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Category Archives: Stream of Consciousness Saturday

Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part thirty one…

On my 54th consecutive day of blogging, another SoCS post uses Linda G Hill‘s prompt of the week to continue this story, so let’s see what she’s given us to play with today;

” “spell.” Use the word “spell” any way you’d like. Bonus points if you use it in the first sentence. “

First sentence, eh? Ok then…

The Accumulator, part thirty one.

Scene: Interior of a windowless black van, which, due to the unusually hot spell of weather, is already an unbearable ninety degrees by ten o’clock in the morning. 

The six man assault squad, dressed in black fatigues and rolled up ski masks, have been sitting in the sweltering heat for over an hour, following a report from the overnight surveillance shift that Carlisle hasn’t been seen since entering the target residence, nearly eight hours earlier. They are getting restless and beginning to grumble irritably, tired of waiting for the order to go in.

Carlisle had always refused to wear the combined bugging and tracking devices The Department issued to its field agents; he claimed it made him feel uncomfortable, mostly because the targets often started begging for mercy and he didn’t like the idea of the monitors eavesdropping on that, it seemed…undignified.

So, because Carlisle’s spotless record and impeccable loyalty allowed him a certain amount of flexibility, the powers that be granted him this small idiosyncracy; the compromise being that a covert surveillance team was despatched to all of his jobs. Without his knowledge, of course.

They were told never to interfere, (The Department needed to retain its facade of plausible deniability, after all) but were to report back on any deviation from his established routine, just in case damage limitation was required. Up until now there had never been a problem, but Carlisle was well known for his quick turnaround on this type of critical operation, so the assumption was that he’d been compromised and the big guns had been called in.

The man closest to the sliding side door of the van, designated “Alpha One”, wipes the sweat from his eyes and looks at his watch, raising a hand to silence his muttering colleagues as he pulls a mobile phone from his pocket and punches a speed dial button.

“Hello, this is Alpha One, the area is clear. I repeat; the area is clear, you are green to proceed.”

The squad leader ends the call and nods to his men, watching as they pull down their masks and perform a final equipment check, then he climbs over into the driver’s seat and opens the window, letting in a mercifully cool breeze in the process, and listens for sirens; his cue to begin the attack.

*****

Now our POV drifts over Alpha One’s head and out through the window, (the director has just got himself a new drone camera) where it speeds down the street; past Patrick and Cathy’s innocuous suburban house and dozens of others exactly like it, until it reaches the main road, where it glides smoothly to a stop and rotates, to show us a line of four police cars, parked just around the corner.

Policemen with their sleeves rolled up and collars undone lean against the cars, chatting quietly and smoking in the heat, then a phone rings and a few seconds later the order comes;

“Ok you lot, let’s make this look convincing. Remember, we’re only here as window dressing for the spooks, so I don’t want you putting yourselves in harm’s way, but any nosey neighbours are supposed to think tomorrow’s Daily Mail is right when it comes out with some bollocks about an “Islamic Terrorist cell in shootout with Home Counties police”, you get my drift?”

There is a chorus of replies, on a variation of “Yes, sarge”, as cigarettes are flicked into gutters, doors slam and engines roar into life.

The cars pull away from the kerb, turn the corner, and accelerate rapidly; sirens blaring, lights flashing, followed by the drone camera, filming from overhead, before screeching impressively to a halt, sideways, blocking the street with two positioned on either side of Patrick’s house, just as the anonymous black van swings into his driveway.

This is the moment the assault squad have been waiting for and, as the police officers set about conspicuously “securing the area” for the benefit of any curious members of the public, the door of the van slides open and the six heavily armed men pile out.

The camera zooms down to get us right in amongst the action.

Two of the team disappear around the rear of the house and another two make for the back wall of the garage and station themselves by the connecting door that opens into the kitchen, while Alpha One takes up position at the front door with Alpha Two, who carries a compact steel battering ram.

Raising three fingers to his second in command, Alpha One nods and silently counts down;

Three. Two. One.

He drops his clenched fist in a chopping motion and Alpha Two swings the ram, splintering the wooden frame and smashing open the door in a single impact.

Without hesitation, the squad leader charges headlong into the darkened hallway and the camera follows him, as the screen..

fades to black.

