Chapter 4

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It was the rear tire hitting a pot hole that roused Martin to consciousness. His eyelids felt heavy but he managed to open them to try to look around. Everything was pitch black but he did know that he was moving, the soft rhythm of car interrupted by the tire hitting another pothole. Trunk of a car, Martin thought to himself. His side was throbbing with a sharp pain and when he tried to move his hand to inspect the pain he realized that his wrists were tied behind his back and his ankles were bound as well. He started to cough violently and it made the pain in his side that much more intense. His entire body hurt and ached. His head felt heavy and fuzzy as he tried to remember how he ended up here.

He had never felt so sick. His body ached all over and he couldn't stop coughing no matter how much cough syrup he drank. He rolled over on the sofa and brought the blanket up around his shoulders to watch TV. As was always the case, when he had nothing but time to watch television there was nothing on worth watching. He reached for the remote to start around round of channel surfing when his doorbell rang. He tossed the remote on the coffee table and dragged himself off the couch to see who could possibly be here to see him. For a millisecond he pretended that it was Sam stopping by with chicken soup to check on him but he reminded himself that she would not be stopping by ever again. Of course, even if they were still together she was hardly the nurturing type; she still might not stop by even if they were still dating.

He reached the door and saw the night doorman, Joseph, standing in the hall. Martin realized that he was wearing pajama bottoms and a t-shirt so he only opened the door a crack. "Hi Joseph."

"Hello, Mr. Fitzgerald. I hope you are feeling better." Joseph asked in his monotone voice. Joseph was in his early sixties, bald underneath his cap, tall and lean.

"Thanks, what can I do for you?" Martin asked as he started to cough. He didn't want to be rude but he was feeling woozy just standing there and wanted to go lie down on the sofa and be miserable.

"Dr. Barkhurst had your prescription delivered." Joseph handed Martin a small white pharmaceutical bag.

"My prescription?" Martin looked at the bag and didn't realize that Emerson had ordered one for him. Dr. Emerson Barkhurst is an orthopedist who lived in the building. Charlie, the day doorman, had told him that Martin was sick so he came up earlier to check up on him. He basically told him what Martin already knew, take cough syrup, rest, drink plenty of fluids, etc. Martin looked in the bag and pulled out the plastic orange bottle with the white cap and sure enough, it was a bottle of antibiotics with his name on the label. He started coughing again and replied, "Thanks, Joseph. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing, there was no charge. I guess Dr. Barkhurst took care of it."

"Oh, okay. Thanks for bringing it up to me."

"No problem, Mr. Fitzgerald. Take care." Joseph said as he turned and walked quickly down the hall.

Martin closed the door and went back to the sofa. He read the instructions and took one pill before lying back down to watch TV. About fifteen minutes later that now familiar nauseous feeling came back. He ran straight for the toilet and emptied the contents of his stomach.

Martin remembered going back to the sofa afterwards but everything after that was a blank. He closed his eyes again, trying to force himself to remember but there was nothing. He was hit with another coughing fit when the car came to a stop. He heard a car door open and close followed by footsteps. He blinked against the darkness as a wave of fear washed over him.