The good patient, p.1
The Good Patient, page 1
THE GOOD PATIENT
ALEX STONE
For Abhi.
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Acknowledgments
More from Alex Stone
About the Author
About Boldwood Books
The Murder List
1
NOW (SEPTEMBER)
Not again.
The foggy drowsiness that weighed against me was disturbingly familiar. As was the throbbing in my head that penetrated through the darkness. It was persistent. Nauseating.
I knew pain. I was used to it. Numbed to it. It had been a part of my life for so long. But it was a part that I had promised myself was over now. Enough was enough.
At least that was the plan.
And yet…
My eyelids fluttered as I tried to summon the strength to open them. Shards of bright sunlight instantly blinded me and I scrunched my eyes closed again.
I lay still, sheltered in the darkness. My brain felt lethargic and hazy. It was tempting to allow myself to drift back to sleep.
Not again.
That one thought was enough to cling to. Enough to keep me going. Enough to survive.
I fought to focus my thoughts, internally checking in with every part of my body, assessing the damage. Nothing felt broken. Nothing else hurt. Cautiously I wiggled my toes. I could still move them.
A rhythmic beep caught my attention. There was something familiar and calming about it. I inhaled deeply. The overpowering bitter clinical scent filled my nostrils. I smiled slightly. I knew that smell.
Most people hated it and what it represented. Where it represented. But to me it was safety. It was kindness.
‘Ms Taylor,’ a deep voice disrupted my thoughts, and I cautiously opened my eyes again.
I squinted at the figure beside my bed, dark haired with a light-brown skin tone. He was wearing blue scrubs and the stethoscope around his neck gleamed as the sunlight reflected off it.
He poked his black framed glasses with his forefinger, pushing them higher on his nose. ‘I’m Dr Menon,’ he said, with a soft, lilting accent. ‘I treated you about six months ago.’
Abhilash.
‘I remember.’ My voice was groggy and faint. Despite the drowsiness, I remembered him. How could I forget?
‘That was quite a blow you took to your head,’ he continued as he studied the notes in his hands. He looked up and his eyes met mine. ‘You had us worried.’
I could see the concern etched into his features. He was telling the truth. His concern was genuine. He had been worried.
About me.
I swallowed. ‘I’m sorry,’ I mumbled softly. Guilt pressed against my chest. Another sensation I was too acquainted with.
‘I’m just glad you’re okay. That’s all that matters.’
I started to nod, but the pounding in my head made me instantly regret that action. But he was right; despite the pounding in my head, I was okay. In fact, I was better than okay. I was back in hospital, but this time was different. Everything was different.
‘Keep your head still and follow my finger with your eyes, please,’ he said as he leaned towards me and raised his index finger. Disappointment washed over me as he moved his finger slowly in an H pattern about thirty centimetres in front of my face.
What had I expected? He was just doing his job.
‘There are a couple of police officers here,’ he said, straightening his back.
‘Police?’ I shifted awkwardly.
‘They want to ask you some questions if you feel up to it?’
There was a protective tone to his words. He would send them away if I asked him to. He’d do it for me.
‘It’s fine,’ I told him. There wasn’t much point in delaying it. He would only be able to hold them off for so long. I might as well deal with their questions now.
He nodded and backed out of the cubicle. ‘Okay,’ I heard him say. ‘You can go in now, but only for a couple of minutes. She needs to rest.’
I swallowed as two uniformed officers walked towards the foot of the bed.
‘Ms Taylor, I’m PC Smith and this is PC Jennings.’ The other officer nodded as PC Smith said her name.
‘Can you tell us what happened?’ PC Jennings asked.
I tried not to flinch at the question. It was one I’d been asked so many times before. People always wanted to know. Wanted to help.
At least that’s what they claimed.
But the reality was no-one was that selfless. There was always a reason. A motive. Something to gain.
I glanced at the open doorway. Well, maybe not everyone.
‘Ms Taylor…’ PC Jennings prompted, stepping into my line of sight.
I drew in a deep breath and tried to recall. How had I got here this time?
‘I was in the water,’ I said slowly, the vague memory of my body rhythmically bobbing, swept up in the current, as darkness descended upon me like morning fog creeping in.
‘Yes, you were found unconscious in the water. The coastguard said your life vest saved you from drowning.’
