him for stealing. I thought he would get in trouble if I told anyone."
"That's okay, Timothy. He won't get in trouble for stealing." But he sure as hell should get the death penalty for what he did to Valerie Page. Fucking liberal Massachusetts ought to reinstate capital punishment just for him.
Reilly glanced over at Anthony and gave him a wink. Anthony's nerves seemed to settle. She could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. A murderer had come too close to his family. Reilly knew she had earned herself an ally.
She crouched beside Timothy. He had confided in her and was ready to talk.
"Now, Timothy. What exactly did this man look like?"
CHAPTER 12
Clive's Tuesday morning began with a sense of dejà vu . The only abnormality was a displeasing shower, where dark, putrid water percolated off his head and body, leaving a ring of black dirt circling the tub. Although the water appeared clear coming out of the shower head, contaminants collected around his feet, flowing in a y-shaped pattern toward the drain. He assumed a pipe had burst, a monthly occurrence, and thought nothing more of it.
Otherwise, he awoke at the same time to follow his usual morning routine, only to drive the same route to the same hospital where Dr. Allen had examined his ears four days prior. He then took the same elevator to the same floor and trotted down the same off-white painted, Lysol-doused corridor to a nearly identical, albeit differently numbered, waiting room.
"May I help you?" a crusty old wench called from behind a glass shield. Her ancient head was barely visible over the high counter. What Clive could make out resembled withered leather topped with pillow stuffing.
"I have an appointment with Dr. Severn. I'm Clive Menard."
"Have a seat," the receptionist said, Clive's mere presence apparently an annoyance. She slid the window shut, sealing herself off from all intolerable patients. Clive couldn't help feeling slighted.
That's alright , he thought. She's got to be pushing ninety. She'll be dead soon.
"I guess customer service isn't exactly a job requirement in the medical field," Clive said aloud, not caring who heard him. Nonetheless, he was relatively unfazed by the cold reception he had now twice received. After all, it was the least of his problems. That unnerving, eerie voice owned a priority spot among his thoughts. The fact that his right ear had somehow unclogged itself did little to alleviate his concerns.
Clive stared at the clock on the wall, the same model of creepy cat clock perched in Dr. Allen's waiting area that always seemed to be glaring demonically back at him. It read 9:30 a.m.
Right on time. No one else here. What does that mean? A fifty-minute wait in this room and a three-hour wait in the next? If I'm lucky, I may get out of here before work tomorrow.
Missing work one more day wasn't such a bad thing. It would probably take him a half-hour to get caught up. Certainly, though, he had more enjoyable, albeit less important, things he'd rather have been doing. He leaned back into a hard plastic chair and let his mind wander wherever it chose.
Thirty-seven minutes later, a nurse came in to escort Clive to an examination room. Alright! Ahead of projection . Clive snickered. He fixated on the nurse's plus-sized ass as he followed her to the last room down a short hallway. She's a nurse, for God's sake. Shouldn't she be healthy?
Clive examined his surroundings. To his delight, another hard plastic chair like the one that had just numbed his buttocks sat against the wall of the room. Jackpot! he thought, taking a seat. Forty-two seconds later, he was already bored. I have to start bringing a PSP or something to these things.
As the seconds combined into minutes, Clive's mind went vacant. The cooling, peaceful pastel-colored walls began to tremor before him, his eyes tiring from staring off into space. Like a Dali painting, the world began to melt around him.
What do you hope to accomplish with
"That's okay, Timothy. He won't get in trouble for stealing." But he sure as hell should get the death penalty for what he did to Valerie Page. Fucking liberal Massachusetts ought to reinstate capital punishment just for him.
Reilly glanced over at Anthony and gave him a wink. Anthony's nerves seemed to settle. She could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes. A murderer had come too close to his family. Reilly knew she had earned herself an ally.
She crouched beside Timothy. He had confided in her and was ready to talk.
"Now, Timothy. What exactly did this man look like?"
CHAPTER 12
Clive's Tuesday morning began with a sense of dejà vu . The only abnormality was a displeasing shower, where dark, putrid water percolated off his head and body, leaving a ring of black dirt circling the tub. Although the water appeared clear coming out of the shower head, contaminants collected around his feet, flowing in a y-shaped pattern toward the drain. He assumed a pipe had burst, a monthly occurrence, and thought nothing more of it.
Otherwise, he awoke at the same time to follow his usual morning routine, only to drive the same route to the same hospital where Dr. Allen had examined his ears four days prior. He then took the same elevator to the same floor and trotted down the same off-white painted, Lysol-doused corridor to a nearly identical, albeit differently numbered, waiting room.
"May I help you?" a crusty old wench called from behind a glass shield. Her ancient head was barely visible over the high counter. What Clive could make out resembled withered leather topped with pillow stuffing.
"I have an appointment with Dr. Severn. I'm Clive Menard."
"Have a seat," the receptionist said, Clive's mere presence apparently an annoyance. She slid the window shut, sealing herself off from all intolerable patients. Clive couldn't help feeling slighted.
That's alright , he thought. She's got to be pushing ninety. She'll be dead soon.
"I guess customer service isn't exactly a job requirement in the medical field," Clive said aloud, not caring who heard him. Nonetheless, he was relatively unfazed by the cold reception he had now twice received. After all, it was the least of his problems. That unnerving, eerie voice owned a priority spot among his thoughts. The fact that his right ear had somehow unclogged itself did little to alleviate his concerns.
Clive stared at the clock on the wall, the same model of creepy cat clock perched in Dr. Allen's waiting area that always seemed to be glaring demonically back at him. It read 9:30 a.m.
Right on time. No one else here. What does that mean? A fifty-minute wait in this room and a three-hour wait in the next? If I'm lucky, I may get out of here before work tomorrow.
Missing work one more day wasn't such a bad thing. It would probably take him a half-hour to get caught up. Certainly, though, he had more enjoyable, albeit less important, things he'd rather have been doing. He leaned back into a hard plastic chair and let his mind wander wherever it chose.
Thirty-seven minutes later, a nurse came in to escort Clive to an examination room. Alright! Ahead of projection . Clive snickered. He fixated on the nurse's plus-sized ass as he followed her to the last room down a short hallway. She's a nurse, for God's sake. Shouldn't she be healthy?
Clive examined his surroundings. To his delight, another hard plastic chair like the one that had just numbed his buttocks sat against the wall of the room. Jackpot! he thought, taking a seat. Forty-two seconds later, he was already bored. I have to start bringing a PSP or something to these things.
As the seconds combined into minutes, Clive's mind went vacant. The cooling, peaceful pastel-colored walls began to tremor before him, his eyes tiring from staring off into space. Like a Dali painting, the world began to melt around him.
What do you hope to accomplish with
Similar Books
