. Static ripped through the air with a jarring metallic screech. The officer winced at the grating noise. He twisted the volume to its lowest and then tried again. And again, he was rewarded with a jumble of crossed airwaves. Gore began to pace impatiently. The return of the elevator stopped him in his tracks. Surely this must be his replacement? The doors opened; the wall of mirrors inside the elevator again reflected the corridor at him.

  “What the hell?”

  He stepped closer. As the officer drew nearer, he became abruptly and inexplicably fearful. There was something decidedly wrong with the continued malfunction of the elevator. Why did it keep returning to the second floor empty? Something scratched at the back of his mind, desperately trying to claw its way to the front. The answer was there, plain to see, just waiting to be discovered.

  “Hello?” he hissed, unwilling to shout and disturb any sleeping patients.

  No reply came.

  The carriage was now just a few feet away from him. Two adjoining corridors broke away from his present position, stretching away in a gleam of white walls and polished floors. Both were empty. Gore stopped for a moment, trying to visualise what lay behind him.

  He’d been on his butt for most of the day, leaving his post twice to take a bathroom break. Both times, he’d called for security to come and replace him before heading for the washrooms. The first time, while Detective Carter and Tyler were present, a single guard had arrived ready to take over. The second time, just after visiting hours ended, Gore had excused himself, and then quickly tended to his needs. On the opposite side of the corridor were two alcoves. One led to a washroom; the other to a utility room with a supply cart. Only a couple of orderlies had entered on that side of Joseph Ruebins’ room. There was a single fire exit at the end of one short passageway, but it had a breakable catch, which would then activate an alarm system throughout the hospital.

  Confident that the rear offered no real threat to Ruebins, Gore stepped into the elevator. His attention turned to the bank of buttons. None were illuminated. Frowning, he tried his radio again, but received nothing on the airwaves, now confined and insulated within the elevator shaft. He stepped outside, and it was then he noticed the outside call button. A tiny sliver of plastic had been jammed between the button and its housing, holding the button in a permanent CALL position. Gore reached around the doorway and fumbled until his finger hit one of the inside buttons. He stood back and waited.

  The doors closed a few seconds later with a chime, and then the whir of machinery took the elevator to the selected level. Gore waited and watched as the level indicator situated above the doors changed from 2 to 6. A few moments passed and then the call button before him illuminated automatically, as if just pressed, and then the indicator dropped back to this level. Another short chime sounded and the carriage reappeared empty.

  “What the fuck?” Gore muttered.

  The light around the call button died, and the doors started to close again. However, as they did another doorway opened, immediately behind and to the left of the young officer. The elevator’s ring hid the slight noise of cracking hinges. Then, as the whir of moving parts filtered through to Gore, he missed the soft patter of shoes coming from behind.

  Gore’s head exploded with an unholy pain. His entire body jolted in uncontrollable agony. His lips peeled back in a hideous grimace and every muscle contracted as 10,000 Volts racked his body. He heard the crackle of electricity and smelled a tinge of burning ozone. The scream that threatened to form never left his lips, as the pain proved too great to tolerate, and instead, he collapsed to his knees, before tipping forwards onto his front. As the Tazergun pumped high voltage into Gore’s flesh, he twitched and thrashed involuntary, unable to fight against this agony, before he slipped mercifully into unconsciousness. And, as he did, bright lights flared before his eyelids. It was then, with his last thought, when Gore came to understand what had otherwise eluded him. All evening the elevator had been returning to this level, preceded by the illuminated call button. A button that he had been aware of, constantly ringed by light, as if pressed down permanently.

  Powerful arms scooped Gore’s limp form up and carried him into the nearest empty room. Darkness filled every corner of the room. Just a slight labouring of breath could be heard. Not from overexertion, either, but from excitement.

  Gore’s attacker waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then he moved towards the empty bed in the centre of the room. The sheet had been pulled back already, and Gore fell limply onto the bare mattress.

  Thick fingers clad in latex yanked out the prongs that had embedded themselves into the officer’s flesh. He wrapped the leads running from the Tazergun around the main body, and tucked it safely away. The meagre light cast a pale sliver against the polished surface of stainless steel.

  With the precision of a surgeon, the razor-sharp blade was drawn along the sleeping officer’s throat. Blood burst outwards in a dark bubbling froth. Gore’s severed windpipe gurgled in a ghastly inhalation of breath, and then his lungs filled quickly with his own blood. Within seconds, his chest shuddered one final time and the young officer lay still.

  The blade dropped away from Gore’s ravaged throat, disappearing from sight, and the figure took a step back. The killer stood poised for a second before drawing the sheet up over the corpse’s chin. The white hem turned quickly to red.

