Read Online Pernicious by James Henderson, Larry Rains - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Henderson, Larry Rains
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shocked to discover Neal still lying there.
Somewhat frightened, she said, “Neal…!” Tugging his shoulder: “Neal!…Neal…!”
No response.
She shook him. “Neal, Neal!…Neal, get up!”
Bordering panic: “Neal, are you all right?” No response. She checked his pulse, good, his breathing, normal.
Why is he unconscious? A stroke?
She told the 911 operator that she had discovered her husband unconscious, which, in a way, was true.
Two paramedics rushed in carrying medical supplies.
“Where’s the victim?” one asked.
Tasha led them into the hallway.
“What happened?” the other asked.
“I found him there.”
“What’s his name?” checking Neal’s pulse.
“Neal Montgomery.”
“Any history of heart attacks, strokes, drug use?”
“No. Not that I’m aware of.”
“His pulse is good. Neal? Neal…what’s the matter, big fellow?”
Still no response.
Wearing latex gloves, the paramedic passed a strip of smelling salts under Neal’s nose. “Neal?”
Immediately Neal reacted, pushing the man’s hand away.
“What’s the matter, Neal?”
Neal, dazed, pointed at Tasha. “She did it!” his voice slurred.
“What she do to you, Neal?”
Neal closed his eyes. “She shot me!”
“You’re not shot, Neal.”
Rubbing his chest and stomach, Neal said, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. You wanna go to the hospital? It’ll be a good idea to let them check you out.”
Neal shook his head.
An uniform stuck his head inside the doorway. “What’s the problem?”
The two paramedics stared accusingly at Tasha. She flashed her badge. “My husband.”
They helped Neal to his feet. “What she do to you?” the paramedic persisted.
Neal shuffled toward the living room. “I’m not sure. She did something. It hurt like hell. We were arguing. I think she shot me with a rubber bullet.” He leaned toward the couch and collapsed into it.
The uniform, who she didn’t know, took out his notepad. “Did you?”
Tasha gave him an incredulous look.
“You want to file charges?” he asked Neal.
Neal stared blankly at the television, a lady jumping up and down after winning the grand showcase on the Price Is Right . “No,” he mumbled, sounding as if about to cry.
The uniform lingered behind after the paramedics left, said he wouldn’t write this one unfavorable to Tasha and suggested she seek marriage counseling.
Tasha, as expected, slept alone that night. The following morning she was shocked to find Neal still sitting on the couch, in the same position, the same white towel wrapped around his waist, the same glum expression painted on his face.
Neither Neal or she spoke as she prepared for work. When she came home that evening, Neal was still there, in the same spot. She looked into the garbage pail, an empty can of Campbell’s Chicken Soup.
He’s faking.
Lazy rascal had her worried all day she’d somehow messed up his nervous system.
Tasha sat up in bed, thought to go in the kitchen and fix herself something to eat. But the memories, seemingly yesterday, made her tired. She lay down. Thank God, Derrick wasn’t born yet. Then again, the incident prompted Derrick. After receiving 50,000 volts, Neal lost
Somewhat frightened, she said, “Neal…!” Tugging his shoulder: “Neal!…Neal…!”
No response.
She shook him. “Neal, Neal!…Neal, get up!”
Bordering panic: “Neal, are you all right?” No response. She checked his pulse, good, his breathing, normal.
Why is he unconscious? A stroke?
She told the 911 operator that she had discovered her husband unconscious, which, in a way, was true.
Two paramedics rushed in carrying medical supplies.
“Where’s the victim?” one asked.
Tasha led them into the hallway.
“What happened?” the other asked.
“I found him there.”
“What’s his name?” checking Neal’s pulse.
“Neal Montgomery.”
“Any history of heart attacks, strokes, drug use?”
“No. Not that I’m aware of.”
“His pulse is good. Neal? Neal…what’s the matter, big fellow?”
Still no response.
Wearing latex gloves, the paramedic passed a strip of smelling salts under Neal’s nose. “Neal?”
Immediately Neal reacted, pushing the man’s hand away.
“What’s the matter, Neal?”
Neal, dazed, pointed at Tasha. “She did it!” his voice slurred.
“What she do to you, Neal?”
Neal closed his eyes. “She shot me!”
“You’re not shot, Neal.”
Rubbing his chest and stomach, Neal said, “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. You wanna go to the hospital? It’ll be a good idea to let them check you out.”
Neal shook his head.
An uniform stuck his head inside the doorway. “What’s the problem?”
The two paramedics stared accusingly at Tasha. She flashed her badge. “My husband.”
They helped Neal to his feet. “What she do to you?” the paramedic persisted.
Neal shuffled toward the living room. “I’m not sure. She did something. It hurt like hell. We were arguing. I think she shot me with a rubber bullet.” He leaned toward the couch and collapsed into it.
The uniform, who she didn’t know, took out his notepad. “Did you?”
Tasha gave him an incredulous look.
“You want to file charges?” he asked Neal.
Neal stared blankly at the television, a lady jumping up and down after winning the grand showcase on the Price Is Right . “No,” he mumbled, sounding as if about to cry.
The uniform lingered behind after the paramedics left, said he wouldn’t write this one unfavorable to Tasha and suggested she seek marriage counseling.
Tasha, as expected, slept alone that night. The following morning she was shocked to find Neal still sitting on the couch, in the same position, the same white towel wrapped around his waist, the same glum expression painted on his face.
Neither Neal or she spoke as she prepared for work. When she came home that evening, Neal was still there, in the same spot. She looked into the garbage pail, an empty can of Campbell’s Chicken Soup.
He’s faking.
Lazy rascal had her worried all day she’d somehow messed up his nervous system.
Tasha sat up in bed, thought to go in the kitchen and fix herself something to eat. But the memories, seemingly yesterday, made her tired. She lay down. Thank God, Derrick wasn’t born yet. Then again, the incident prompted Derrick. After receiving 50,000 volts, Neal lost
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