Read Online SICK: Psychological Thriller Series Novella 1 by Christa Wojciechowski - Free Book Online
Authors: Christa Wojciechowski
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It was God’s will. John and I had to go on.
So I never brought up the big shot again. Suicide was not an option, and I was sure he forgot the idea. He didn’t behave like a man who had given up. He was alive again and looked as cheerful as ever. John was a survivor, and despite his horrible, unending medical problems, he gripped to life; he enjoyed it still. That steady, beating heart was back on its usual determined journey. To where? I didn’t know. I imagined one day it would stop in a place and say, “Okay, I’m done now.” But that day was not today. Our lives would go back to normal, and maybe even improve.
*
By the end of the week, John was all smiles. He was eating his breakfast while we waited for the last word from Dr. Sheffield. When we had a quiet moment, I leaned toward him. “John, I didn’t want to alarm you, but I need to talk to you about Peter.”
“That old geezer?” He laughed.
“Remember that time we found him in our bedroom?” I asked.
“He’s harmless.”
“You know how he’s always asking about his missing things?” I said. “Well, I’ve been finding them in the house.”
John’s face grew serious. “What sort of things?”
“First was a hammer,” I said, “under the bed.”
“A hammer?” He paused, musing. “How odd.”
“Then I found a gallon of antifreeze.”
“Antifreeze? For a vehicle?” he said with an exaggerated expression of disbelief.
“Yes!”
“Since when have you begun tidying up under the bed, Suze?” He chuckled and turned his attention back to the TV.
“Does he have a history of this? Maybe he even comes in while I’m at work,” I said.
“That’s just silly. You’re being paranoid.”
“You have been doing a lot of Demerol,” I said.
“I would notice someone walking around in my room,” he said.
“Well, their won’t be anymore problems. I took his key away.”
“You did?” He thought on that a minute. “But what if those things were already there and you just forgot.”
“Antifreeze? Really?”
“Hmm. Okay, I guess you’re right.”
“He seemed very upset about it. I felt like a bully for accusing him, but it’s obvious he’s losing it.”
“You did the right thing, sweetie,” John said. “Pete’s always been a little slow, and those Alzheimer’s people can become violent. Ever the more reason I am so grateful to have you, protecting me like a mother hen.” He laughed. The lights from the TV glittered against his eyes. He took my hand and squeezed it, flashing his most darling smile, stilling my world, with that impish glint of his.
*
John seemed disappointed when it was time to be released. He was concerned that he wasn’t well enough, but Dr. Sheffield insisted that there was no need to stay at the hospital any longer. The same paramedics, like our regular chauffeurs, took us both home again. There was a comfort in the familiarity of the routine. We were jostled by the stiff suspension of the ambulance, and John smiled at me wordlessly as I held his hand the whole way home like always.
“You’re such an angel, Suze. My dream come true.”
The calamity was over, and we were back to the coziness of our dingy house and soiled sheets. The two men carried John back up the creaking stairs and deposited him on the bed. They were like our bellboys. I felt like I should start tipping them. They closed the door on their way out, and I was sealed back into my life with John.
“Suze?”
“Coming!”
*
Within a few weeks, John had improved considerably. He was no longer confined to the bedroom and now ate with me downstairs. The morning was bright and muggy, and he sat at the table waiting for his cereal. His hands were folded in front of him. Old cartoons played on the kitchen TV set. As he laughed, I glanced at his eyes. They were clear and bright. His voice was strong. I had not seen him this healthy in years. Maybe it was progressive liver failure that had been bothering him
So I never brought up the big shot again. Suicide was not an option, and I was sure he forgot the idea. He didn’t behave like a man who had given up. He was alive again and looked as cheerful as ever. John was a survivor, and despite his horrible, unending medical problems, he gripped to life; he enjoyed it still. That steady, beating heart was back on its usual determined journey. To where? I didn’t know. I imagined one day it would stop in a place and say, “Okay, I’m done now.” But that day was not today. Our lives would go back to normal, and maybe even improve.
*
By the end of the week, John was all smiles. He was eating his breakfast while we waited for the last word from Dr. Sheffield. When we had a quiet moment, I leaned toward him. “John, I didn’t want to alarm you, but I need to talk to you about Peter.”
“That old geezer?” He laughed.
“Remember that time we found him in our bedroom?” I asked.
“He’s harmless.”
“You know how he’s always asking about his missing things?” I said. “Well, I’ve been finding them in the house.”
John’s face grew serious. “What sort of things?”
“First was a hammer,” I said, “under the bed.”
“A hammer?” He paused, musing. “How odd.”
“Then I found a gallon of antifreeze.”
“Antifreeze? For a vehicle?” he said with an exaggerated expression of disbelief.
“Yes!”
“Since when have you begun tidying up under the bed, Suze?” He chuckled and turned his attention back to the TV.
“Does he have a history of this? Maybe he even comes in while I’m at work,” I said.
“That’s just silly. You’re being paranoid.”
“You have been doing a lot of Demerol,” I said.
“I would notice someone walking around in my room,” he said.
“Well, their won’t be anymore problems. I took his key away.”
“You did?” He thought on that a minute. “But what if those things were already there and you just forgot.”
“Antifreeze? Really?”
“Hmm. Okay, I guess you’re right.”
“He seemed very upset about it. I felt like a bully for accusing him, but it’s obvious he’s losing it.”
“You did the right thing, sweetie,” John said. “Pete’s always been a little slow, and those Alzheimer’s people can become violent. Ever the more reason I am so grateful to have you, protecting me like a mother hen.” He laughed. The lights from the TV glittered against his eyes. He took my hand and squeezed it, flashing his most darling smile, stilling my world, with that impish glint of his.
*
John seemed disappointed when it was time to be released. He was concerned that he wasn’t well enough, but Dr. Sheffield insisted that there was no need to stay at the hospital any longer. The same paramedics, like our regular chauffeurs, took us both home again. There was a comfort in the familiarity of the routine. We were jostled by the stiff suspension of the ambulance, and John smiled at me wordlessly as I held his hand the whole way home like always.
“You’re such an angel, Suze. My dream come true.”
The calamity was over, and we were back to the coziness of our dingy house and soiled sheets. The two men carried John back up the creaking stairs and deposited him on the bed. They were like our bellboys. I felt like I should start tipping them. They closed the door on their way out, and I was sealed back into my life with John.
“Suze?”
“Coming!”
*
Within a few weeks, John had improved considerably. He was no longer confined to the bedroom and now ate with me downstairs. The morning was bright and muggy, and he sat at the table waiting for his cereal. His hands were folded in front of him. Old cartoons played on the kitchen TV set. As he laughed, I glanced at his eyes. They were clear and bright. His voice was strong. I had not seen him this healthy in years. Maybe it was progressive liver failure that had been bothering him
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