  If someone had walked in at that moment, at first glance, they would have thought that one of the City’s finest was here to pay tribute to a fallen comrade. The figure was dressed in a spotless dark blue uniform, buttoned smartly up to the chin. Pants that were pressed to military precision ran in parallel creases to shoes that gleamed with polish, even now, in this near-darkness.

  The killer reached up to straighten his cap. Eyes that were cold and merciless peered out from beneath the peak. He spun on his heels and crossed over to the doorway. He paused only slightly, his eyes turning to another body, this one crouched into an awkward sitting position inside an empty shower stall. Gore’s replacement. Then, without pause, the killer opened the door, stepped outside, confidently, before striding purposefully towards room 2b. He reached the single chair just outside of
Joseph’s room, and his thigh caught the corner of the magazine that lay there. With a flutter of heavy wings, the magazine fell to the floor. In the silence of the early night, the sound echoed like a clap of thunder. The killer paused.

  But all was as it should be.

  He stood outside the doorway and listened for any sign of movement. Only silence reached his ears. A smile broke across his face, an uncommon expression for him.

  He reached out, spreading his fingers like a hideous oversized spider, and pushed against the thin barrier. The door opened without a sound. He took one last look behind him before stepping into the hospital room. His trailing hand gripped the scalpel, which reflected like a spark of lightning.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The TV documentary that Joseph watched barely managed to hold his attention. His thoughts – worrying thoughts – simply refused to go away, hovering closely over Joseph’s mind, circling around his consciousness like a wake of hungry buzzards. He turned the sound down to its lowest. Then he let his mind wander, shifting his attention away from the colourful screen and its animated people, who spoke to him now in silent tongues.

  He placed the remote at his side. The small digital clock built into the TV’s plastic housing flashed 08:14 p.m. Joseph sighed. What had happened to his otherwise simple life? He should have been at home now, financially secure and ready to dedicate the rest of his life to his family. Instead, here he lay, limp and useless, no good to either his wife or his son. Now, he would have to remain in this hospital, reliant on others, while Marianna and Jake were left to fend for themselves.

  Joseph’s hand clenched itself into a tight fist. In a fit of rage, he brought it down hard, pounding against the mattress. His fist rose for a second time, ready to deliver another blow. It stayed motionless for a long moment. Joseph looked upon it. He opened his fist and then spread his fingers wide. They opened out, stiffly, before closing again to form a tight fist.

  Joseph gaped openly at this unexpected control of his right hand. Only now did he realise that he’d actually been using the same hand to operate the remote control.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said.

  His heart pounded quicker. The painful tingling sensation from earlier was still present, but less so now. He reached up to prod at the right side of his face. It still felt numb, like he was jabbing his fingers into a lump of clay. The smallest twinge of pain flared across his cheek. Yes, now that he thought about it, the right side of his face was starting to ache. He smiled, pleased with this unexpected development.

  He pushed back the bed cover until the blanket had gathered to just below the knees. The white of his boxer shorts stood out in stark contrast to the dark ebony of his skin. Now confident with the control of his right arm, he prodded at the large lump of muscle of his thigh. It was still numb, barely registering the presence of curious fingertips, but there was the slightest acknowledgment of feeling. Sitting up straighter, he ran his fingers along the length of his leg, finishing at his ankle. He pulled the blanket to one side, exposing both his feet.

  The toes on his left foot wiggled with ease. His attention turned to his right. They were less responsive, remaining rigid, which put the picture of a cadaver’s foot into mind, now requiring just the addition of a toe-tag. Joseph shuddered slightly. He focused all of his attention onto his foot. He imagined his foot had become a hand, and what he needed to do was form a fist out of his toes.

  Nothing happened.

  He huffed with frustration.

  Lying back against the pillow, he remained quiet for a moment, beaten.

  The crackle of a radio came from outside his doorway. Joseph turned towards the noise. He heard a mumble of words, Gore’s voice, and assumed the officer’s replacement had arrived and was now being given instructions.

  Not wanting to be found half-naked, Joseph bent forward to draw the sheet over his chest. As he did so, his right leg slipped from the edge of the bed and fell towards the floor. A burst of pain ripped along the length of his leg, starting from his thigh to the very tips of his toes. He winced in agony, bolting upright, half-sitting on the edge of the bed, and began to rub vigorously at the limb.

  Cramp, Joseph realised, as he continued to massage his thigh. He could feel that the muscles underneath his fingers had contracted into short lengths of steel. He continued to rub at them until he felt the pain subside and the muscles relax again.