‘My head.’ I lifted my hand and tentatively touched my forehead. It was bandaged, but even so, my gentle touch made me wince. ‘I hit it.’
The police officers watched me. Silently waiting for me to continue.
I squinted, trying to summon the memories from the murky depths of my mind. Why was I in the sea?
Your life vest saved you.
PC Jenning’s statement circled in my brain. If I’d been swimming, I wouldn’t have been wearing a life vest. I only wore that when I took the jet-ski out.
‘The jet-ski.’ That was it. ‘I was out on the jet-ski.’
The officers glanced at one another, and I knew from their expressions that this revelation wasn’t news to them. ‘But how did you end up in the water?’ PC Smith asked as he shifted position, attempting to block the low September sun from his eyes.
I frowned. There was something about the sunlight that felt off. As though it didn’t fit. ‘Wasn’t there a storm brewing?’
PC Smith nodded. ‘This morning. It got pretty bad for a few hours. The rain has stopped now, but the wind is still strong. Not really ideal weather for jet-skiing. Why did you go out in that?’
‘It wasn’t that bad when I set out. I thought I’d beat it.’
PC Smith’s expression showed how reckless he thought that decision had been. He was right. It had been foolish. And yet… I closed my eyes. I could almost feel the spray in my face.
The jet-ski lifted as I flew over the crest of another wave. I was going so fast. Too fast for the choppy conditions. But I didn’t care. I felt powerful. Strong. Free.
There was another wave already heading towards me. It was even bigger this time. Common sense told me I should slow down. Head back to shore. I’d never ridden when the sea was so rough before. I wasn’t experienced enough.
My heart pounded. I felt alive for the first time in so long.
I tightened my grip and accelerated more.
I was tired of being sensible. Contained. I wasn’t ready to go back.
A surge of power rippled through my body as the jet-ski sped up and then suddenly the engine spluttered.
I glanced down at it, taking my gaze off the horizon as the steering became heavy and sluggish. I was no longer flying over the top of the water but trudging through treacle.
Something was wrong.
Panic welled in the pit of my stomach, my body instantly recognising that everything had changed in one split second. Without power I would be stranded out here.
I looked up and gasped. I wasn’t just stranded; I was def enceless. Without the power of acceleration, the wave no longer looked like a tempting challenge, but a terrifying monster. I lurched forward, hunkering down against the jet-ski, praying it would offer some protection just as the wave hit.
My eyes flew open. ‘The engine cut out and I got knocked off the jet-ski.’ My fingers instinctively gripped the bedsheet that covered me, as though it could offer any protection from the force of the impact. I could feel the blow as the wave threw me forwards, banging my head against the jet-ski. It was like being thrown headfirst against concrete. Hard. Disorientating. Painful.
And yet, alongside the pain, there was something else too. Disappointment. A void I felt inside from the absence of power.
Immersed in the icy water, I felt my grip slip before everything faded to nothingness.
‘And Josh Carter?’
I blinked. ‘What about him?’
‘What happened to him?’
I frowned. ‘I don’t understand?’
‘He’s missing.’
‘Missing?’ I repeated the word slowly, as my brain struggled to make sense of it. ‘What do you mean, he’s missing?’ A sense of dread weighed heavily against me.
‘You were the only one pulled from the water. The coastguard hasn’t been able to find Josh yet.’
My eyes widened as I stared at them. ‘He had an accident too?’
The officers exchanged an uncertain look. ‘He was with you on the jet-ski,’ PC Jennings said, hesitantly.
I shook my head. ‘No. I was alone.’
‘Are you certain?’ I heard the doubt in her voice.
I lifted my hand back to my forehead, but it did nothing to help ease the pounding that reverberated through my skull. ‘I was alone,’ I repeated. I knew I was. I wouldn’t have gone out with Josh. Not today. Not ever again.
‘Josh sent a text to his brother, Paul, saying that the two of you were going out on the water together. Just like usual.’
‘Why would he tell him that?’ I shook my head.
‘We found your car in the Harbourside car park in Poole.’
I nodded. ‘I use the Baiter slipway there.’
‘We found Josh’s car at the other end of the car park.’
I blinked. ‘You did?’
‘Sunday morning is when you and Josh usually take the jet-ski out?’