************

To be continued (using next week’s prompt)…

#SoCS

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part thirty…

Welcome to a bank holiday edition of SoCS, brought to you by Linda G Hill and a prompt that inspires the continuation of this story;

” “moo” or a word that rhymes with it. Bonus points if you actually use the word “moo” in your post. “

Oh, really? Good grief…

The Accumulator, part thirty.

Scene: Adam and Patrick are standing in the kitchen, with Cathy sitting at the counter, all of them watching Carlisle with interest, as he gives every sign of fighting a battle with himself.

“Interesting, isn’t it?”

Adam grins at the sweating Department operative, who is gripping his right arm (the one pointing a gun at his own leg) with his left hand, trying with no success whatsoever to move it away from his kneecap.

“You’d think they would have warned you what you were up against before they sent you after me. Or maybe they don’t realise what sort of monster they’ve created, is that it, do you think?”

He gives Carlisle an expectant look, waiting for response, but all he gets in return is a glare, part angry defiance, part confusion.

“There really is nothing you can do, you know, I can keep you like that until your muscles are screaming in agony. Although I’m going to get bored a lot quicker than that, so you better start talking soon or I’ll just apply a little more pressure to your finger, and…”

Patrick sees Carlisle’s eyes suddenly widen and he can see the tendons on the back of his right hand begin to tighten.

“Wait!”

“Aha, he speaks! See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, why were you sent here, what did they tell you? Think carefully before you answer, I don’t know how sensitive that trigger is, but I expect you know how many lies to risk before you loose your leg.”

Carlisle looks at Adam, then at Patrick, who stares implacably back at him in silence. He licks his lips nervously.

“All I was told was that you and the girl were to be taken out.”

He nods at Patrick and shoots an apologetic glance at Cathy, as if to say “It’s just business, nothing personal”, then looks back at Adam.

“Nobody told me you were going to be here, I’m guessing they would have sent reinforcements otherwise.”

“What did they tell you about me and Cathy, why do they want us dead?”

Patrick takes a step closer to Carlisle, fists bunched and eyes blazing with fury.

“I was told you murdered a doctor called Felix Braithwaite and the girl worked with you to get inside the hospital. They’ve already put out police reports on you both tonight, probably to help explain the bodies they’re expecting to find in the morning.”

“But they said nothing about me, you’re sure about that, you don’t want to play for the first knee?”

“I don’t even know who you are, or what you’re doing here, you weren’t part of the job at all, as far as I know.”

“Hmm, that doesn’t seem very likely; seems to me you’re a specialist and they wouldn’t have sent you in unprepared.”

“I told you, I was only contracted to do the other two. Make it look like a falling out between conspirators, they said. No need to be too tidy about it either, that’s what they told me; “Make the girl as messy as you can, so it looks like he did it” were their exact words, whatever that to meant. I assumed you were some sort of psycho, going on what I’d heard about how Braithwaite died, so they obviously wanted me to cut her up a bit.”

“Oh, charming!”

Carlisle shrugs indifferently and meets Cathy’s furious gaze.

“I’m not an animal, you’d have been dead first, if that makes you feel any better.”

“Strangely, no, it doesn’t. Adam, couldn’t you get him to shoot off a toe or something?”

“Hahaha, I don’t see why not.”

Adam looks at Carlisle and raises an amused eyebrow.

“What d’you reckon, wanna play for a toe.”

To Carlisle’s surprise and despite his obvious resistance, the pistol abruptly jerks away from his leg and his legs buckle, forcing him to one knee. He watches helplessly and lets out a grunt of pain as the hand holding the gun jabs the muzzle violently into the toe of his boot.

Cathy laughs nastily and claps her hands in appreciation.

“Ha! This is better than watching one of those hypnotists who can make you munch on an onion or moo like a cow.”

“Now, I’ll ask you again; What did they tell you about Subject:Beta?”

Carlisle looks blank, frowning in what seemed to be genuine puzzlement. He purses his lips and shakes his head at Adam.

“Nope, you’ve got me there…”

His wrist twists sharply, grinding the gun barrel into the top of his foot.

