Grace kept her word. She checked around emergency admissions for John Doe's missing property, but nothing turned up. By the time she found a moment to look in on him again, he had already signed out. She had been able to reach someone at the number he gave her, a deep-voiced man she assumed was Max-the-boyfriend, who thanked her for contacting him but asked no questions. He must have come to the hospital immediately after her call. Maybe this wasn't the first time he'd waited up all night for the phone to ring, spoken to a stranger, rushed to the hospital or the police station ... laughing at her melodramatic little soap opera, Grace left the fifth floor and went back to work.
Three days later, however, one of the emergency nurses called to say that a plastic hospital bag with a broken cell phone and some other electronic gear had turned up and hadn't Grace been looking for something like that and did she want to take a look at it? Grace retrieved the bag and took it back to her office. She had no idea what most of the electronic stuff was, but it seemed like the kind of thing a mysterious injured rich guy might carry around in the dead of night. So once again she called the John Doe phone number and spoke to the same man, who asked whether he could stop by later that day to claim the items. It would have been simpler to leave the bag at admissions or emergency, but Grace was curious. She wanted to see this Max-the-boyfriend, so she directed him to her office.
If he thought it strange that a hospital chaplain was running a lost-and-found, he didn't show it. He was a tall black man, with a shaved head and an air of quiet strength. He quickly examined the equipment lying on Grace's desk and nodded in satisfaction. "This is it. May I take it? Is there anything to sign?"
"No, just take it. I'm sorry, though, we didn't find everything. No leg brace has turned up."
"Leg brace?" He looked puzzled, then smiled. "Ah. Thank you, but please don't worry about that. It's been found."
"Good!" said Grace encouragingly, then waited. Most loved ones, at a time like this, were eager to spill their feelings to Grace, their relief or their anger or generally both. But this guy was all business. Quickly gathering the equipment from her desk, he thanked her courteously and left. A few minutes later, watching from her window, she saw him hail a cab and vanish into traffic. Goodbye, she thought, feeling let down, until she turned back to the desk and realized that he had forgotten something. It had once been an earpiece, one of the little ones that fitted over and into your ear. Now it was just shattered black plastic and wire.
Later Grace thought back many times to that moment, and always wondered why on earth she hadn't done something sensible, like calling the John Doe number again or even just throwing the obviously useless remains in the trash. Why, for some strange reason, had it seemed like a good idea to follow Max-the-boyfriend? She would never understand it. She'd had some crazy notion that if she could just find the cab - which wouldn't be hard, since the same drivers lined up in front of the hospital every day to pick up departing visitors and newly discharged patients - she could spare "Max" and "John" the inconvenience of another trip to the hospital. Obviously, they were having a bad week. Surely two rich guys had a doorman. She could just stop on the way home and leave the earpiece with the doorman. Simple.
Which was how she ended up two hours later in the very cab used by Max-the-boyfriend, heading into the richest sector of the city. Even in late-afternoon traffic at the sector checkpoints, it felt like an adventure. Once the cab had left her at the apartment building, however, Grace discovered that there was no doorman or concierge, and no directory of tenants. In other words, no way to locate Max and John. Crap, she sighed, thinking of the long ride back across town. Guess this was a pretty silly thing to do after all. She turned to leave, only to find an elderly woman struggling at the door with several large shopping bags. Grace held the door open and reached out to help.
"Why thank you dear ... it's very kind of you to help an old woman out. I don't know you, do I?" she added as Grace lifted the last bag into the lobby. "Are you a visitor here?"
"Just dropping something off for a friend, but I, ah, forget the apartment number."
"Oh, I know everyone in this building, dear. What's your friend's name?"
"He's, ah, Max." The woman frowned a bit and Grace hurried on, "Tall black man? Shaved head? Has a white ... friend. Blue eyes, glasses?"
The woman broke into a smile. "Oh, you mean Logan, dear. Isn't that lucky. He lives right below me. I can show you right where to get off the elevator."
Grace hadn't meant to go anywhere near the apartment, but now she couldn't very well leave the old woman to manage all these heavy bags herself, so she grabbed the two heaviest and reluctantly followed the woman into the elevator. She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, acting like some kind of a stalker. Well, maybe she would just help the woman upstairs and then get out. Figure out something else to do with the earpiece. Like dump it in the trash can across the street.
