S.I.R chapter five

The Ail from Hospital

If you're going through hell, keep going. Winston Churchill

There was the overpowering smell of disinfectant and working people that drove the mind to conjure images of sweat and toil and definitely not the rose scented freshness of his bedroom that fills his nostrils upon waking. When Stanley opened his eyes he wasn’t expecting much but it was a sight much worse than expected.

“Sir, do you know where you are, Sir?” asked the voice of a blurry woman in white, or it could be blue, Stanley wasn’t sure not with this watery film over his eyes. He wiped it away and saw a young nurse leaning over his hospital bed. Maybe things weren’t as bad as he first thought, angels in starched scrubs the lot of them. The nurse was pretty in a way Stanley was unsure how to deal with. She carried a cup of tea which she gave to Stanley, nothing can be that bad when you have a cup of tea.

“Sir?” she asked again looking worried and checking the readouts of various machines that Stanley know knew were plugged directly into him.

“Um, no. But I think I’m O.K. Where am I? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“You’re in hospital, there was some kind of incident. There are a couple of police officers here to ask you a few questions if you feel up to it.”

Stanley didn’t get the chance to even think of a reply as a brutish man knuckled his way into the small white room and sat heavily on the side of the bed pushing Stanley to one side. He had on a cheap suit and carried with him the aura of stale perspiration and ineptitude singling him out as a member of the constabulary.

“Good morning Officer. hazarded Stanley quietly.

“See, he’s alright. Now push off, I have some questions for our Mr Rhodes here, don’t I, Sir.” he said thumbing through a well used notepad and selecting his page. Stanley couldn’t see what was written there, if anything, but he guessed he’ll find out one way or another as he remembered the old joke that policemen only wrote in thick yellow crayon with the tip of their tongue sticking out of their mouth through concentration.

“Of course he’s not alright, Sir.” this was said by someone behind and directed to this rude man. The sound of her voice held hints and promises of a better tomorrow.

“PC Nightly, we have a very dangerous person on our hands who has killed at least once and if not brought swiftly to justice may do so again. Now if you’re not going to be any help, get yourself down to that vending machine for a coffee with five sugars. Oh wait, there’s one here.” DI Saunders said taking the cup and draining it in one gulp, grimacing after due to a lack of liver numbing sweetness.

The large man identified himself as a police officer of a superior rank in a way that suggested Stanley had better be very forthcoming with information or face the wrath of his lofty position as he had much higher priorities than sorting this mess out, namely teeing off at 10:30 then chairing a private meeting with his secretary in one of the bunkers on the 8th hole.

“There was a serious incident last night and we’re about to arrest the murderer.”

Stanley didn’t hear the rest of the conversation. Instead withdrawing into himself with the very utter dread you only get from the realisation you personally are responsible for a very big mistake for which there is very little you can do to get out of. It’s like that feeling when you get caught at the office party with the attractive newcomer who turns out to be the CEO’s new wife or reversing into the drive of your new girlfriend’s house only to hit her father’s car forcing you to shoot forward in panic to inspect the damage only to hear the yelp as you run over their precious pet poodle, whilst being observed by the whole of her family who came out to welcome you. At times like this Stanley only knew one thing to do.

“Sorry.” he said meekly not raising his head for eye contact, the zenith of rudeness in Stanley’s book, or at least the book of etiquette he was struck with at boarding school if he failed to meet the stern School Mistress’s eye.

“I said, I need to ask you a few questions about your whereabouts over the course of the last twenty four hours.” repeated the man testily.

The Detective Inspector shuffled on the bed gaining a few extra inches of mattress. He was frustrated and running on a mixture of high strength coffee and protein bars so talking to people like this made his headache stab and stomach twist with corkscrewing acid. Still, it would soon be over and he can go back to finishing the paperwork on his desk and with it the bottle of Glenmorangie hidden within.

“You can’t do this to him now, Sir.” said the female voice that had been labelled PC Nightly and some kind of family hand holding liaison fairy - the DI’s words not hers. She came around her superior presenting herself as someone in a very tight fitting uniform, severely pulled back hair hidden under a small hat and with better curves than an Italian race track and all the more attractive for it.

“I agree said the nurse fussing the brutish man off the bed. “It’s clear that this man isn't  fit to question right now. Unless of course you’re going to arrest him.”

The nurse looked hard at Stanley but not with the look of distaste he would have imagined, instead it looked the same as when he told Cassandra one of his books had been shortlisted for a prize and his publishers had sent a £40,000 advance for the sequel.

The DI snuffed at the retorts to his authority and turned quickly on Stanley. He snatched out a card from his inside jacket pocket and thrust it forward. If it had been a knife, Stanley would have needed a hospital bed.

“You call me the second these clucking mother hens let you.” and with that he was gone.

Nature abhors a vacuum so as the abrasive police officer left, in his place were sucked numerous interested hospital workers who happened to be near the area of interest and wanted to know what was going on.

“Can somebody kindly tell me what is going on?” asked Stanley trying to sit more upright in his bed and gain a little dignity.

He pushed himself as high as he could go until a wave of nausea washed over him, so he settled for smoothing out the sheets by passing his hands over the wrinkles that had built up. Stanley’s face flushed molten red as his palms dusted over his waist and stopped at his groin. There, forming a single polled teepee standing proud against a barren plain of plain white hospital sheets.

“Oh my.” was all Stanley could say.

There were a few hastily stifled titters from people rapidly finding other things to occupy their time. Of the two women left, Stanley blush appeared to be catching. The elephant in the room was blessed with a well endowed trunk.

When Annabel thought she could talk again without tittering she sat in the worn plastic chair by Stanley’s side and placed her hand on top of his in what the training said was a caring, nurturing and supportive manner and one that would foster the supportive bond between victim and police. To Stanley it just refocused his attention somewhere he desperately tried not too. He opted to pull back on his feet and raise his knees, removing the issue from view but not from memory.

“You were tasered.” she said and as Stanley displayed a blank expression she explained what a taser was and how, through two projectile barbs it could deliver quite a shock in which to render an attacker incapable.

“You see.” she continued. “Muscles contract as the shock is delivered and it brings a person down. There are usually only a few side effects but this is one little is known about.”

Three pairs of eyes settled on Stanley’s crotch mountain.

“It caused a major muscular contraction and an emptying of body fluids I’m afraid. Your clothes have been taken for evidence in a waterproof bag.” added the nurse. “They were literally dripping when we got them off you and the policeman was frankly over reacting when he had to collect them, the wuss.”

“I embarrassed myself by wetting my trousers? I am sorry.” said Stanley reddening more deeply.

“No, not urinated, Sir. Same location different fluids.”

The two women exchanged knowing glances and giggled once more.

“A lot of different fluid if you must know. Your wife must have been a very lucky woman.” the nurse stopped herself by darting her hand in front her mouth.

“My wife? Well, she wouldn’t share that assumption, I’m sure.” started Stanley. “Where is she, is she here?”

It was then that the young police officer, in the sweetest voice in the world, brought Stanley’s own personal world crumbling down.