Shadow of Him:
He awoke in a cold sweat, heart on the verge of bursting, the pillow drenched.
Paralysed with fear, his eyes darted around the room. He couldn't shake the feeling that he felt someone's gaze on him, watching his every move.
Waiting to catch him out.
Another nightmare.
This was the fourth one this week.
He sighed, contented with the fact that nothing was watching him. It was a result of his imagination.
Wearily, he turned his head to the alarm.
6:30am.
He dreaded it.
Last night, Abigail decided that a board meeting would be held early the next day, 8:00am sharp.
He might as well get up.
Compared to him, his fellow consultants were no more than puppets to be manipulated; to be bent to his will. No-one could hold up to his standards, his level. He was legendary in the medical world. They are all novices. No mere doctor would ever have his expertise. The board's opinion didn't matter to him. He was the Medical Director.
He could do what he pleased, and no one would question him.
He dragged himself from the sheets and pulled the curtains wide. The sun bathing him in its glow.
Hmm.
It would take more than that to melt his heart.
His room was basic; nothing fancy. It didn't suit him. Everything was in its rightful place. He had Henrik to thank for that.
A wardrobe, oak with intricate mahogany veneer decorated throughout, fitted snugly in the corner.
He pulled the doors open. All suits were tailored to his fit.
Sharp, clean cut.
Everything was colour co-ordinated; simple but effective.
He eyed up the suits one by one, giving them a through inspection.
Eventually, one caught his eye. He examined it to see if anything was out of place. When satisfied, he proceeded to put it on.
Casually walking down the stairs, he detected a faint smell in the air; a concoction of warm vanilla and chocolate.
Roxanna had been cooking again.
He lifted his briefcase out of its resting place.
The files he was searching for were on the table top. He placed the briefcase on the chair, out of sight.
Adjacent to him was a plate of a warm, soft, decadent pile of pancakes, oozing with chocolate syrup dripping down the side.
Beside it was a note:
'Don't be late, Abigail expects you there.'
R. x
He glanced at the clock.
7:15am.
It would take as long as he wanted.
Reports on the radio indicated that the traffic was in chaos. He would be late anyway.
After devouring Roxanna's sumptuous pancakes, he paced towards the doorway, getting his coat. He noticed something from the corner of his eye.
Of course, how could he forget that.
A small suitcase stood still to attention. On it, a ticket to Morocco, leaving in the afternoon.
If Abigail wanted him for anything, she would be sorely disappointed.
He tucked the ticket into his breast pocket. He hauled the briefcase and suitcase to the car and locked the door.
Today was the day that he would meet Patient 3.
She did not stop talking.
The meeting was only halfway through and she hadn't even paused once.
This, of course, was the CEO who, reflecting her inexperience in the role, had been reading off a piece of paper filled with complaints, suggestions, targets for each department etc and not engaging with other members.
His eyes began to droop; a sign of boredom.
He looked around at his fellow colleagues, only to find blank expressions greeting him. He noticed Sacha nodding off a few times
This day couldn't get any worse.
Roxanna noticed something amiss in John's behaviour. He was lost in thought most of the time and was dismissing concerns as if they were nothing. He paged her to provide a consult on a patient that he knew had neurological damage but wasn't sure where.
The patient was a young 16- year – old boy, Adam. The gown accentuated his slim frame; it fitted him perfectly. He was average build, 5ft 8. His hair was contaminated by the blood, which was seeping out of the wound to his head, but a young nurse soon put that to bed. His icy stare panned the hospital and its workers. He had been here for an hour. Of course, he realised that consultants do have other patients, but surely it shouldn't be taking this long. Lacerations were emblazoned on his pale skin, pale because of the shock. His arm, captured in a sling, laid against his body.
He tried to relax himself but the thought of being paralysed scared him. As his head rested on the pillow, relieving the stress on his body, he started to recall the events that led to him being here.
It was the end of exams. The summer sun was blazing down, inflicting scorching heat on the bodies of man. Adam, his four mates and a couple of their girlfriends, were messing about on the roof of an abandoned building. They were celebrating. All thoughts turned to the future and the chance of seeing each other again. Adam's dream was to be a copper. In his neighbourhood, crime was endless. It left people in fear for their lives, shutting themselves away, being recluses that would eventually be forgotten by society. He wanted to make a change. He sent off an application to work for the Met. It would mean being away from his mother, who did so much for him and his brother that no presents and gifts would ever repaid that. She loved her boys and they loved her as much as life itself.
Sadly, the celebration turned sour when one of the lads picked a fight with him as he was flirting with the lad's girlfriend. It was just harmless fun; a bit of banter. The lad shoved him through the glass ceiling, causing cuts to his face and head, a broken arm and a few cracked ribs.
He was lucky to be alive.
When the paramedics came, his friends scarpered. Some friends they were. When asked if he could feel anything, he said no.
He was happy to be here, for his mum's sake. As for going into the police, it was over, his childhood dream.
Gone.