Of course it took forever to get the woman and the shopping bags to her apartment door, and even longer to see her safely inside, then to politely end the conversation, which the woman was apparently enjoying very much. Finally, the door closed and Grace heard the bolt lock turn. The wait for the elevator was interminable. After a minute Grace rummaged in her bag, found a dusty pen and some slightly crumpled paper in her bag, improvised an envelope and wrote on it: "One last thing. Good luck. Grace at Metro Medical." If the hallway was deserted when the elevator doors opened on the floor below, she would quickly drop the package at the door and forget the whole thing.
The hallway was empty and silent. She stepped out, saw the apartment, bent down to place her package at the door. Whew! Time to get the heck out ...
Before finished the thought, someone grabbed her forcefully from behind and something cold pressed against the side of her head. It all happened so quickly that it took her quite a long time to realize that there was a gun to her head. When she finally got it, she was terrified and, weirdly, furious with herself. Hadn't it been clear enough that John Doe was involved in something dangerous? Why, oh why, had she interfered?
"Who are you?" asked the man quietly.
"Uh ..." Grace found that her throat was so dry that she could not speak. She tried swallowing a couple of times. "I'm from ... Metro Medical ... trying to return ..." She stopped to clear her throat again and the arm that pinned both of hers to her sides spun her around. To her amazement Grace saw that her attacker was none other than Max-the-boyfriend, or rather Logan-the-boyfriend, who seemed equally astonished when he recognized Grace. But he did not lower the gun. Or release her.
"How did you find this place?" he demanded.
"The cab ..." Grace croaked out. Her knees were beginning to shake.
"You followed me here? What do you want?"
"Just returning ... this ...' Grace slowly opened her hand to reveal the now-crumpled little packet, her words smeared by her furiously sweating palm. Logan released his grip, pushed Grace back against the wall, and took the wad of paper, all the while pointing the gun at her. Grace wanted to close her eyes but didn't dare. She supposed she should be figuring out a way to escape or knock him out or something, but truthfully, she was simply too frightened to think.
Finally, when he had unwrapped the paper and looked inside, he slowly lowered the gun, keeping a close eye on Grace. Before either of them spoke, however, the elevator doors slid open, and John Doe, seated in a wheelchair, rolled out into the hallway. He looked at Grace, then raised his eyebrows at her captor. "What's going on here?" he asked calmly as the doors closed behind him.
"Grace, whom I believe both of us have met at Metro Medical, was just returning this to you." Logan handed the paper and its contents to John Doe, and Grace saw him close his eyes quickly as if the sight of the smashed earpiece hurt him. Then he dropped the packet in his lap and looked steadily at Grace. "Thank you," he said coolly. After a moment, Logan put the gun away.
"Sorry we scared you," he said apologetically.
"We've had some trouble lately," said John Doe. "Nothing personal. Just a precaution."
"Uh, I'm gonna, uh, go now," Grace whispered. Her knees were shaking so hard she wasn't sure she could cross the hall to the elevator, but to get out of there, she'd crawl if necessary. Besides, now that the immediate danger was over, she felt her face burning red with embarrassment. "Look, I'm very sorry ... I don't usually follow people to their homes ... I just thought ..." Oh, shut up, idiot, she told herself, as Logan pressed the elevator button for her. There was total silence until the elevator doors whooshed open. Grace felt the two men watching her as she stepped in. "Goodbye," she said stupidly, then sank to the floor in pure relief as the doors closed behind her. It wasn't until she was outside and across the street desperately hailing a cab, any cab, that her head began to spin and she leaned over the trash can to be very, very sick.
When she felt steady enough to stand up again, she was alarmed to find John Doe next to her, arms folded, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"I just want to go home," Grace said miserably. "Honestly ... I'm leaving."
"Tell you what. I can give you a ride home -- if you don't mind explaining to me how you ended up here this afternoon."
"Oh no, I can't ask you to ..."
"You didn't ask. I offered. Do you want a ride or not?"
"You're not going to shoot me or something, are you?"
He smiled just a little. "No more guns, I promise."
"Well ... " Grace looked up and down the empty street. "All right," she said reluctantly. After all, she probably did owe the man an explanation.
"This way." He indicated the garage under the building across the street, then held out his hand. "By the way, I'm Logan."
"You're Logan?"
"You sound surprised."
"Your friend ... I thought the woman from upstairs said he was Logan." Grace sighed. "Nice to meet you. I'm Grace ..."
