An Axis Oblique - Chapter Four

And so, it continues. Hope you're enjoying Volume One of my horror-epic, An Axis Oblique. Today's installment is Chapter Four. To read the three previous chapters, plus the prologue, simply scan the post index and take your pick.
Now, without further adieu...



–– Four ––

The Community Medical Center was a welcome addition to the evolving Maplewood landscape. There were a few local drop-in clinics in the area already, but nothing to rival this state of the art family facility. Even the closest hospital, while more than adequate, was little more than a nuisance to the average impatient patient, with its bloated wait-times and stuffy bureaucracy.
The waiting room at the CMC was almost luxurious by comparison. It was spacious, spotless and quite methodical in its carefully-researched aesthetic. Certain walls were painted soothing shades to bring out their calming influence, while others donned dreamy works of art; bright, colorful and always symmetrical.
Cynthia was unconscious of her tennis shoes tapping the anti-microbial carpeting. Across from her, a small boy about the same age as Patrick fidgeted next to his mother, sobbing and carrying on…while all around, people grew exceedingly intolerant...
“Sue Brevetski?” the Asian nurse called, and a very pregnant woman hoisted herself up from her chair and waddled off after her.
“How you doing, Patrick? Any better?”
“No…” he squeezed out. She wasn’t expecting much else, but didn’t want to appear unsympathetic to this roomful of strangers. With the overhead clock, she crosschecked her wristwatch. At least one was off. Either way, the boy’s mother was late.
“It hurts…” whined the child across the way.
“I know, honey. Just a little bit longer.”
“Mommy!”
“What do you want me to do, Eric? Everybody has to wait, okay? There’s nothing I can do.” It didn’t take a keen observer to see she was fed up.
“Sonya Belange?” the nurse called from the alcove. Behind her, an elderly couple acknowledged. Cynthia looked on, while on her lap, Patrick was fast asleep.
About five minutes later, the nurse re-emerged to a chorus of raised heads: “Roberta Luan…?” A woman in the second to front row stood up, excited.
“Cynthia…” Spinning around, she saw Mrs. McAllister coming toward her; hair tied back, wearing a dark brown winter coat with a white, imitation-fur collar. Her boots were tracking slush across the carpet and, though she did appear to notice, did not seem to care. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, sitting down. “I had one more house to show and figured on plenty of time, but…these people…” She sighed––then stopped, turning attention to Patrick. “How is he?”
“Bout the same,” Cynthia replied. “He just fell asleep about ten minutes ago…”
“Well…at least he’s resting...” she said, eying the room suspiciously. “Has he been throwing up? Did you give him anything to eat?”
“No, Ma’am.”
“What about medicine?”
“Only two teaspoons of Children’s Tylenol, which I found above the sink.”
“And…?”
“He said it didn’t help.”
“Well what else did you try? Do you even know anything about first-aid?”
“I have two younger siblings, Mrs. McAllister,” she said, “and plenty of hands-on experience. I’m also certified with the New York State Lifeguard Association, trained in CPR and many other life-saving techniques, in case you’d like to check up. I promise you, if there was anything else I could think to do I would have done it.”
“Well then. I guess there’s nothing left to do but wait and see what the doctor says.” And that was that––for awhile.
The two sat in silence…ten; fifteen; twenty minutes…before the nurse re-emerged from what seemed like her hiding place. “Gil Galavann?” A man in his mid-to late thirties looked up from behind a seven month-old swimsuit issue.
“Jesus…” muttered Mrs. McAllister; “That guy doesn’t even look sick.” and eyed him doggedly all the way down the corridor. “Maybe I should say something.” She may have been waiting for Cynthia to respond––but not long––for, before she could open her mouth, the anxious woman was halfway toward the reception desk…
She couldn’t do much but watch as the two of them argued at a barely-strained whisper; the former turning and pointing toward Patrick routinely––but to no avail. Cynthia figured the receptionist dealt with people like Mrs. McAllister on a semi-hourly basis.
“I tell you there is no reasoning with these people,” she said, tail tucked between her legs. “For Christ’s sake, all I want is for them to look at my son…” She stopped, clearly distraught––and crazy.
“I know, Mrs. McAllister.” Cynthia tried to sound reassuring. Mrs. McAllister looked up, placing a hand on her son’s tiny head, sliding it down to softly caress his back.
“You say you were a lifeguard,” she inquired…sort of…
“Four summers strait.”
“Henry never mentioned that.”
“He didn’t know. And you’re right. He never did delve too deeply into my credentials.”
The woman laughed to herself and Cynthia couldn’t help but feel a little insulted.
“Don’t take that personally,” she said. “If there’s one thing my husband’s a sucker for it’s a pretty face.” Cynthia was even more offended now––and flattered.
“How did it go with Nick?” She changed the subject. “Did he give you any trouble?”
“Nothing serious.”
