Hush (by Lysa D'Angelyse)

He'd had a lifelong weakness for football, golf, and younger women but none of that mattered anymore. The vultures were just outside, already fighting over the best morsels. He hadn't moved or spoken in weeks but, as she reached over to touch the thin vein slowly pulsating in his hand, his eyes flashed open and he said...

He was having lunch with a close buddy of his six months ago – talking shop. He’s a remarkable doctor in his early 30s; single, living in a luxury condo in the city and notoriously deemed the “boy next door” - good looking, wholesome, and had a mysterious innocence about him.

His mother died when he was fifteen - murdered. The evidence was inadmissible in court. They were very close and he felt she watched over him constantly. He hardly ever talked about his father whom he admired - but cringed whenever the topic was brought up.

“I’ve got $2000 down on the Jets getting seven.”

“Are you kidding me?” his buddy replies, “the Jets don’t stand a chance…You’re on!”

Both men chuckle about the wager.

“I gotta get back to the ER,” he implied taking a final sip of his iced tea.

A faint vibration on his thigh alerts him as he’s getting up from the chair. He reaches into his pocket and views the message on his pager. With a look of disillusion, he grabs his car keys and takes off.

Upon entering the hospital doors where he worked, his phone rings. He glances at the caller ID with a look of disappointment suggesting an undesired caller. Hesitant to answer, he takes a deep breath and rejects the call - continuing into the lobby.

“Nurse, what’s the status?”

“…Seems to be responding well to the meds. We’ve been keeping a close eye.... Oh and you’re wanted in room 5, doctor.”

He nods his head displaying a hint of appreciation in the form of a smile as he heads toward the room he’s requested in.

Hours later, he exits another room with accomplishment on his face after completing a 16-hour shift and ventures to the front desk…

“Any messages?”

“No, doctor. Have a good morning,” she responds with a hint of giddiness, “see you on Tuesday.”

While exiting through the automatic doors, he reaches into his front pocket – uneager to turn his phone back on. But does and notices the message indicator. Reluctant to check the message, he puts the phone down and drives to his destination.

“Will you be having coffee?”

“Yes and can I get the turkey sausage, eggs scrambled, wheat toast light butter, please.”

Unfolding his newspaper, a familiar scent comes from behind. His mind quickly tries to identify the powdery-sweet stench and before he turns, he’s frozen by the gawk of a dark-haired figure. His expression changes from curiosity to abomination.

“You haven’t returned my calls, “ she mutters.

“I was working. What do you want?”

“I will never forget the truth about what happened." She pauses awaiting a reply. “...the stakes have gone up.”

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” he blurts trying to be clever in his response.

He smirks trying to avoid eye contact while conjuring up an excuse to abandon the situation altogether. With a seductive smile, she reaches over and grabs a sip from his coffee cup – catching him by surprise.
He loathes her presence and regains focus on his newspaper.

The waitress places his breakfast in front of him and asks if his guest would be dining, as well.

“No, she’s leaving,” he replies gently with a hint of sarcasm.

Without retaliation, she excuses herself from the table giving a last look of vindication towards him before completely exiting the restaurant.

Relieved of her departure, his mind races although panic doesn’t show on his face.

Arriving home, he is flooded with emotions - overwhelmed with uncertainty and rage. Something must be done about her. He can’t live his affluent life continuously being blackmailed by some gold-digger trying to dishonor the family name. He decides to listen to his phone message. A look of disgust takes over his boyish features and the flush of anger causes a rosy glow. She needs to be stopped. He grabs his keys and hastily exits the front door – slamming it from behind.

The loud bang causes his eyes to flash open. The cherry wood furniture seems familiar. A faint muffle is heard before him. Trying to designate the words, the muffle becomes clearer, and so does the sight of a man in a black robe facing him.

“Do you understand these charges against you?” the man in the robe asked.

Unable to acknowledge, he feels a mild pressure on his left interfere with his attempt to speak. He pauses to hear the continuous shrill from a woman behind him repeatedly asking “why.”

“May God be with you,” the prominent man says in a strong, sympathetic tone.

Another loud bang daunts him and he finds himself abducted placed into another room. The musty aroma triggers a memory and he tries backtracking the details of his whereabouts.

“Wake up,” he whispers, convincing himself he’s dreaming.

In the blink of an eye, he feels restriction on his legs and wrists. He turns to the woman with her hand still touching his. She acknowledges three men off right guarding a stretcher.

“His organs won’t be affected by the drip,” she says to them as he notices them standing there like birds of prey.

The blur of reality actualizes after he’s stunned by the sharp pinch of the needle. It causes the room to dim and the numbness from earlier to subside.

Compelled to speak, he quietly chants, “I broke my promise, mom. I AM like him. Forgive me.”