  He sat on the edge of bed, with his back to the door. His feet dangled just a few inches off the floor. He slid forward until the tips of his toes connected with the cold surface. He continued to move forwards, placing both feet flat on the floor. Coldness gnawed at his left foot. His right felt mostly impervious to the chilly surface. Still, finding himself in an upright position, Joseph decided he’d try to stand.

  Using the bed for assistance, he climbed unsteadily to his feet. His left leg took most of his weight, and he tottered for a moment until he managed to balance himself straight. The right leg was unwilling to assist, just a straight length of flesh, which gave no real control over his movement. Nevertheless, Joseph grinned stupidly at this small triumph of standing unassisted. He turned to the doorway, wanting to call Gore in, ready to show someone – anyone – this unexpected achievement. But he heard the distant chime of a bell and understood instantly that it was the arrival of the elevator, here to take Gore on the first part of his journey home. Joseph huffed slightly. He thought about calling to the officer’s replacement, but the gesture would probably go unappreciated.

  Using the bed to remain upright, he manoeuvred slowly around to the other side, so that he was now only a few feet away from the doorway. It stood tantalisingly close. Just four or five steps separated Joseph and freedom.

  Could he make it outside and find a nursing-station, or even better, a payphone? There, he could reverse charges and surprise Marianna with a call. However, he remembered the possibility of the danger he was in, and paused for a second, understanding that the correct thing to do was stay within his room and keep safe.

  What the hell, he thought. If the guard didn’t like it, he could follow close behind with his weapon drawn. Nothing was going to stop Joseph from sharing this news.

  Now with a greater resolve, Joseph focused all of his attention onto the door. He took his first step, unsteadily, and was forced to throw his arms out in an attempt to maintain his balance. He wavered for a second, placing most of his weight onto his left leg. With arms still spread wide, he took his next step, using his hip to throw the limp right leg forwards by a few feet. Then, quickly, he hopped forwards and thrust his left leg in front of the other. To his surprise, he didn’t crash to the floor in a heap. He grinned again, pleased with his ability so far.

  It took a few uncertain steps for Joseph to reach the closed doorway. Now – the hard part. He reached out to take the handle. He pulled the handle towards him and the bright corridor outside filled the gap with a flood of white light. Joseph squinted against the glare. He pulled open the door, using it to keep his balance, and then slid along the doorframe until he had successfully vacated his room.

  He found the passageway empty. The chair was empty and the magazine that Eugene had left had been placed face-down against the seat. Gore was nowhere to be seen. Nor his replacement for that matter. Joseph cursed under his breath. A fine amount of protection they were offering. Still, at least there’d be no awkward or embarrassing scenes, or arguments about Joseph’s stupidity.

  The elevator at the end of the corridor was open.

  With his back against the wall, Joseph scanned both left and right. The corridor to his left was short and branched off in a T. What secrets were hidden on that side? He’d already endured a couple of trips via the elevator and knew the other side to be populated with staff and amenities.

  Would the other passageway offer the same?

  Maybe?

  “Okay, right it is then,” Joseph, said, deciding that the elevator was just too far for him to handle. He half slid and ha
lf walked along the wall, using his right shoulder and left leg to keep him upright. Eventually, just before his strength abandoned him, he reached the end of the main corridor. Two short passageways revealed themselves.

  One led straight to a fire door, which Joseph thought would then lead onto an emergency stairwell. A couple of shut doors could be seen on that side, but as they bore no numbers, Joseph guessed they were possibly used for storage or something similar.

  His attention turned to the other passageway. More doors, and only one with a number or sign stencilled across its surface. From his position, though, he was unable to read it clearly. He looked back the way he’d come, debating if he should go back. Curiosity finally won. What the hell, if he fell on his ass, then at least they’d have less distance to carry him back to his room. Whoever they turned out to be. The elevator had stayed open, and as yet, neither Gore nor his replacement had shown themselves.

  Joseph reached out with both arms, giving himself a Frankenstein-like stance then lurched over to the opposite wall. He rolled onto his back and then scooted around the corner and into the adjoining passageway. Now tiring considerably, he took a while to get close enough to read the sign on the door.

  The sign read: Visitors Washroom

  Joseph laughed out loud.

  It would be highly unlikely for him to find any help in there. He huffed with both tiredness and disappointment, and then began to make his way back towards the main corridor. As he did so the slight tinge of ozone brushed past his nose.

  Joseph summoned as much strength as he could, breathing heavily from the continued exertion, and pushed himself along the main wall. The smell of ozone got stronger. He reached the doorway opposite his, 4b, and stopped for a moment to take a breath. The chair was still empty, but the magazine had now fallen to the floor.