".... from Metro Medical," they said together. Oh, her head ached.
"So you met my neighbor, Mrs. Moreno," he said as they crossed the street.
"She was very nice."
"Apparently so. I'm going to have to tell her to be a little more careful about who she lets into the building from now on. Come on. Here's my car."
Three days later, however, one of the emergency nurses called to say that a plastic hospital bag with a broken cell phone and some other electronic gear had turned up and hadn't Grace been looking for something like that and did she want to take a look at it? Grace retrieved the bag and took it back to her office. She had no idea what most of the electronic stuff was, but it seemed like the kind of thing a mysterious injured rich guy might carry around in the dead of night. So once again she called the John Doe phone number and spoke to the same man, who asked whether he could stop by later that day to claim the items. It would have been simpler to leave the bag at admissions or emergency, but Grace was curious. She wanted to see this Max-the-boyfriend, so she directed him to her office.
If he thought it strange that a hospital chaplain was running a lost-and-found, he didn't show it. He was a tall black man, with a shaved head and an air of quiet strength. He quickly examined the equipment lying on Grace's desk and nodded in satisfaction. "This is it. May I take it? Is there anything to sign?"
"No, just take it. I'm sorry, though, we didn't find everything. No leg brace has turned up."
"Leg brace?" He looked puzzled, then smiled. "Ah. Thank you, but please don't worry about that. It's been found."
"Good!" said Grace encouragingly, then waited. Most loved ones, at a time like this, were eager to spill their feelings to Grace, their relief or their anger or generally both. But this guy was all business. Quickly gathering the equipment from her desk, he thanked her courteously and left. A few minutes later, watching from her window, she saw him hail a cab and vanish into traffic. Goodbye, she thought, feeling let down, until she turned back to the desk and realized that he had forgotten something. It had once been an earpiece, one of the little ones that fitted over and into your ear. Now it was just shattered black plastic and wire.
Later Grace thought back many times to that moment, and always wondered why on earth she hadn't done something sensible, like calling the John Doe number again or even just throwing the obviously useless remains in the trash. Why, for some strange reason, had it seemed like a good idea to follow Max-the-boyfriend? She would never understand it. She'd had some crazy notion that if she could just find the cab - which wouldn't be hard, since the same drivers lined up in front of the hospital every day to pick up departing visitors and newly discharged patients - she could spare "Max" and "John" the inconvenience of another trip to the hospital. Obviously, they were having a bad week. Surely two rich guys had a doorman. She could just stop on the way home and leave the earpiece with the doorman. Simple.
Which was how she ended up two hours later in the very cab used by Max-the-boyfriend, heading into the richest sector of the city. Even in late-afternoon traffic at the sector checkpoints, it felt like an adventure. Once the cab had left her at the apartment building, however, Grace discovered that there was no doorman or concierge, and no directory of tenants. In other words, no way to locate Max and John. Crap, she sighed, thinking of the long ride back across town. Guess this was a pretty silly thing to do after all. She turned to leave, only to find an elderly woman struggling at the door with several large shopping bags. Grace held the door open and reached out to help.
"Why thank you dear ... it's very kind of you to help an old woman out. I don't know you, do I?" she added as Grace lifted the last bag into the lobby. "Are you a visitor here?"
"Just dropping something off for a friend, but I, ah, forget the apartment number."
"Oh, I know everyone in this building, dear. What's your friend's name?"
"He's, ah, Max." The woman frowned a bit and Grace hurried on, "Tall black man? Shaved head? Has a white ... friend. Blue eyes, glasses?"
The woman broke into a smile. "Oh, you mean Logan, dear. Isn't that lucky. He lives right below me. I can show you right where to get off the elevator."
Grace hadn't meant to go anywhere near the apartment, but now she couldn't very well leave the old woman to manage all these heavy bags herself, so she grabbed the two heaviest and reluctantly followed the woman into the elevator. She was beginning to feel very uncomfortable, acting like some kind of a stalker. Well, maybe she would just help the woman upstairs and then get out. Figure out something else to do with the earpiece. Like dump it in the trash can across the street.
Of course it took forever to get the woman and the shopping bags to her apartment door, and even longer to see her safely inside, then to politely end the conversation, which the woman was apparently enjoying very much. Finally, the door closed and Grace heard the bolt lock turn. The wait for the elevator was interminable. After a minute Grace rummaged in her bag, found a dusty pen and some slightly crumpled paper in her bag, improvised an envelope and wrote on it: "One last thing. Good luck. Grace at Metro Medical." If the hallway was deserted when the elevator doors opened on the floor below, she would quickly drop the package at the door and forget the whole thing.