“Ow! Fuck. Wait, wait…isn’t that some hush-hush secret agent crap? Above my pay grade, I don’t ask for details, I just come in and do the job, I’m supposed to be retired, for fuck’s sake. This was going to be a quick in and out and home for breakfast type of job, I’m not being paid enough for this X-Files bullshit.”

“You know what, I think I believe you. But I’ll have the gun now, if you don’t mind. We don’t want you to do yourself an injury, do we?”

Patrick can see Carlisle relax as the gun lifts away from his foot, but he still watches with fascinated suspicion as his arm stretches up towards Adam. The tightly clenched fingers open of their own accord, releasing their grip on the butt of the pistol as Adam takes hold of the barrel.

“Thank you, now we can all converse like reasonable people, far more civilised.”

“Wait.”

Adam turns as Cathy stands up, walks over to the still-kneeling Carlisle and looks down at him with disdain.
Then she slaps him across the face.
Twice, forehand and backhand.
Hard.

“Ok, now we can converse like civilised people.”

*****

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {Which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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(Not) Stream of consciousness Sunday, part one: Easter in the garden…

It’s Easter Sunday, there’s a live Grand Prix on TV and I’ve got tomorrow off, so the question you have to ask yourself is this; Can I be bothered to spend the day writing, when I can just as easily do it tomorrow, or would I rather be sitting in the garden, taking some photos, watching the race and drinking cider?

Ummm…

So, SoCS is tomorrow, but I thought I’d make the effort and share some of the springtime progress in the garden.

I hope you all have a pleasant Easter and I’ll see you tomorrow for the main event, so to speak.

 

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty nine…

Right, I don’t have much time, so let’s jump straight into today’s SoCS post, continuing this story by using Linda G Hill‘s prompt;

” “give/given/giving.” Begin your post with one of those words. Bonus points if you end your post with one as well. “

Ooh, bonus points, I like a challenge…

The Accumulator, part twenty nine.

Scene: Giving us a bird’s eye view of the darkened street, our POV glides silently along above the rooftops until it comes to a smooth halt, so we appear to be hovering unsupported, directly above one particular house. Then the camera goes into freefall and we find ourselves plunging downwards, spinning sickeningly.

Straight into the black hole of the chimney.

A rotating rectangle of light grows rapidly larger as we drop through the darkness, our descent slowing at the last moment, allowing the FX boys a smooth transition from CGI to live action as the camera emerges from the fireplace in Patrick and Cathy’s living room and drifts across to the open door, towards the sound of voices in the next room.

As we enter the kitchen, Patrick and Adam are arguing loudly, with Cathy’s voice raised above theirs in an attempt to enforce some order on the situation.

“Oh really, and who put you in charge all of sudden?”

“Look, all I’m saying is we should go over there and grab him, drag him in here and see what he knows…”

“Oh yes, brilliant idea, give him time to call for help as you go charging across the street at him. You’d have the whole bloody Department down on us in two minutes flat!”

“Come on guys, let’s calm down a bit, shall we?”

“We could creep up on him from behind, go over the back fence in the garden and come at him from the other end of the street…”

“You know there’s a bloody railway embankment on the other side of that fence, I take it? You hop over that, you’ll drop twenty feet straight down onto the tracks, that’s if you miss the power lines of course. Idiot.”

“Well you come up with a better plan then, if you’re so fucking clever!”

“Umm, Patrick, I think you’d better see this.”

Cathy has moved to the window and is peering through the blinds at something outside. She turns and looks at them with a worried expression, so Patrick joins her takes a look for himself.

“Oh, that’s not good.”

“What? What is it?”

Adam is heading for the window to see what all the fuss is about when he stops in his tracks and they all tense. The muffled, yet still very definite sound of breaking glass comes from somewhere down the hall.

Patrick motions for Cathy to stay where she is and beckons to Adam as he creeps towards the doorway.  The two uneasy allies take up position on either side of the open doorway and Cathy quickly runs to sit at the kitchen counter with her back to them, picking up a magazine which she begins to casually leaf through. They only have to wait a few seconds before stealthy footsteps approach, stopping abruptly on the threshold, presumably as the intruder spots Cathy. 

