No Hope for Gomez! (6 page)

13.

Blog entry: Arrived at the clinic early. Sat in the waiting room working on my laptop. Greeted my predecessor when he came out.

He wasn’t running this time, and wasn’t being chased by two large lab assistants, which was a much better look for him. Far more relaxed and in control. Before I knew it, though, I’d been staring at him a little too long. He glared at me. I was about to diffuse the situation with an innocent remark when, sadly, nothing came to mind. Not so much as a comment on the weather. My mind was a blank canvas. Meanwhile, I was still staring, because I’d thought I’d come up with something soon.

My predecessor stopped in his tracks, disbelief mounting in his eyes –
What the hell’s this guy staring at?
Apparently he was too shocked to say anything, so he just glared at me.

I wanted to look away but it was too late for that. That ship had sailed minutes ago. I had to say something and the longer I waited, the better the comment had to be to explain my increasingly long stare.

Blog entry: The situation continued for what seemed like forever. Time itself had come to a standstill. There was no way out.

His glare intensified, my brain thrashed around for something to say. The harder I pressed it for a comment, the more it clammed up. Meanwhile, I prayed for some kind of distraction, like a blaring car horn, a passing coffee cart, or, failing all else, the end of the world.

Eventually, Dr. Hargrove opened her office door and stuck her head out. She spotted me and pointed at her watch. “Gomez, come in please! I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes!”

I shrugged at my predecessor as if to say:
Women!

He shrugged as if to say:
Tell me about it!

And with that we could finally break eye contact safely. I breathed an inaudible sigh of relief and followed Dr. Hargrove into her office.

Blog entry: Right away I noticed Dr. Hargrove was still off her game. She sat down without asking me how I’d been and frowned as she went over my questionnaire. Several questions had already been answered and she didn’t look up as she fired off the remaining ones.

Part of her demeanor was caused, no doubt, by my inability to wait in a near empty room without getting into trouble, but there was more. There were traces of the same distracted sadness in her expression that had been there last time.

I waited for her to pause and look over the questionnaire, then made an appropriate little joke.

Dr. Hargrove looked up and I immediately regretted making light of a situation I didn’t fully understand. For all I knew, her entire family had been slaughtered the week before. And here I was, making appropriate little jokes. Then she started to laugh and I forgave myself instantly. It was wonderful to see her face do that, to have her eyes rest on me while her brain sent all those happy signals around. Especially when it was in response to something I’d said. But then the laugh turned into a smile, and the smile faded too quickly. The serious Dr. Hargrove was back.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “Everything’s fine, really.” She forced a smile as proof. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Come on,” I said, “you’ve got to talk to someone. Sometimes talking to a perfect stranger is the easiest. I may not be perfect, but I’m certainly strange.”

She rolled her eyes at me, then smiled anyway. “I’m sorry, Gomez,” she said, “I just don’t know what to do…”

“I’ll know what to do,” I said. “I promise. Just tell me what the problem is and I’ll fix it.”

Blog entry: Surprisingly, Dr. Hargrove relented. She opened up and told me about this growing feeling of discomfort she’d been experiencing.

“I think someone’s following me around,” she said. “I feel watched when I go home, I feel watched when I go to work, I even feel watched when I’m alone in my apartment with the blinds closed.” She shot me a quick glance, then tried to compose herself. “That’s stupid, right?” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s probably nothing.”

“No, no,” I said. “You can’t be too careful with those kinds of things. It’s always best to err on the side of caution.” Not only that, I
needed
this to be a problem. I needed her to have a problem so I could solve it. I wasn’t going to let this go so easily. “You think you might have a stalker?”

She nodded.

Two thoughts occurred to me in quick succession: (1.) What kind of sick bastard would bother such a sweet, innocent scientist? (2.) Stalking Dr. Hargrove, now why hadn’t I thought of that? The wealth of information I could’ve gathered. The things I might’ve seen and heard. Apparently, my brain wasn’t that devious. Too bad.

“I’ll catch him for you,” I blurted out. “I’ll follow you around for a few days, at a distance of course, and I’ll find out who’s stalking you.”

Dr. Hargrove gave me an odd look. “Your solution to my stalker problem is to follow me around at a distance?” she asked. “Are you serious? You would actually do that for me?”

“Sure,” I said. “Leave it to me. I’ll find the guy and make him stop. Don’t worry.”

Dr. Hargrove looked relieved. “Great,” she said. “So in a way, I’ll have my own stalker-stalker.”

Blog entry: Dr. Hargrove took a piece of paper from her drawer to write down her address.

“No need for that,” I said. “I’ll figure it out.”

She looked up.

“Hey,” I said, “what kind of stalker would I be if I couldn’t even figure out your address?”

“What kind of
stalker
-stalker,” she corrected.

“What? Oh, yes,” I said, “of course, what kind of stalker-stalker. As I won’t actually be stalking you. I know. Don’t worry.”

