Stray Bullet (5 page)

Harvey Walters regained consciousness having spent almost three days and nights in a coma. His first sight was that of nurse Stevens arranging flowers, sent by his wife and children that morning.

“Ah, Mr Walters. How are you feeling this morning?” she asked chirpily, the look of a concerned mother no longer so apparent.

“I’m…”  He coughed hoarsely. “Do you have any water?” he mumbled, unable to continue.

“
Why of course.” She took the glass from his bedside table and wandered over to the sink.

“You’re one lucky man,” she said returning with his glass. She didn’t pass him the glass, but rather put the glass to his lips allowing him to drink with her help.

“Where am I?”

“You’re in the Royal Devon and Exeter Hospital. You were shot outside the Cathedral and that Italian Bishop by all accounts has already left the country.”  She paused
“The entire population around the city thinks you are a hero for saving him!”

“What Italian Bishop?” he asked, trying to recall the events of the past few days.

“You were his bodyguard. You know your boss has spent the last two days sitting with you, eventually we had to send him home.”  She chuckled. “He must be some friend.”

“Was he the guy in the trench coat?” A rush of fear cascaded through his body as this unfamiliar information was being fed to him.

“Oh dear,” mumbled the nurse under her breath. “I think you’d better try and rest now.”

“Wait, but what about…”

“Don’t worry. You will have plenty of time for questions later,” she said and scurried off to find Dr Stone.

Dr Stone was on an eight a.m. to eight p.m. shift. It was now nine p.m. and he would be lucky to get away by midnight. There was nothing unusual about this. With hospital overcrowding and a shortage of medical staff, most of them worked unauthorised and unpaid overtime. Nurse Stevens found him in his office trying to sneak in a break before starting his next offensive on the ever growing workload. She knocked at his door and entered.

Dr Stone was perched at his desk with head in hands wondering for how many more years he could put up with disease and death. He wore a gold watch which had been presented to him one year earlier for twenty five years of service. It had been paid for by the staff in recognition of their respect for his work. He was a caring man but was sickened at the way the National Health Service had changed over the years. Everything had become financially orientated. Caring for the sick, in his mind, had become a secondary consideration. He had given up his marriage for medicine and his only daughter was now an adult. She had foolishly he considered followed in his footsteps.
It was no life for a girl
, he thought.  His home life was non-existent, as he had been unable to find a woman who could understand the long hours of work he endured, and the regular call outs from home. He longed for a woman’s company.

He heard the door open and he lifted his head. Hiding his thoughts he presented the nurse with a smile.

“Nurse Stevens. What can I do for you?” He had become very fond of her during the four years since they had started working together, treating her more like a daughter than a colleague. Perhaps this was in some part through guilt at not seeing his own daughter very often over the years.

“It’s Mr Walters. He’s conscious but seems to have… amnesia,” she said, realising he would have to officially make that diagnosis himself.

“Right, it may have been the shock… How sure are you?”

“Well, as soon as I suspected it, I thought it better to come and see if you were still here,”
she replied.

“Really, Claire. You should know better… Everybody knows I practically live here!” he said sarcastically with a grin.

“Okay let’s go and have a word with him then.” He rose from his desk and marched over to the door, following on behind the nurse down the corridor to Harvey’s room.

“How’s Max?” he asked enquiring after her boyfriend.

“Oh… Max is Max, he’s hoping that we’ll be able to buy a house next year.” She could hardly wait.

“Well, send him my regards the next time you see him,” he replied making small talk.

Harvey Walters was lying flat on his back in bed. 
Okay I was shot, I’m a bodyguard. Seems like a short term profession to me,
he thought. 
My name is
…
my name is
…
Oh, Christ!

A moment later, Dr Stone entered the room with Nurse Stevens in tow.

“Ah the patient is awake! Well that is a good start. Right, well, Mr Walters…” he began, perching on the side of the bed. “I must inform you that you’ve been in a terrible incident and your body has been through an ordeal, so some things may seem a bit strange to you for a while”.

“Doc…” he paused, feeling his next statement might sound stupid.  “I don’t remember my name.”
 
He winced.

“I see. Well that’s not altogether unusual for somebody who has been through such a trauma. But more often than not, patients can be expected to make a full recovery. Just relax as much as you can and let’s try and work backwards and hopefully we can find a starting point to work from. What is your first memory?” asked the doctor reassuringly.

Harvey thought back for a moment.  “My mother’s name is Jessica.  I can’t think of my Dad’s though.”

“Okay…” Dr Stone frowned. He continued with his line of questioning for several minutes before announcing, “Well, I think it’s safe to assume you’ve not got full blown amnesia, Harvey, which is good. Tell me, do you remember your wife’s name?”

“What? I’m married? Christ, I wonder what she’s like. Wait… I think she’s called Chloe.”

“Well, close. That’s your daughter’s name,” said the doctor, looking at the get well card by the flowers. “I guess you haven’t read this yet.” He passed Harvey the card.

“Blimey,” he mumbled reading the card. “I feel like I’ve got married and had two kids, all in one evening…!”
 