The first thing that comes into Patrick’s field of vision is a gun, swiftly followed by the hand that holds it and the rest of the assassin’s arm. Patrick sees the forefinger take up the trigger tension and he is about to make a grab for the arm, but never gets the chance.

There is a startled grunt from the doorway and the hand holding the gun starts to droop toward the floor. Patrick steps away from the wall and looks over at Adam, who is smiling in satisfaction; watching Carlisle’s shocked gaze as it follows his arm to the end of its ponderous arc, with the barrel pointing at his own kneecap. The strain shows on the gunman’s face as he fights to resist the unseen force, sweat standing out on his forehead, eyes darting this way and that, looking for escape.

Adam moves to stand in front of him and offers his hand in greeting.

“Oh I’m sorry, you seem to have your hands full. Hello there, I’m Adam, nice of you to drop in. Now, shall we have a game of truth or dare?”

Cathy grins at the bewildered Carlisle.

“Oh what fun. But I warn you, you better tell the truth, because I have a feeling you won’t like the dares you’ll be given.”

*****

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {Which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty eight…

It’s a beautiful day and time to sit out in the garden and write this week’s SoCS post, continuing this story from where it left off two weeks ago, based today on Linda G Hill‘s prompt;

” “any.” Begin your post with the word “any.” Bonus points if you theme your post on another word that starts with “A”. “

Oh, is that all..?

The Accumulator, part twenty eight.

Scene: Patrick and Cathy’s kitchen.

“Any minute now, you’re going to tell me what the hell you’re doing in my house, I’m sure.”

Patrick keeps his voice calm, gazing steadily at Subject:Beta as he smiles at them from the doorway, his hand beneath the counter inching toward the drawer that holds his pistol.

“I’m here for the same reason you are, I imagine. Answers.”

Cathy turns and looks at Patrick, opens her mouth to say something, then closes it again without saying a word and goes back to glaring at not-Howard-anymore with deep suspicion.

Nobody says anything for a moment, then Subject:Beta suddenly claps his hands together, marches across the room and opens the door of the fridge. 

“Well if no-one is going to offer me a drink, I’ll get one myself.”

As he opens the fridge, he is momentarily obscured from Patrick’s view and Patrick takes the opportunity to grab the pistol and level it at the open door.

“Oh, Patrick, don’t be so tiresome.”

Subject:Beta closes the door, holding a can of beer in one hand and casually waves the other in a dismissive gesture. Patrick is flung heavily against the wall, the pistol flying from his hand and clattering across the tiled floor, disappearing under a laundry hamper in the corner.

From where Cathy sits, frozen in shock, she sees a shockwave thrown at Patrick, a rippling pulse in the air that lifts him off his feet and pushes him ahead of it; holding him for a second against the wall, his feet inches above the floor, before its force seems to dissipate and he drops to his knees, breathing heavily but otherwise unharmed.

“Please don’t let us get off on the wrong foot again, I’m not some comic book villain, you know. I told you, I just want answers.”

“Answers? Answers to what questions?”

“Well Cathy…I may call you Cathy?..I have no more knowledge of what has been done to me than you have, less in fact, since you were on my nursing staff, but all I want is to find the people responsible for my…condition..I have no wish to make the two of you my enemies.”

He looks over at Patrick, who is getting to his feet and watching him warily.

“I truly regret having to do that, Patrick, we just don’t have time for trust issues, I’m afraid, not when the same people are looking for both of us, and not with good intentions either.”

Patrick says nothing, but Subject:Beta catches him glancing over at the laundry hamper and he turns back to Cathy with a smile.

“Go ahead Patrick, collect your weapon, I’m in doubt we’ll be needing it before too long, anyway.”

Cathy can’t help herself and has to stifle a giggle at Patrick’s comical double take, but as their alleged new friend no longer seems to be paying him any attention, he moves quickly to pull the hamper away from the wall and retrieves the pistol from underneath. 

Without turning back round, Subject:Beta sits himself at the counter, opens the beer and takes a sip, closing his eyes in appreciation as Patrick walks over and takes a seat on the far end of the counter, his pistol trained on the intruder the whole time.

“Mmmm, that tastes so good, I haven’t been allowed a drink for I don’t know how long.”

