Andrew managed to sprint right through the hospital and into the car park without anyone stopping him. Other than a few funny looks and people jumping out of his way, no one even seemed to notice him. Now that he was outside he decided to slow down, though; to disappear casually into the night.
Just as the male nurse had informed him, there was a small taxi rank on one side of the car park. It consisted of only two cars and Andrew wasted no time in heading for the one parked in front, but he stopped before he got there. He realised that he was covered in blood. Most of it was on his hands, but a small amount had spattered his shirt. Andrew wondered how he would explain it to the taxi driver. Would they be used to such things, picking up passengers from a hospital? He couldn’t count on it.
Fortunately, as Andrew moved away from the street lamps that lit the entrance to the main building, the blood became less of an issue. The blood stains were nondescript blotches in the darkness of the shadows and would be of no concern to a casual observer. They could be paint stains for all anybody knew.
Andrew reached the taxi and pulled open the rear door. The car was a featureless, silver saloon and the driver was a young Asian man who nodded at him as he entered the vehicle.
“Where to, my friend?”
Andrew gave his address and the driver set off, pulling out onto the main road speedily as if he had done so a thousand times before. It had gotten dark outside and the weather had started to worsen, too. The rain increased gradually as if it had been waiting for night to fall before it could get started on its relentless tirade.
“Bad winter this year, my friend,” said the driver, peering back into the rearview mirror to look at Andrew.
Andrew didn’t want to make eye-contact so looked down at his hands. His fingers were stiffening under a thick cake of Jordan’s blood. “Yeah,” he replied after a few seconds, deciding that making conversation would be less suspicious. “A lot of snow coming apparently. Hope there’s no accidents on the road like last year. That was a bad one.”
The driver nodded. “That poor man and his family? Drunk driver killed his wife and child?”
I know how he feels, thought Andrew, but then chastised himself for it. Bex was going to be okay and he would not know the loss of a child. He thanked God for that.
“The guy doesn’t live that far from me actually,” Andrew added. “He drinks in The Trumpet, I think.”
“Rough in there,” said the driver. “I’ve picked up some very nasty people.”
“Wouldn’t know,” said Andrew. “Never been in there myself. Not much of a drinker.”
“Best way, my friend. Alcohol never did anyone any good.” The driver changed the subject. “So everything okay at the hospital? You look very tired. Hope it’s not bad news.”
“Just my grandfather,” Andrew lied, shocked at the ease in which it came. “Cancer.”
The driver glanced back over his shoulder and gave the obligatory sad face. “That’s not good, my friend. I am sorry for you.”
“It’s fine. He’s very old and he had a good life.”
What am I saying? My grandfather died twenty years ago.
There was silence in the car for the rest of the journey. Perhaps the driver had sensed Andrew’s discomfort in the way the conversation was going. Reading people was something taxi drivers probably got pretty good at over time.
“Where about, my friend?”
Andrew looked out the window to see that they had entered his street. It wasn’t the wholesome grouping of quaint properties it had been when Andrew purchased a house there several years ago. Things looked different now; its seedy underbelly exposed forever. There was an atmosphere of menace hanging over the street now. Perhaps Andrew was the only one to sense it – but it was there alright.