The Immortal Harvest (8 page)

He muted the television, went to the phone to retrieve the message. He had seen Crystal retrieve messages before and knew which button to use.

He smiled as he listened to the cheery voice of his friend.

“Hi this is Crystal Meth leave a message after the beep.”

Beep!

Ahh hello…Ms Meth?…This is Nurse Richards from George Washington General’s ER, I believe that you are currently living with a Miss Sylvan Peters. I got your details from her mobile. I need you to come down to Washington General.

She has been the victim of an attack. She is in a coma. I can’t tell you any more on the phone. Please come down, we have some urgent questions we would like answered. (click)….Beeeep
!

Justen stood rigidly, staring at the phone. The tears welled up in his eyes. He felt sick. He could feel his tummy twisting.

He bent over from the pain as the tears began to pour down his face. The lights in the room flickered wildly and the television inexplicably turned itself off.

Justen ignored this as he felt his lungs start to burn as the stress triggered his asthma. He started to struggle to breathe.

Gasping for breath, he stumbled to his school back pack and quickly pulled out his inhaler and desperately took two quick puffs, instantly feeling the calming effect of the medicine.

Once he could breathe easier his mind began to race. Questions flooded his mind.

Is that why he had been left alone? Where was Crystal? Had she heard the message and had gone to see his Mummy? What is a ‘coma’ and why was Mummy in one? Who attacked her?

He straightened up and wiped the tears and snot off his face using the sleeve of his jacket. He knew that he had to see his Mother.

He felt in his pocket for the emergency five dollar note his Mother had given him. His fingers gripped the wrinkled note.

He snuffled and wiped his face with his sleeve again. He shoved the inhaler in his other pocket as he raced towards the door.

He had a plan; he was going to ask a taxi driver to take him to see his Mummy at the hospital. He burst out of the building and onto the street.

As he stopped and looked around, wondering which way to go, he noticed that the street was empty. There were no people. He suddenly felt frightened.

Clutching his backpack to his chest he took a deep breath and headed in the direction that the bus was going. He was driven by one thought.

I have to find Mummy!

Like ERs the world over, the Emergency Room at George Washington General was seething with the desperate struggle for survival.

Everywhere Crystal looked, there were blood stained gurneys with soiled sheets encompassing misery.

She hated hospitals. The general atmosphere of the place created a strange mix of sterility and gore.

The smell of bleach and blood assaulted the nasal passages forcing Crystal to cough spasmodically as she stalked through the room looking for the Nurse who had left the message.

She staggered a little as she walked, her bloodstream still coursing with a mixture of alcohol and heroin.

Her blurred vision fixed upon a portly nurse who was busily leaning on the ER counter and scribbling on some kind of clip board.

“Hello luv, I got a message about Sylvan Peters. Are you Nurse Richards?”

The Nurse instantly scowled at Crystal. She stopped writing on the clip board and pointed to the name badge that adorned her left breast along with her photo ID. Her reply was brusque.

“I am Nurse Watson; Nurse Richards is assisting in the O. R. Can I help you?”

The nurse stepped back and crinkled her nose at the visage of Crystal.

“If you’re here for advice on drug addiction the rehab unit is on the fourth floor or if it is for STDs the free clinic is two blocks away.”

Crystal sensed the disdain in the Nurse’s voice and instantly took offence.

“Now listen ’ere ya pompous bitch, you lot called me…”, she was cut off from further abusiveness by the quiet voice from behind.

“Hello, Ms Meth is it? I am Doctor Carlisle, Sylvan’s Doctor.”

Crystal quickly spun around and looked straight into the most caring man’s eyes that she had ever seen.

They were sky blue and framed by the tiniest of laughter lines. She flushed slightly and held out her hand towards the handsome Doctor.

Apart from his attire, she could tell straight away that he was a Doctor. He was very tall and he held himself in a very commanding way.

His hair was dark and had small highlights of silver intermingled throughout the black.

“Yep, that’s me. You can call me Crystal,” she said as she held out her right hand and self consciously tried to fluff out her hair with her left.