“Yeah, it was the same when I was in…”

Patrick stops himself, but it’s too late, Subject:Beta looks up at him and smiles that disarming smile.

“It’s ok, Patrick, there’s no need to be ashamed of our similarities, our common origins, we can learn from each other, don’t you see?”

“I’m. Nothing. Like. You.” 

Patrick leans across the counter, jabbing the pistol in time with his words, but the man who is no longer Howard Grainger remains unfazed and continues talking as if the interruption didn’t happen.

“I know you somehow charged me with energy, back at the hospital, but that wasn’t your intention, was it? What were you doing there?”

“We were there to kill you, or to get you to kill and be killed.”

Patrick’s gaze is unflinching, but if the revelation concerns their visitor, he shows no sign of it and inclines his head, waiting for Patrick to elaborate.

“Oh for goodness sake, Patrick, we have to trust somebody, sometime.”

Cathy looks at him and smiles, a pleading look in her eyes. He looks back at her and sighs, lowering the gun, then rests his elbows on the counter top and wearily puts his head in his hands, massaging his temples in silence as Cathy reaches over and places her hand on his shoulder until he looks up at her.

After searching her face for any sign of hesitation, Patrick turns to the man he’d wanted to kill and tries to think where to begin.

“Ok, I’ll tell you what you want to know, as much as I know myself, which isn’t much. But first of all; you have to tell me how you do that shockwave thing…”
“You can compare superpowers later.”

Cathy rolls her eyes and looks at Patrick with an expression that says “Boys and their toys.” and he grins despite himself as she continues.

“Right now there’s a bad guy outside and we can do with all the help we can get from,…I’m sorry, what is your name, anyway? All it said on your charts was “Subject:Beta” and we can hardly call you that, can we?”

He looks puzzled for a moment, the loss of his own identity having slipped to the back of his mind, with nobody to conduct even the most mundane of conversations with for so long.

“Hmm, yes, a name, a name is an important thing…”

“How about Jonah?”

“Now now, Patrick, there’s no need to be unpleasant. Although I like the biblical reference, given the obvious God-complex of our creators. I am the first of my kind, it seems, unless you have discovered previously unknown talents in the last few minutes..?”

Patrick just stares at the grinning Man With No Name and waits for the inevitable punchline.

“Ok then, Adam it is.”

*****

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty seven…

I wonder in which direction Linda G Hill is going to take us with her prompt for today’s SoCS post, so that we can discover what happens next in this continuing story. Let’s find out together, shall we?

” “man.” Use it as a word by itself or find a word with “man” in it. “

Hmm, easy enough…

The Accumulator, part twenty nine.

Scene: The darkened interior of a parked car at night. It is two weeks later.
There is a man behind the wheel of the car, dressed in dark clothes and a black woollen cap, he is studying the house across the street through a pair of compact binoculars. 

As he lowers the glasses and studies a folder on his lap, we barely have time to wonder who he is before the picture is replaced for a few seconds by;

and we have our answer.

The director now provides us with a mini backstory sequence, introducing us to this unexpected new character, who…

…checked the time and shifted in his seat, trying to ease the ache in his back as he reviewed what he knew about this latest, desperately urgent job they needed him for, and right when he’d managed to schedule a couple of weeks off to unwind and play a bit of golf, too, so it’d better be really bloody important, or somebody was going to be getting an unsanctioned visit when they weren’t expecting it.

It wasn’t like he needed the money or anything, he was doing quite nicely thank you very much, but saying no to The Department, no matter how exemplary your service record, was never a good idea and “retired” usually meant something far more terminal when it came to severing your contractual obligations with them.
So Carlisle maintained a cordial relationship with his unofficially former employer and carried on a perfectly legitimate career in private security, on the understanding that, should the need ever arise for his services, he would return to work as a sub-contractor for the duration of the job, subject to the usual terms and conditions, of course.

He didn’t usually bother about the “big picture” when he was called in to do these last minute rush jobs; he’d just turn up, eliminate the sanctioned target, clean up if that was part of the job, make a nasty mess if that was required instead and dispose of anything that needed disposing of.
Then he would go back to his comfortable life in suburbia, fleecing stock brokers for extortionate security consultations, raking in easy money fitting burglar alarms for paranoid golf widows, sheltering in their gilded cages while their fat cat husbands screwed around with their secretaries.

