Caught In A Name

CHAPTER TWO

Nicomaine walked out of the hotel situated across the front entrance of Foothills Medical Centre in Calgary, Alberta, with much trepidation. She warily but discreetly looked around her surroundings first before she started to head towards the crosswalk.

When Mr. Faulkerson was rushed to the hospital 3 days ago, it was pitch dark outside and so Nicomaine didn't exactly know where they were until after the surgery and a couple of police officers in plain clothes,who introduced themselves as Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith (yeah so fuckin original), escorted her and her baby to the nearest hotel. They checked her in under her alias and reassured her that everything will be taken cared of. But they did leave a subtle warning that she shouldn't take off until they find out some answers to their questions. Which basically means, they will be watching her like a hawk; her every move, her every action. So, like the obedient citizen that she is, Nicomaine stayed put. She would go to the hospital once a day to visit Mr. Faulkerson in the intensive care unit, playing the role of the distraught wife. But for the rest of the last three days, she remained cooped up inside the hotel room, ordering food from room service and once she went to the nearest corner store to buy formula. However, she was on the edge the whole time. Every sound and every movement from outside her hotel room made her jump. The worst case scenario playing in her head, not really knowing if she needed to run or defend herself and her baby. One thing she dreaded the most was the sound of the phone ringing. She wasn't sure if she'd be receiving a notice of life or death from the hospital. For an unknown reason, she seemed to have developed some sort of an attachment to Mr. Faulkerson.

Oh sure, he saved my life and almost died in the process but that's not reason enough. Or is it? Oh dear heavens, talking to yourself again Nicomaine?

In a way, the phone call she just received brought about a sigh of relief because now at least she knows that Mr. Faulkerson would be all right.

She stood on the side of the intersection, with the baby carrier strapped to her front and her ever trusted backpack on her back, waiting for the pedestrian light to turn on. As her eyes swept the people around her, she spotted Mr. Jones, one of the two cops whose been her constant escort whenever she left the hotel. Seeing him to her right side, she knew, without a doubt that the other one, Mr. Smith, was on her left, interspersed with the group of pedestrians waiting to cross. In a way, she felt a little safer, knowing that two cops were tailing her even with the short walk to the hospital.

As the pedestrian light turned green, Nicomaine started to cross the street but was stopped short in her tracks when she spotted a familiar and yet afeared face among the crowd. It was one of the two men that were shooting at her three days ago! She closed her eyes briefly to make sure she wasn't imagining things and when she opened them back again, the face was gone. It could've been her imagination and she was ready to dismiss it as such but her gut instinct told her it wasn't. However, as she looked around her, she couldn't see him again. She was brought back to the present when somebody bumped her from behind. Her feet instantly moved with the intention of turning around to fight but a mumbled "sorry" from the person walking past her stopped her actions. She slowly but discreetly looked around her again to find the same face she saw earlier, but nothing. The only faces she could spot among the crowd were the two police officers on both her sides. So with her breathing controlled and her heartbeat beating fast, she took slow measured steps and resumed crossing the street. Walking nonchalantly, as if nothing happened. But she knew, deep inside, she'd been found once again.

As soon as she reached the front entrance of the hospital, she made sure to stay with a group of people, making short conversations here and there, so as to appear as if she was just another normal being among the crowd.

She took the elevator to the surgical floor, as instructed by Mandy over the phone, and stepped out right in front of the nursing station. She turned to her left and headed to Mr. Faulkerson's new assigned room. She quickly spotted it because Mr. Jones was already standing in front of the door. And just as she spotted the cop in front of her, she knew that Mr. Smith would be somewhere behind her. But regardless of the ever presence of the two, she still felt really uneasy and the churning in her gut did not abate.

"Mrs. Faulkerson," Mr. Jones greeted with a nod.

"Mr. Jones," Nicomaine acknowledged. "How in the world did you make it here that fast?"

"It's called stairs ma'am."

Well that shut her up! Sheesh. I was just trying to make small talk. In fact, Nicomaine have tried to make small talk with her two escorts whenever they decide to get within talking proximity. But, they would always just answer with a nod or a grunt. This was actually the first time that she got words as a response. That's a progress, I guess.

Mr. Jones opened the door for her to enter and as soon as she stepped inside the private room, her steps faltered and stopped, unsure.

"I've already checked the room, Mrs. Faulkerson. It is safe" Mr. Jones stated quietly from behind her before closing the door.

Nevertheless, out of habit and survival instinct, Nicomaine scanned her surroundings. Looking for any hidden danger. Detecting none, she walked towards the bed in the middle of the room.  There lies Mr. Faulkerson under the sterile white sheets, his eyes closed and his breathing steady, with his IV dripping steadily on his left arm. He looked like he was in a deep sleep. Thank God for that. At least I don't have to talk to him yet. It was a sight to see because for the first time, he didn't have the ventilator attached to him. His paleness from the loss of blood remains but there is actual colour to his cheeks now. A positive indication that he is indeed out of danger.

After stopping within a short distance of the bed, Nicomaine turned towards the visitor's couch by the window. She slowly but quietly took her backpack off and gently unstrapped the baby carrier in front of her so as not to jostle her baby awake. She gently laid the little being, taking care to place the backpack beside the couch to stop her baby from falling, just in case. As she got rid of her oversized coat, she stretched her back a little, walking towards the window. She peeked behind the blinds, looking at the street below, searching for the danger that her senses seemed to be attuned to. She couldn't just ignore what her gut is trying to tell her. She knows that the men chasing her have caught up with her. She just wasn't sure how to get rid of them this time.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard a voice behind her.

"So, it's nice to finally meet my wife, whom I don't recall marrying; and my baby, whom I definitely do not recall making."

"Holy shit! Would it kill you to clear your throat at least before speaking?" Nicomaine blurted in a heated whisper as she turned around to face the douchebag.

"Actually, it would. My throat still hurts like the devil had poked it with his heated giant fork" Mr. Faulkerson responded throatily. His words dripping with sarcasm.

"So you just decided to speak, out of the blue, so that I would also die of shock and fear in the process?"

"Clearly you didn't. So all is well, yeah?"

Deep breaths Nicomaine, deep breaths.

Just as Nicomaine was about to answer, the door opened and in walked her two escorts, their eyes intently focused on the man occupying the bed. Their strides purposeful and and their posture rigid. Both their faces had this no nonsense look.

What now?!?