The Shelter by Peter Foley

Author:Peter Foley [Foley, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books - crime, thriller and mystery
Published: 2021-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

There is no part of my life, upon which I can look back without pain

Stephen, our unfortunate friend, lies crumpled inside Salvation’s humble but reasonably equipped medical bay. The facility has three hospital beds, each surrounded by a suite of instruments and apparatus. Aside from the equipment, the room itself looks very much like any other inside Salvation; a small concrete box with loudspeakers mounted on the walls. The temperature’s warm and there’s a strong sharp smell of isopropyl alcohol which has caused Stephen to wake from his uncomfortable slumber. For the first time since his arrival, he’s drifted into consciousness. Someone inside the room notices and speaks.

“Don’t worry, Father’s going to take care of you very soon. In the meantime, make sure that you’re comfortable. How’s your pain?”

Stephen tries to open his eyes, but the light stings. From behind firmly closed lids he responds, “It’s fine, honestly, I think I got off pretty lucky… all things considered. I just had my bell rung pretty hard. Where am I exactly? Has the hurricane passed yet? How long was I out for?”

Stephen’s head hasn’t felt this bad since his very first hangover. At age fourteen, he discovered that drinking a whole bottle of whiskey in thirty minutes was a bad idea. He can still, with clarity, remember the swirling feeling he had the next day when he got up to pitch in his junior league baseball game. Surrounded by the smell of whiskey, he tried to keep it together on the mound with deep slow breaths, but the day was baking hot and breathing made the sickness worse. He pulled his cap down as far as he could and swung his arm. The pitch was not a good one, not only did he nearly throw out his shoulder but the ball bounced in front of the batter and Stephen puked over his shoes. The coach wasn’t happy but the crowd and the players on both teams thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.

Worse than the public vomiting was the headache, it felt like a rhythmic lightning strike to the head, the kind that causes the brain to fire out SOS signals and swirl into deep oblivion.

Now, lying in this hospital bed, Stephen has the same energy-sapping headache. He tries to open his eyes again but the lights hanging from the ceiling still hurt. His bed is comfortable, and some kind soul has pushed a space heater to his bedside next to his legs and he can feel its warmth.

“You’ve been out cold all night.”

“Did anybody get my boots? I lost ’em in the mud out there when that car hit me,” he says, rubbing his forehead.

“Yes, we got them and cleaned them for you. They’re almost as good as new. But I’m afraid you won’t be wearing them anytime soon.”

“What do you mean?” Stephen opens his eyes to the blinding light. He sees a nurse. Shading his view with his hands, he looks down to his feet. He wiggles his toes a little but gets distracted by a plastic tube in his arm.

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