He looked up at the doctor.  “Doesn’t it strike you as kind of odd, that her husband is lying in bed having been shot and she’s not here?”

The doctor shot a glance at the nurse whose eyes dropped to the floor. He turned to take the clip board off the end of the bed. Staring at the board he sheepishly replied,

“Well I’m sure there is a good reason. After all you’ve been unconscious. There was not a lot that she could have accomplished here.”

“She has called a couple of times though,” interrupted the nurse.

“Anyway, it’s getting late. You should try to rest and we’ll continue on in the morning. I think your boss will be visiting you too.”

“What’s his name?”

“Inspector Bickley. Don’t think on it more tonight though. Simply try and get some rest… goodnight,” he said as he turned to leave.

“I’m going off duty now,”
added Nurse Stevens. “But if you need anything during the night, press that button and Nurse Hawkins will come and see you,” she said tucking his sheets making sure he was comfortable. “Goodnight.” she added with the weary smile of someone attempting badly to hide the fact she was clearly overworked.

“Thank you, goodnight,” he responded.

Harvey lay in his private room and looked around at his sparse surroundings. There was a hand basin and mirror in the corner, and a television suspended from the ceiling. But, apart from that, it was just a typical hospital room. The bed with a mechanism to allow its resident to sit in a number of different reclining positions and a couple of panic buttons to call the staff. He had a table upon which was a hospital vase with flowers from his family, lovingly arranged by the nurse who had become accustomed to the task. There were bags dangling by his bed pumping various different types of medicine via intravenous drip into his arm. He looked for a remote control or some method of turning on the television but couldn’t see any, short of getting out of bed and doing it manually. In the end he opted to sleep hoping that he might dream and recall some of the detail of his recent past.

It was mid-morning the following day by the time Harvey’s mother arrived at the Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital.

“Good morning,” said Jessica. “I wonder if you could help me.  I’m looking for Harvey Walters”.

“I’m sorry, madam. He’s not allowed visitors at the moment,” replied the receptionist.

“I was led to believe he was out of intensive care now. You see, I travelled down from London last night to see him.” Jessica began welling up inside for the thought of travelling so far to see her only son and being prohibited by a receptionist.

“I’m sorry, madam. Rules are rules I’m afraid.”

“Well that’s preposterous.  You cannot stop me from seeing my son!” Her voice loud but shaky, she started to look around for some indication of where the wards were situated.

Dr Stone overheard the commotion as he walked back from an Accident and Emergency case. He had barely arrived himself when an injured motorist had been brought in by ambulance. He sauntered over to reception to see if any intervention was required. It was not unusual at this part of the hospital to hear verbal clashes, either due to the queues or relatives visiting at odd hours of the night.  Normally a few soft words from someone in authority would calm a situation down.

“Excuse me, madam. My name is Dr Stone. Is there a problem here?” he asked politely.

“They won’t let me see my Harvey!” Jessica wailed. She threw her arms around Dr Stone as though he was a lifelong friend and burrowed her forehead into his chest whilst her tears flowed.

“Okay, I’ll take care of this,” he said to the receptionist.  “Alright Mrs… Mrs…?”

“Walters,” mouthed the receptionist. “Ah… Walters? We may have something in common, Mrs Walters. I believe I have a Mr Walters as one of my patients,” he said, thanking heaven they now had a topic of conversation available of interest to the two of them. “Let’s go up to my office and get you a nice hot cup of tea,” he chuckled and continued “Well, I say nice, but I think beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder when it comes to tea in the R, D & E.”  He looked at her.  A slight smile appeared on her face.

Arriving at his office a couple of minutes later, he offered her a seat and took up his place behind the desk. He looked across at her and suddenly felt quite awkward. He hadn’t really seen her face before, but realised he had just taken her from one side of the hospital to the other without offering her as much as a tissue. She was a sight.  Mascara had flowed all down her face, not to mention on his white coat come to that, he thought looking down his front. This would not do. A respite was required to allow her to regain her composure.

“Mrs Walters,” he started, taking a box of tissues from his desk drawer and sliding them across his desk to her. “I shall go and find you a cup of tea. I imagine it will take at least five minutes or so. The canteen is always so busy. Feel free whilst I’m away to use the mirror in the corner to err…” His mind went blank “to err…” he rose and became agitated. It was not often he got caught lost for words. He rolled his hands as though thinking on an appropriate comment but had almost conveniently stuttered his way out of his office before having a chance to think of something apt to say.

She realised immediately what was occurring and nodded her head.  She braved a chuckle like a nervous and embarrassed school girl and wiped at her eyes while continuing to sniff profusely. Dr Stone left his office and went in search of a cup of tea.

Jessica re-embarked on her wailing for a few moments after he had left the office before once again regaining her composure. She took a moment before standing up and crossing the room to the sink.

Dr Stone’s office was little more than a converted private patient’s room; the desk simply replacing the bed. He had put various medical posters and year planners up on the wall to make it more like an office and Jessica noticed a picture of him, presumably with his wife and daughter at the girl’s university graduation, propped neatly on his desk.  It was not difficult to see that this busy little office was probably a product of budget cuts, and moreover bed closures, within the hospital.