He’d heard some crazy shit about this job on the grapevine and you would have needed to be deaf and blind to miss the news of Felix Braithwaite’s horrific death at the hospital, so Carlisle didn’t think a few sensible precautions were a bad idea, before he went strolling in there and found something he wasn’t equipped to deal with.

Frankly though, he thought all these rumours about strange powers and secret projects was just so much bullshit, to distract the authorities from whatever The Department were really up to. A good story for the papers to get their teeth into, some sensationalist opium for the sheeple, a sleight of hand trick, nothing more.

Still, people who he wouldn’t generally credit with much in the way of imagination had told him things you would need a lot of imagining to come up with, stuff you’d think was stupid if you saw it in a horror movie, so he’d have to play it by ear.

*****

Patrick allowed the edge of the kitchen blind to fall back into place and turned to look at Cathy, who was watching him with an anxious expression.

“You’re right, yes, there’s somebody parked a little way down on the opposite side of the road. Can’t make out who it is, but it doesn’t look like the police to me.”

Cathy looked even less happy at this news than she had been when she’d noticed the car earlier.

“Well we know what that means, don’t we?”

“Yes, they’ve finally managed to track us down, we need to get ready to move.”

“That sounds like a very good idea, mind if I tag along?”

Patrick and Cathy both spin round in shock at the sound of the voice, coming from the door to the living room.

“Don’t look like that, I’m not going to bite, aren’t you going to offer me a drink before we go?”

Howard Grainger, aka Subject:Beta, grins cheerfully at them from the doorway, as the screen fades to black.

***********

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {Which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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Stream of consciousness Sunday: The Accumulator, part twenty five…

Time to continue this strange tale, as part of SoCS, this week using the inspiration provided by Linda G Hill and this prompt;

” “project.” Use it as a verb, a noun, or both. “

Right, let’s get this show on the road…

The Accumulator, part twenty five.

Scene: The nurses station of a hospital ICU. It is two days later.

The camera executes a slow, dramatic 360° pan around the bustling lobby as we see; a circular reception desk staffed by civilian administrators and nurses, a team of paramedics rushing past with a stretcher, a group of doctors consulting medical charts, a seating area where anxious relatives wait for news of loved ones and, incongruous amongst all the white coats, two uniformed and armed police officers, standing guard outside a private room a little way down one of the four corridors that converge here.

After completing a full circuit of the lobby, the camera glides down the main corridor until it reaches a door marked Stairs and as we draw level the door opens and we see Cathy, dressed in her nurse’s uniform, cautiously look both ways down the passageway then duck back inside. A second later the door opens again and Cathy re-emerges, this time with a little more difficulty as she is pushing a wheelchair. 

Cathy leaves the chair by the door to the stairs and walks to the nurses station where she makes small talk with a couple of orderlies while making herself a coffee in the small kitchen area. After a few minutes one of the orderlies looks down as a beeper goes off on his belt, checks the message and nudges his colleague. The pair drain their drinks and toss the cups in the trash before leaving as Cathy glances at her watch before turning her attention to the police sentries.

Having studied their routine for the last two days, she’s fairly confident that…Yes, here he goes…one of them will go on a lunch run to the canteen, Cathy’s one window of opportunity.

Not even waiting for him to reach the bank of elevators, which will take the policeman down the two floors he needs to get to the canteen, Cathy hurries back to where she left the wheelchair and quickly ducks through the door into the stairwell. This time however, the camera goes after her and we follow Cathy, crossing the landing and unhesitatingly punching the red EMERGENCY button next to the fire escape, immediately setting off the hospital’s alarm system.

She goes to collect the wheelchair and heads quickly but calmly back to the lobby, turning the corner to see the single police sentry looking concerned and alert, hand on the butt of his sidearm as he scans the corridor for danger. 

Cathy keeps walking and smiles nervously, slowing down as she passes him, nodding back the way she has come.

“Some drama going on down there, I expect that’s where you friend is, is it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh it’s none of my business, of course, I just thought that since you were on your own, maybe your partner was dealing with the security breach.”