‘Well, yes, but…’
‘The two of you? Together?’
‘Normally, yes.’
‘So why not today?’
‘I…’ The pounding in my head grew stronger. More persistent. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. ‘I…’ I ran my fingers through my blonde curls, wincing slightly as they caught on a knot from the dried salt water that had matted my hair.
‘Sorry, officers,’ Dr Menon’s voice from the doorway cut through the silence. I stared at him, stunned. I hadn’t even realised he was there. ‘You’re going to need to leave now so my patient can get some rest.’ He was protecting me again.
‘Just a few more questions—’
‘My patient sustained a severe head injury.’
PC Jennings nodded. ‘We’ll come back when she’s less confused.’
I frowned. Was I confused?
PC Smith nodded as he followed his colleague out of the cubicle. I stared after them, relieved they were leaving. But unease still churned in the pit of my stomach. They were police officers. They were good. They helped people. Except they had the power to turn my world, my life, upside down.
Just like before.
‘Thanks,’ I said as the officers left.
Dr Menon nodded and turned to the monitor. ‘Your vitals look okay,’ he said, before turning back to me. He placed his hand beside mine. ‘Can you squeeze my fingers?’
I wrapped my fingers around his and squeezed as instructed.
‘Pull my hand towards you, and then push me away, so I can check the strength of your upper limbs.’
I obeyed again.
‘Good. And the other hand?’
We repeated the process.
He nodded again as he started to pull his hand away, but he paused. He glanced over his shoulder, before turning back to me. The corner of his mouth twisted upwards in a hopeful smile. ‘So, Lauren,’ he whispered, ‘did you do it?’
2
FOUR MONTHS EARLIER (MAY)
I hugged my right wrist to my chest as I sat in the waiting room. It was broken. Even with my non-existent medical training I could tell that.
The two paracetamol I’d already taken weren’t really doing anything to numb the pain, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. After all, I’d handled worse.
I glanced down at it, studying the deformed shape. I didn’t want to see it and yet, something kept making me look. Some sense of morbid curiosity perhaps; like covering my eyes when watching a scary movie, but still peeking through my fingers. Because even though I told myself I didn’t want to know, didn’t want to see, the truth was, some part of me did.
I was fascinated. Repulsed, but fascinated.
My gaze drifted around the busy waiting room. Everyone looked harassed and worried. I watched as new patients entered, wide eyed as they studied the signs, desperately checking they were in the right place. They looked overwhelmed by it all.
They didn’t want to be here. I couldn’t blame them. It was unfamiliar and scary.
At least to them.
Hospital staff zig-zagged through the crowd, their pace hurried and decisive. There was an order to it all. The atmosphere felt charged with a buzz of energy. It was structured. Purposeful.
Safe.
‘Lauren Taylor.’ I turned at the sound of my name being called. A male doctor stood in the corridor, his eyes scanning the room. I stood up and walked towards him, protecting my wrist against my body as I moved.
‘Ms Taylor?’ he asked, and I nodded. ‘I’m Dr Menon.’ His subtle Indian accent added extra warmth to his tone. ‘This way please.’ He led me through to a small cubicle and signalled to a chair. ‘Have a seat and let’s have a look at that wrist.’
I sat on the edge of the chair and slowly held my wrist out for him to examine. I inhaled sharply as he touched my fingers.
‘Sorry,’ he said, instantly. ‘I’m afraid it’s broken.’
I nodded.
‘It looks like a possible fracture dislocation and may need manipulation, but I’ll need an x-ray to confirm.’
I nodded again.
‘How did you do it?’ he asked.
‘I fell off a ladder.’
He arched his eyebrow.
‘I’m such a clutz,’ I added, pre-empting his next question.
His gaze flitted to my face for a second before returning his attention to my wrist. But that split second was long enough.
‘It’s not the first time you’ve been treated here.’
There was an unspoken question suspended in his words.
I shook my head and laughed. ‘Like I said, total clutz.’
His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even crack a smile at my feeble attempt at a joke. He just looked up and studied me intently.
‘There were some questions raised by the doctor who treated you last time.’
I felt cold.
I remembered those questions. I remembered the way the doctor had looked at me. Pitying and fearful.
He was just trying to help of course. Just like the doctors before him. I understood that. But I didn’t need it. I was fine.
