The Fate Merchant

Chapter 23

     “Lunch?” asked the orderly in faded blue scrubs.

   “Why not?” Frank said. His head hurt from the sedatives they’d given him the night before, but his stomach gurgled at the thought of food. He grabbed the bed controls hanging off the rail next to his head and pressed a button. The bed whirred and elevated his feet. “Shit.” That was the second time he’d done that.

     “Takes some getting used to,” said the orderly as he rolled a narrow table into position next to Frank’s bed and deposited a food tray.

     Frank pressed another button. The bed whirred again and the bottom of the bed flattened out, while the top of the bed pushed him gently into a sitting position. “What’s for lunch?”

     “Disappointment.”

     “Smart ass.”

     The orderly shrugged, smacked his gum, and left.

     Frank checked the printout that lay curled on the tray next to his plate. Chicken breast, carrots, and broth awaited him. He cracked the lid covering his plate. From the smell, he determined that the kitchen staff had rubbed the chicken breast against a wet dog before plating, and then garnished the dish with an old sweat sock.

     He dropped the lid and pushed the table away.

     A doctor swept into the room with three white-coated residents in his wake. “Don’t blame you,” he said. “Frankly, I’ve never understood why we put so much effort into saving lives only to welcome patients back from the brink of death with a plate of lukewarm crap.” He balanced a pair of half-moon glasses on the end of his nose and flipped a page on his chart. “First heart attack, huh?”

     “First and last, I hope.”

     “Well, the good news is that it was relatively minor. The bad news is that it was still a heart attack, and you’re going to have to make some life changes: diet, exercise. How’s your stress level?”

     “I wouldn’t even know how to begin answering that question.”

     “Have you tried meditation?”

     Frank laughed. He wanted to ask what the doctor recommended for a severe case of knowing someone was going to try to bury an axe in his skull.

     “Don’t knock it till you try it. Anyway, get your stress level down.” He flipped another page on the chart, nodded, then lowered the chart and removed his glasses. “I’d like to run some tests today and keep you overnight. If the tests look good, you can go home in the morning. Okay?”

     Frank gave him a thumbs up, but a part of him had hoped for an extended stay. The bed next to him was empty, and it was quiet. Outside, hurricane Roy Harper raged. It had swept him up, upended his life, and promised certain death. He was in no hurry to return to it.