Blog entry: Went home happy. Was finally making some progress. Had a great lead on a way in with Dr. Hargrove and, on the off chance she did actually have a stalker, I’d simply identify him and become Dr. Hargrove’s instant hero.

     Things were looking up.

Blog entry: Made dinner and watched TV. Got ready to go back to the clinic and follow Dr. Hargrove home, then decided against it. That was exactly what she expected me to do. I’d read somewhere that girls prefer unpredictable guys, so I’d opt to stay an enigma and go the next day.

Blog entry: Watched some more TV. Played some computer games. Read a chapter of Warren’s manuscript.

Blog entry: Thinking about the drugs interfering with my reasoning, I decided not to do my taxes this year.

Part tw0

14.

Blog entry: Spent the following day selling absolutely nothing to nobody. Checked the internet for cool updates but didn’t find any. Hicks complained about painful wrists from all the sweeping, so I made him clean the windows. He only cleaned the insides, though. I didn’t complain.

Went to the department store two streets down during lunch to search for stalker gear. Thought about a way of asking for such gear without using the word stalker, then opted to just browse on my own.

Blog entry: I was feeling really psyched about this new and exciting aspect of my life. There was a dark and dangerous edge to it. I couldn’t wait to enter this twilight world of barely legal nighttime activities.

Didn’t find much in the way of stalker gear at the department store. The only items that seemed at all useful were a balaclava and a pair of leather gloves. I quickly realized the point wasn’t to be unrecognizable, but to be inconspicuous, so I ended up leaving the store empty handed.

Blog entry: Closed up at five and headed to the hospital. Had some time to kill before my stalker-stalker duties so I’d try to get more information on Joseph Miller from the hospital staff. My new edgy lifestyle had me convinced that the worst that could happen would be that they’d throw me out of the hospital. I didn’t believe they had the time or resources to actually have me arrested. If they tried, I’d go for a daring escape, which would be cool and edgy also.

Blog entry: There was a different nurse at the desk this time. I asked her to let me see Joseph Miller’s doctor. I played it cool and told her I was a distant relative, managed to get her help without identifying myself. (Which was cool and edgy). The nurse talked on the phone for a bit, then gave me directions to a cluster of offices. When I got there, I had to wait in a small waiting area.

Time passed.

I kicked myself for not bringing my laptop. Why did I never see this coming?

Was about to leave when one of the office doors finally opened and a middle-aged man in a white coat with grey hair came striding out. I jumped up to block his path. “I am Gomez Porter,” I said, holding out my hand for him to shake it. “I’m a distant relative of Joseph Miller.”

“What?” The doctor stopped in his tracks, stared at my hand. “Ah, yes.” he said. “I’m sorry, you wanted to discuss the Miller case.” He checked his watch. “Please come in. This must be a difficult time for you.” He gestured me back to his office.

“It
is
a difficult time,” I said. “Which is probably why I forgot to bring a passport to prove I’m a distant relative. And, sadly, I have no cell with which to call other relatives so they might vouch for me.”

“I’m doctor Tiernan,” the doctor said as we sat down. “I’m afraid you caught me at a very busy time, so forgive me if I seem a little distracted.” He smiled apologetically and took a folder from a stack on his desk. Apparently he’d laid it out after the call, but then forgot about it. “Joseph’s case was a very unfortunate one,” he said. “You see, he came to us so very late. There was little we could do for him.”

“I could get my driver’s license,” I offered. “But it’s in my car, out in the parking lot, and I’m parked all the way at the back. You’d think there’d be one or two places at the front, just by chance, but there weren’t. Plus, I might’ve left my license in my other pants.”

“Yes,” Dr. Tiernan said, “that can be annoying.” He showed me a page from the folder. It had some charts on it. “Joseph had been comatose for several days,” he explained. “Without food and water, the internal organs simply shut down. It’s all a matter of getting to the patient in time.”

I nodded thoughtfully. My identity-ruse seemed to be working. I decided to relax and concentrate on the subject at hand. “Did you discover what made Joseph pass out in the first place?”

Tiernan checked a few more papers, then shook his head. “Blood was clean,” he said. “No needle marks, no contusions.” He folded his hands over the folder. “I’m afraid we didn’t find anything out of the ordinary.”

“Any signs of allergies? Animal hair, that kind of thing?”

“Sorry,” he said, “we found no indications of any such complications.”

“What about poisons? Aren’t there compounds that can knock you out and then dissolve without a trace?”

“There are,” Dr. Tiernan said, “but we found no traces of such chemicals. To be absolutely sure, you’d have to check with the coroner.”

Ah, the coroner.

“Is there anything else you could tell me?” I knew the answer to my follow up question, but I had to be thorough. “Any signs of interactions? Experimental drugs interfering with each other maybe?”