He was streetwise, knowing to keep his head down when confronted. He would fight back if he needed to, to protect loved ones and friends. He was misunderstood but he was a good kid. He had a vulnerable side, a side that no-one knew except his mum, due to his father leaving when he was 12.
A noise brought him back to reality. Alongside him stood a petite, feminine figure. Her cropped blonde hair reflected the sun's rays. She was dressed elegantly for a woman of her age. She wore a gorgeous baby blue blouse with hints of pink flowers appearing here and there. A long deep brown skirt was caressing her hips, fitting it with her shape. Adam thought that she was a dream.
"Look, I told ya. I'm alright"
"We both know that's not the case, Adam."
Roxanna spoke with a stern tone, showing that she was in no mood to be made a fool of. But deep down, her heart went out to him. She knew that this wasn't his fault.
"Is he alright?"
Adam said, indicating towards John.
"He's fine. He's just going through your notes."
"He's been like that for the past half hour."
She could see that Adam was getting restless. He made a good point. It didn't take John this long to reach a decision. Adam wanted to know where he stood. She couldn't blame him.
She was getting frustrated. John went through Adam's notes numerous times and spoke not a word. She went over to him to find out.
"John?"
No reply.
"John?"
She proclaimed loudly, in the hope that he would hear her.
"Hmm?"
John glanced sideways to see Roxanna, staring at him, expecting an answer.
"Have you found out what caused this?"
"I have a few theories."
"Let's hear it."
"It is possible that it can be one of two things. Firstly, it could be a spinal infection and, secondly, it could be damage to the nervous system. It's hard to tell. We need to run some tests. Could you book him for an MRI scan, please?"
"Of course."
Adam's words resounded throughout her mind. She knew that John never talked about how he felt. But she had to know what, if anything, was troubling him.
"John, are you alright?"
"Well, aside from my brain cells starting to recover after enduring this morning's meeting, I'm fine."
"Are you sure?"
Shut up, Roxanna.
"I'm fine. Come, we will run the procedure past him."
"Excuse me?"
Both looked up. In their line of sight was an older man, early to mid-20s. His presence carried the scent of arrogance, dominance and impatience. The man was smartly dressed. By the looks of him, the suits didn't come cheap. An expensive 24-carat gold watch was clasped to his wrist. He had done very well for himself.
He kept a clean appearance. His raven-black hair was tamed with a bit of gel. He was around 6ft 3, of muscular build. He took extreme pride in his appearance, desiring to keep a toned physique, both to impress the ladies and to inflate his ever-growing ego. His emerald eyes scanned John and Roxanna, who witnessed a smirk drawing across his lips.
Roxanna didn't like this one bit. There was something about him that she feared.
"Who are you?"
She questioned. She put on a brave face, but inside, she was shaking like a leaf.
The man looked shocked.
"Surely, you must have heard of me?"
The man replied, in disbelief. How could this old bag not have recognised him? He was insulted.
"I'm sorry, but I haven't."
"And what about you?"
He asked, diverting his gaze towards John.
John studied the man, like he would a cell sample. As the man edged closer, John felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.
This man was trouble. He could feel it.
"Don't I know you?"
Questioned the man, catching John unaware.
"My name is Professor John Gaskell. I'm a neurosurgeon."
"I've seen you somewhere before."
"I can assure you, you haven't."
Desperate to avoid the man's impertinent questioning, John turned his back and prepared himself to talk to Adam about his options.
"Do you know this man?"
John was intrigued to know why the man was here.
"He's my older brother. Alex, his name is. He's been helping Mum and me."
John understood. Adam came from a broken home. His father was the breadwinner of the family. He loved his family. Then one day, without reason or explanation, he left and never came back. Had it not been for Alex, Adam and his mum would have been on the streets.
"That's it!"
They turned, vaguely interested in what Alex was about to say.
"You were from St Helena's, weren't you?"
John's eyes widened. He felt a sharp pain in his heart. After all these years, he had forgotten about it. Closed it away from his thoughts. Until now, thanks to the arrogant prick mentioning it.
He couldn't believe it. He thought he had finally escaped from it.
"I'm sorry, you must have me confused with someone else."
With that, John left abruptly.
His lab was the only solitude he had.
That name,
Why the hell did he mention that name?
Fucking bastard.
Thinks he owns the place.
His mind was racing. How did he know about St Helena's? What did he know about John?
It made him uneasy. He started a new life to get away from it all. But the shadows of his past haunted him here too. He took deep breaths. He couldn't allow Alex to reveal anything. The cost would be too high.
He smirked.
Who cared what Alex knew. He had no proof of what happened.
No.
He wouldn't kill him now. It would be too easy.
Ha ha.
He would bide his time. Alex thrives off the attention.
So, attention he will get.
If the operation succeeded, he would get more funding, and, thanks to his little brother, Alex's business would be booming.
He will show Alex courtesy, and, in doing so, will be keeping an eye on him. If he oversteps the mark,
Well.
He will be silenced.
Permenently.