The Doctor smiled briefly as he shook her hand and then turned and spoke in a serious tone to the Duty Nurse.

“Nurse Watson, can I please have the records for Ms Sylvan Peters.”

Crystal watched as the handsome Doctor retrieved the file from the fat bitchy nurse.

“Please walk this way Crystal,” he said as he tucked the file under his arm and pointed in the direction of the wards.

The Doctor walked off briskly toward the hall way leading off from the ER, he spoke quickly as he walked.

“Tell me Crystal, how well do you know Ms Peters? Do you know if she has any family we can call? Do you know of any allergies she might have?”

Crystal struggled with the rapid fire of questions. She stopped walking and grabbed the Doctor’s sleeve.

“Listen Doc, what are you trying to tell me? Is Sylvan ok? Is she dying or sumthin?

Doctor Carlisle stopped walking when he felt Crystal’s touch and turned to face her.

“Your friend has been seriously hurt. She has numerous contusions from her attack.

She had been kicked in the head. We have had to put her into an induced coma to assist her with the healing process.

“We have done all that we can to help her. We need to get in touch with her immediate family or someone who has knowledge of her medical history. Do you know anyone who can help us?”

Crystal let go of the Doctor’s sleeve and stared at the floor. She put her hands on her face and slowly shook her head. After awhile she slowly raised her head and looked up at the Doctor.

“Listen Doc, I have only known Sylvan for a coupla weeks. She moved in with me with her kid after she ran away from home. She was in a sorry state when I found her…”

“I’m sorry; did I hear you say ‘kid’? How old is he?”

“Yeah, he’s a cute little guy, his name’s Justen.”

The Doctor stepped back and looked sternly at Crystal.

“Where is her son now? Is there someone looking after him?”

Crystal stiffened up at the tone of the Doctor’s questioning.

“Look Doc he’s six. I’ve been lookin after meself since I was his age. He’s got his own key and everyfin. He’ll be fine.”

Crystal could see from the appalled expression on the Doctor’s face that he was not very happy with her response.

“Look Doc, he’ll be fine. Just take me to see Sylvan Ok!”

The Doctor removed the file from under his arm and opened it and then pulled his mobile phone out of his pocket and pushed a speed dial button.

He turned away from Crystal as he waited for the person at the other end of the call to respond, after a short while he turned back towards her and held his index finger up in front of him as a gesture for Crystal to wait.

By the look on his face, Crystal could tell that he was not able to contact whoever it was and just left a perfunctory message.

“Yes Ms James, this is Doctor Carlisle from George Washington General. Please call me when you get this message,” and with that he tucked the file back under his arm and strode down the hallway.

Crystal thought that he acted a bit rude but refrained from further comment and followed him.

After passing three doors the Doctor stopped and proceeded to enter what Crystal assumed was Sylvan’s room.

Crystal entered behind the Doctor and squinted in the dimly lit room. She could see that there were a lot of different types of medical gizmos with flashing lights and cords and wires scattered around like spaghetti. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of disinfectant.

The euphoric effects of the drugs and alcohol in her system were beginning to wear off and she wished that she had something that she could take to calm her nerves.

She moved closer to the bed and could just make out the body shaped lump she assumed was Sylvan.

She reached out her hand to see if she could feel for Sylvan’s hand. She was about to speak when she heard the unmistakable humming of a vibrating mobile phone. She heard the Doctor cough slightly as he excused himself from the room to answer the phone.

Crystal moved in closer to the bed, being careful not to disturb the cords and tubes that were attached to Sylvan. She grabbed Sylvan’s hand lightly as she stooped over her to put her other hand tenderly on Sylvan’s forehead.

Tears welled up in her eyes when she saw the extent of Sylvan’s injuries.

She could feel the rage welling up inside her as she gazed upon the pulped face of Sylvan.

She could see that her face was swollen almost beyond recognition. Both of her eyes were a dark purplish black. Her lips were swollen and she had bandages wrapped around the top of her head.