Dr. Tiernan shook his head. He browsed the file once more for good measure, and found a sticky note tacked to the back of one of the forms. “Hmm…” he said. “This is strange. I didn’t notice this before…”

“What is it?”

“One of the nurses found a bruise on Joseph’s neck. Says here, the bruise wasn’t visible when Joseph was admitted.”

“What does that mean?”

Tiernan shrugged, “Probably nothing.” He put the note back and closed the folder. “Sometimes bruises take a while to surface. Could be something he sustained in his fall, could be something that happened later. Whatever it was, it’s unlikely to have complicated his condition. Joseph died of malnutrition and dehydration. His X-rays were clean; no damage to the neck.”

“Shouldn’t we double check?”

“There’s no way, I’m afraid. The body’s no longer here. Again, you’d have to ask the coroner.”

“I guess that’s what I’ll do.” I thanked Dr. Tiernan for his time and remembered to look solemn when he offered his condolences once more.

Blog entry: Left the hospital, dug out my cell phone, called Detective Norton. If anyone knew what the coroner had discovered, it’d be him. His phone rang five times, then went to voice mail. I left a message.

15.

Blog entry: Grabbed a quick sandwich at a deli on my way back from the hospital. Staked out the clinic, waiting for Dr. Hargrove to show. Started to feel silly. Stalker-stalkers (much like actual stalkers) probably didn’t conduct their business out in the open like that. They’d be more private about it. Plus, standing in front of a building, then
not
meeting up with a woman, but instead following her home at a distance, that’d make me look like I was on a really awkward date. And the last thing I wanted was to look awkward in the eyes of total strangers.

So I moved behind a tree.

After a while, though, it occurred to me that Dr. Hargrove might spot me as she passed the tree. When she did, she was bound to lose confidence in my stalker-stalker abilities. She might even seek help elsewhere. So I darted back to a newsstand to get a newspaper and a pair of dark glasses. Then, in order not to look like ‘Gomez waiting behind a tree with a newspaper and a pair of dark glasses’, I also turned my jacket inside out and bought a small pocketknife with which to cut off the lower parts of my pants legs. The pocketknife had to be procured from a vendor down the street, however, as my own vendor had run out of pocketknives moments earlier. Finally, jacket turned inside out, glasses donned, newspaper in hand, and pants legs sufficiently mutilated, I returned to my tree, safe in the knowledge that I might not look exactly normal, not totally inconspicuous, but I certainly didn’t look like Gomez. Which was my main goal for the moment.

Blog entry: It was a bit dark behind the glasses; evening was beginning to fall. I resolved not to do any actual reading, and that made me feel better. Before long, I noticed it also became too dark to spot passers-by without peering over the glasses. So I adopted a strategy of counting to ten and lowering my glasses on the ten-count. I also implemented five other, highly sophisticated spotting algorithms, but perhaps it suffices to mention that I managed to miss Dr. Hargrove completely.

Blog note: Guess stalking isn’t my knack either. Which is too bad, but it won’t deter me. I’ll just have to work harder at it, that’s all.

Blog entry: Went home. Had dinner. Watched TV.

Blog entry: Wondered about the experimental drugs interacting with airborne chemicals and leaving me unexpectedly dead.
Decided not to clean the bathroom.

Blog entry: The next day was uneventful. Sold a few items but nothing expensive. Hicks muttered and complained but eventually found something halfway interesting to do. Couldn’t wait for the day to end so I could get back to stalker-stalking.

Blog entry: Appeared behind the tree in a fully functional disguise. A disguise I’d worked on for the better part of the afternoon. Spotted Dr. Hargrove just after 7 p.m. and followed her home. This time without problems. On my way I pondered how this success had actually come at the expense of a perfectly good pair of pants. Decided all was not lost. I could probably claim the money back as soon as Dr. Hargrove and I were involved in a serious relationship. We’d go to a restaurant, where she would say something like; W
ant to pick up that check, honey?
And I’d say;
Nope, why don’t
you
pick up that check and add another fifty bucks while you’re at it, as I ruined a perfectly good pair of pants on your behalf.

Resolved to write the conversation down so I could work on it later.

Blog entry: Dr. Hargrove lived in a small, semidetached house, the state of which made me assume it was rented. It didn’t look bad exactly, but you could tell only the bare minimum had been done as far as maintenance was concerned. I liked it though; it had a homey feel to it. A certain coziness. One side of the house was shielded from the sidewalk by a hedge and some bushes, and this is where I hid out. Neither Dr. Hargrove nor any passers-by would be able to spot me.

I followed her shadow as it moved across the blinds. Every once in a while she’d peek out, only to not spot me and quickly move away again. I toyed with the idea of ringing the doorbell to tell her how well it was going, how inconspicuous I was being, but opted against it.

Blog entry: Waited for Dr. Hargrove to go to bed. Waited another two hours after lights out. Headed home.

No stalkers that night.