The hallway was empty and silent. She stepped out, saw the apartment, bent down to place her package at the door. Whew! Time to get the heck out ...
Before finished the thought, someone grabbed her forcefully from behind and something cold pressed against the side of her head. It all happened so quickly that it took her quite a long time to realize that there was a gun to her head. When she finally got it, she was terrified and, weirdly, furious with herself. Hadn't it been clear enough that John Doe was involved in something dangerous? Why, oh why, had she interfered?
"Who are you?" asked the man quietly.
"Uh ..." Grace found that her throat was so dry that she could not speak. She tried swallowing a couple of times. "I'm from ... Metro Medical ... trying to return ..." She stopped to clear her throat again and the arm that pinned both of hers to her sides spun her around. To her amazement Grace saw that her attacker was none other than Max-the-boyfriend, or rather Logan-the-boyfriend, who seemed equally astonished when he recognized Grace. But he did not lower the gun. Or release her.
"How did you find this place?" he demanded.
"The cab ..." Grace croaked out. Her knees were beginning to shake.
"You followed me here? What do you want?"
"Just returning ... this ...' Grace slowly opened her hand to reveal the now-crumpled little packet, her words smeared by her furiously sweating palm. Logan released his grip, pushed Grace back against the wall, and took the wad of paper, all the while pointing the gun at her. Grace wanted to close her eyes but didn't dare. She supposed she should be figuring out a way to escape or knock him out or something, but truthfully, she was simply too frightened to think.
Finally, when he had unwrapped the paper and looked inside, he slowly lowered the gun, keeping a close eye on Grace. Before either of them spoke, however, the elevator doors slid open, and John Doe, seated in a wheelchair, rolled out into the hallway. He looked at Grace, then raised his eyebrows at her captor. "What's going on here?" he asked calmly as the doors closed behind him.
"Grace, whom I believe both of us have met at Metro Medical, was just returning this to you." Logan handed the paper and its contents to John Doe, and Grace saw him close his eyes quickly as if the sight of the smashed earpiece hurt him. Then he dropped the packet in his lap and looked steadily at Grace. "Thank you," he said coolly. After a moment, Logan put the gun away.
"Sorry we scared you," he said apologetically.
"We've had some trouble lately," said John Doe. "Nothing personal. Just a precaution."
"Uh, I'm gonna, uh, go now," Grace whispered. Her knees were shaking so hard she wasn't sure she could cross the hall to the elevator, but to get out of there, she'd crawl if necessary. Besides, now that the immediate danger was over, she felt her face burning red with embarrassment. "Look, I'm very sorry ... I don't usually follow people to their homes ... I just thought ..." Oh, shut up, idiot, she told herself, as Logan pressed the elevator button for her. There was total silence until the elevator doors whooshed open. Grace felt the two men watching her as she stepped in. "Goodbye," she said stupidly, then sank to the floor in pure relief as the doors closed behind her. It wasn't until she was outside and across the street desperately hailing a cab, any cab, that her head began to spin and she leaned over the trash can to be very, very sick.
When she felt steady enough to stand up again, she was alarmed to find John Doe next to her, arms folded, watching her with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"I just want to go home," Grace said miserably. "Honestly ... I'm leaving."
"Tell you what. I can give you a ride home -- if you don't mind explaining to me how you ended up here this afternoon."
"Oh no, I can't ask you to ..."
"You didn't ask. I offered. Do you want a ride or not?"
"You're not going to shoot me or something, are you?"
He smiled just a little. "No more guns, I promise."
"Well ... " Grace looked up and down the empty street. "All right," she said reluctantly. After all, she probably did owe the man an explanation.
"This way." He indicated the garage under the building across the street, then held out his hand. "By the way, I'm Logan."
"You're Logan?"
"You sound surprised."
"Your friend ... I thought the woman from upstairs said he was Logan." Grace sighed. "Nice to meet you. I'm Grace ..."
".... from Metro Medical," they said together. Oh, her head ached.
"So you met my neighbor, Mrs. Moreno," he said as they crossed the street.
"She was very nice."
"Apparently so. I'm going to have to tell her to be a little more careful about who she lets into the building from now on. Come on. Here's my car."