Chapter Two - The Phone Call

The phone slid around about an inch away from his ear as he scuffled with his handkerchief to reposition it and keep his balance as Sharona sped down …down… down.
"For Pete's sake, it's your phone," Sharona exclaimed as she watched him struggle out of the corner of her eye.

"Monk?!" came Stottlemeyer's voice from the earpiece. He was yelling. He sounded upset. But not at Monk and not with his usual "Monk-type" frustration… just genuinely upset. Like when his wife, Karen, had nearly been killed the year before last.

"Monk?" Stottlemeyer yelled again.

"Here. I-I'm here. What is it?"

"Are you with Sharona?"

"Yes, of course. Why? What's happening?" he asked with his preternatural senses kicking into high gear as dread crept up his spine.

"Monk - it's Benjy. There's been an accident. Apparently, he was on his scooter and he was hit by a car."

"What?" Monk rasped with dread, which drew a curious glance from Sharona. It must be a case in a hospital, she thought caustically, picturing Adrian trying to sort his phobias about blood, germs, fluorescent lights, and ceiling tiles into little compartments of his incredible brain in an effort to control his need to rabbit away and hide in his apartment. Immediately after the thoughts came, the remorse followed. She didn't like being insensitive about his problems… but sometimes he made her crazy.

"Worse… it doesn't quite look like it was accidental." Stottlemeyer continued into Adrian's ear, "Eyewitnesses said that the car seemed to actually be chasing him. In fact, he was hit on the sidewalk… the car sped away… no license plates, sketchy eye-witness accounts. Get here quick."

"Get where?"

"The university children's hospital. Divisadero Street. Don't freak Sharona out, but Benjy's in bad shape."

"Okay, alright. We're – we're on our way." He hung up without saying goodbye. They were on their way in that direction anyway. What can I tell Sharona?
Sharona asked, "Adrian… Adrian, what is it?"

Unable to lie, afraid to tell the truth, Adrian said nothing until the end of Lombard Street was in view. The Russian Hill section of San Francisco was a treacherous area – the steep grade was dangerous on a good day. And this day had just gone from bad to terrible. He couldn't distract her until they reached Leavenworth Street. Sharona shrugged and went back to navigating the twists and curves, as Adrian courageously ignored both the lampposts and the speed at which she drove.
When they reached the turn, Adrian said, "Sharona. Pull over. Now." It was a command, not a request, and she responded quickly and without protest. Something was wrong, she could feel it. She turned onto Leavenworth Street and put her hazard lights on as she parked against the curb.
All my fault. All my fault. All my fault. Adrian thought as Sharona pulled the car to a stop. How do I say this? How do I tell her?

"Adrian, what is it? I know that was Stottlemeyer, I heard him yelling 'hello' and your name. Is someone dead?" He fidgeted, shot his cuffs under the sleeves of his jacket, and squared his shoulders again. Ominous signs, all. When he didn't answer, she frowned. Then she panicked. "Adrian? Oh my god, it's Benjy isn't it?" She seemed to have that same thing he had – that sixth sense, but it only seemed to work when it involved Benjy… or me, he realized belatedly.

"Y-Yes. I don't know the… the details, but Stottlemeyer said we have to get to the hospital. Benjy was hit by a car."

"He was what?"

"A-Apparently he was on his scooter. The car ran into him and sped away."

Sharona sat still for a moment, feeling the car's engine hum, not believing what she'd heard – knowing that Adrian had spoken English, he had used words she understood in individual ways but when they were strung together like that they just didn't make sense. Benjy was with his sitter. She'd only left him a half-hour before with promises to be home by six forty-five. Which was just over an hour from now. In a matter of seconds, Adrian watched the play of emotions from confusion to disbelief to fear dance across Sharona's face. He did the least expected but the most helpful thing he could think of doing, he pulled her towards him and hugged her fiercely, although his insides were quivering and his hands were shaking from the effort. "He'll be okay, he'll … he'll be okay," he whispered into her soft golden curls, "He has to be." My fault… my fault …my fault.