“You know if that one wasn’t feeling well he’d be screaming it into a megaphone,” she said, looking down to Patrick with soft eyes. “But Patrick here just isn’t like that at all…” She was stroking his face now. Except for his tiny mouth, quietly pushing the air from his child-sized lungs, one might never have known he was in such discomfort.
“Patrick McAllister…?”
“Right here!” his mother blurted, waving her arms like the next contestant on The Price is Right. Cynthia rose with more dignity, looking out at the sea of angry im-patients: Those that were once my allies are now my enemies, she thought. Oh well.
* * *
The office was off-settingly generic and unimpressive. The doctor keeping them waiting went by the name of Pierce; a young man, or so Mrs. McAllister had been informed during her less than subtle questioning of the patient Asian nurse.
“I thought Dr. McGrady was on call today.”
“Dr. McGrady’s on sabbatical, Ma’am. There’s no need to worry, though. Dr. Pierce is an excellent physician,” she responded, making sure she got out cleanly.
“Wonderful. Shit! I can’t believe my luck this morning. First Henry, then the Diego showing, and now this…I mean, what kind of family doctor abandons his patients during the busiest cold and flu season of the calendar year…?”
“I’m sure the doctor on call knows what he’s doing.”
“Not to worry...” A young man in his thirties was strolling in, wearing a white lab coat with a chart in hand. “Dr. McGrady left you in good hands, I promise.” He looked the three over, extending a hand to the nervous mother. “Mrs. McAllister? I’m Dr. Randal Pierce.” She took it with an insincere smile. Pierce seemed oblivious, shifting his attention to the groggy little boy on her lap. “And you must be Patrick...” he said. The child acknowledged with a non-committal nod. “Not feeling too good, huh? Well, why don’t we have a seat up there on my special table and see how to fix you up, okay?”
“Okay...” Patrick made no fuss whatsoever as Mrs. McAllister stood up and carried him to the paper-draped examination table.
“Has there been any nausea, fever…?” Cynthia, who was about to speak––
“No.” Mrs. McAllister cut her off. “But he does have a temperature.” But Pierce had already felt the boy’s head and did not need her diagnosis. Moving over to a countertop, he opened up a drawer and retrieved a plastic-wrapped ‘popsicle-stick’...
“Okay, Patrick, now I want you to open your mouth real big and stick out your tongue like you’re making a silly face…” Unenthusiastically, the boy obliged, (though his face wasn’t all that silly). “Good. Now say ‘ahhhh!’” The child sounded more like a wounded animal. “Oh come on now, I know you can do better than that...”
“Ahhhh!” he repeated, considerably louder, which was good to hear.
“Open up now, as wide as you can…” With his free hand, the doctor began feeling along Patrick’s throat. “His glands are a bit swollen…some hints of a budding infection; antibiotics ought’’a clear you right up. It’s probably a good thing you came to see me when you did.” Mrs. McAllister was abnormally quiet. Removing the stethoscope around his neck, he positioned it against the boy’s back from under his shirt. “This little guy’s just to help me hear your heartbeat, Patrick, okay? Nothing to be afraid of. Though it may feel a little cold.”
The doctor instructed him to breathe in through his nose and exhale normally, over and over as he moved the stethoscope around periodically. After about thirty seconds, he retrieved the device and went back to the desk to write a prescription.
“I’m going to put him on penicillin to start with. Have him take one immediately then another before bed. Continue twice a day till they’re gone and I’ll schedule a follow-up in two and a half weeks, but be sure to call me if his condition worsens…” The young doctor continued with his instructions as Cynthia’s mind began to wander.
He was kinda cute, she observed; if one went for that straight-laced, J-Crew-type… Then she caught sight of something sinister––just barely––as he hiked up his sleeve…the traces of one badass tattoo concealed not quite all the way up his forearm. Now that was more like it.
Out in the parking lot, the woman re-sharpened her edge, spouting noisy opinions on everything from Dr. Pierce to the A.M.A, fully preparing to take on Hell itself, if it became necessary.
Cynthia was relieved to finally be rid of her when she took Patrick to fill his prescription. And so it was she who saw them first. Arriving a good ten minutes prior, she thought them an illusion; reflections out of focus…even as the flashing lights drew closer… Then why is there a man coming down the McAllister driveway, stupid…?
Good question.
She parked across the street; (a Squad car in her usual spot), and noticed a man coming toward her; about fortyish, and dressed rather shabbily in plain clothes; kind of scruffy looking for a cop, she thought, getting out of her car…
“Mrs. McAllister…?”
“No, um…she had to stop at the Drugstore. What’s going on?”
“Forgive me, Miss…?”
“Caldwell. Cynthia...”
“Miss. Caldwell, I’m Detective Keith Merrimac with the Maplewood Police Department. I’m terribly sorry to have to inform you of this but…this morning, your employer, Dr. McAllister was found murdered at the Bluemont Palisades Shopping Center.” The words took a moment to register––which felt like forever…and as soon as they did, she knew nothing would ever be the same again.




Thanks for reading. Comments are both welcome and appreciated.

D.A.