“Security breach?” 

He seems unsure, but the alarm still sounds and hospital staff are going through emergency procedures, so he comes to a decision and looks at Cathy.

“You’re the one who treats him aren’t you?” He jerks a thumb at the closed door he’s guarding and she nods, “Keep an eye on him, don’t let anyone in, I’ll be two minutes.”

Without waiting for a reply, he sprints off towards the lobby and vanishes round a corner, which Cathy takes as her cue to proceed. She opens the door to Patrick’s room, pushes the wheelchair inside and we watch the door slowly swing shut. 

The camera remains steadily focussed on the closed door for about fifteen seconds, during which time we see a couple of nurses walk past, then the door opens and Cathy appears, pushing a figure in the wheelchair. It is apparent to any casual observer that the patient has suffered terrible injuries, since his entire head is swathed in bandages, with only small slits for his eyes, nose and mouth and with the hands tightly bandaged it suggests they are a burns victim.

Cathy wheels her silent charge along the corridor to the elevators, where she stands waiting for what feels like forever, her heart pounding in her chest, until the doors slide open and she pushes Patrick inside. 

The shot stays fixed on the elevators and we see Cathy and Patrick facing us from inside the one on the left, as the doors on the right also slide open. We see the second policeman stepping out of the right-hand elevator, carrying a tray of food and drink and he steps out into the corridor as the doors of Cathy and Patrick’s elevator slide closed.

The scene cuts to the interior of the elevator, where we see Patrick standing up and tugging at the bandages on his hands, as Cathy unwraps the ones from around his head. Cathy then pulls a doctor’s white coat and stethoscope from the back of the wheelchair and Patrick shrugs into it just as the elevator stops and the doors open onto the ground floor reception area.

Leaving the wheelchair and the pile of bandages in the elevator, they stroll casually across the lobby towards the main entrance and step out into the sunshine, where Cathy lets out a sigh of relief. She takes Patrick’s hand and turns to him as they walk quickly away from the hospital.

“So, what now?”

“Now? Now we have to put a stop to Dr Felix Braithwaite’s final science project.”

**********

To be continued (using next week’s prompt {which can now be found HERE})…

#SoCS

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SOZ SATIRE

The Best of British Bullshit

Step-Parent's Sanctuary

The Stories Behind those (not so) Perfect Family Photos

Ellenbest24

words and scribble.

sloppybuddhist

hedy bach photography mixed stories and music

Isabella Morgan

Opinions not otherwise specified

A Life in Transition

Poetry & Fiction

The Bee Writes...

.... don't expect anything...not even the unexpected...

Author Kyle Perkins

The latest and greatest of my documented daydreams

Luca Sartoni

Protector of Asynchronicity at Automattic

RAFA FARIHAH

Express With Panache.

Pages That Rustle

The journey from words to stories.

trickyemotions

For your mind only!

Waruni Anuruddhika

Film and photography

An Artist's Path

A space for creative seekers.

3nions

Learn WordPress & SEO from the beginning...

Tyler Charles Austen

Foul mouthed, Queer and Angry

balloonfacetrace

The facepainting and balloon twisting lady

Jamaica Ponder

...only a little bit famous

Art by Rob Goldstein

There is no common truth

Kristin King Author

True Story...

bluchickenninja

graphic designer // bibliophile // geek

thegirlwhofearoblivion

To Share, To Connect, To Create, To Inspire.

unbolt me

the literary asylum

swo8

Music means something

Broken Castles

Shattered long ago...

Joshi Daniel Photography

Images of People Photoblog

iamthemilk

Every day I'm jugglin'.

The Write Project

"The answer is to write." - Richard Rhodes

b e t u n a d a

I'm interested in THE GLUE BETWEEN THINGS. "Back on planet URTH" i search for and study desert wombats and inukThingies (they're like inukshuks) while rambling in the high desert of western Colorawdough.

Seabornen

enthusiast photography

bizchair.wordpress.com/

Stop Yearning, Start Earning

Sass and Sauce

A dash of sass, a dollop of sauce!

The Dissatis Faction

An immersive curation of culture for artists and wanderers of the web

A Whispered Wind

The Works of Lori Carlson

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