As she stared at the beaten mess, she could hear the rhythmic sound of the machinery and the flashing lights blurred her vision. She bent down slowly and whispered in Sylvan’s ear.

“Don’t you worry sweetheart, I’ll find whoever did this to you and I’m gonna cut their fucken’ balls off!!”

She tenderly patted the top of Sylvan’s head as she reached into her handbag and pulled out a slip of paper and then stood with her one of her hands on her hips as she faced the young doctor.

She waited until he had finished his phone call and then held out the slip of paper as an offering.

“This is my mobile number Doc. I want you to call me as soon as Sylvan has woken up ya hear. I’m not gonna leave her to rot in this dump.”

The Doctor pocketed the slip of paper and frowned at Crystal.

“I can call you when Ms Peters is awake and responsive but I’m afraid it will be quite some time before she will be strong enough to leave.”

“Don’t bullshit me Doc. I know how this works. Sylvan’s not exactly cashed up ok.

“You let me worry about her. I’m sure your bosses would much rather have empty beds for some rich pricks than a charity case stinkin up the joint.”

“Well Ms Meth, as eloquent as your assessment may be, I think it would be better if Ms Peters stays here with us. We’ll worry about the financial arrangements later.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to attend to my rounds.”

Crystal waited for the Doctor to leave the room before she bent down next to Sylvan’s ear.

“You’ll be ok sweetie; I’ll come back a bit later.

I’m gonna take ya home with me just as soon as I can and I’m gonna leave ya now so I can find your little boy.”

Crystal kissed Sylvan lightly on the forehead and then quietly left the room.

It was dark, darker than usual.

At only fifty three, Joseph Smith’s African-American eyes were beginning to fail him.

Vitamin deficiency, malnutrition, alcoholism and drug addiction had begun to kill him slowly.

He peered into the darkness of the alleyway and spied the pile of tattered cardboard and corrugated iron and staggered towards his home.

Everything ached these days. His only relief from his misery was found in the bottles of cheap booze and the cheap and dirty drugs that he managed to acquire.

He fumbled with the rusty can opener that he used to pry the lid off a bloated can of baked beans that he had retrieved from an industrial bin behind the supermarket.

After several minutes of struggle he finally succeeded in opening the can sufficiently to dip a couple of fingers into the congealed mess.

The smell of the concoction within the can indicated that the contents had long passed the expiry date. He didn’t care. He was starving.

Every day was a battle for survival for Joseph or Joe as his friends called him. He had lost everything ten years previously, his home, his family, and his pride and eventually he realised, his life.

All he had left was his memories and these days even those were beginning to fade. He recalled snippets through the drug and alcohol haze.

He had been a Green Beret who became a victim of post traumatic stress disorder. He had seen too much horror.

After his discharge, he couldn’t adjust to society. He drank heavily every night and occasionally dabbled in recreational drugs to cope with the flashbacks. He convinced himself that he could stop anytime.

After countless arguments with his first, second and eventually third wife, he realised that he had begun a downward spiral of self destruction. Of course by the time he realised, it was too late.

This was his life now. He had his freedom. He was free to starve, free to suffer the misery, free to suffer the cold indifference of a society that either looked down with disdain upon the homeless or worst still didn’t look at them at all. Such was the price of freedom.

He grabbed a bunch of old newspapers and began stuffing them down inside his jacket. The paper insulated him against the cold. He looked with disinterest at the headline of the local rag. He spread the page on the ground in front of him.

Prominent Senator and philanthropist assassinated – Police have no leads!

He squinted at the photo of the deceased. He looked familiar. Then it dawned on him, the photo triggered a flashback.

He recognised him as the man who had been talking to the homeless and making promises to them and according to the gossip around the bin fires, this man was going to help them.

Well, so much for that,
he thought as once again he realised that there was no one to help them.

This Senator had been silenced, along with some of the homeless. Joseph was not a fool; he knew that others like him were disappearing.

He finished reading the article to see if the disappearing homeless were mentioned. There was nothing, not a single line about the invisible victims, the silent minority as he liked to call them.