Turned By Him

“I told you what I was sitting in,” Eliza said with her eyes fixed on the floor. “But I don’t think any of it came from a wound. I swear I wasn’t drunk.” Eliza was embarrassed to tell George about the putrid smelling fluid she awoke in. As best as Eliza could tell, it hadn’t come from her.

George nodded thoughtfully before turning to take a thin light from the bag he had brought. “You may have defecated the blood,” he said coolly, “which isn’t good. But if you’re sure you don’t want to go to the hospital to get checked out, at least let me take a look.” Eliza’s face grew hot. She had known George Fruender for a long time but he had never been her practicing physician. “Don’t worry,” George said with a warm smile. “We’ll start by looking at your eyes, checking your pulse and that sort of thing.”

He had her eyes follow the small white light. Eliza’s vision was still very sensitive however and she had a hard time staring into the penlight. “Very interesting,” George mumbled. He pulled out a stethoscope. “Just going to take a listen to your breathing.” As he pressed the cool metal to her back, Eliza noticed that the metal seemed to press hard on her back. As she took in a deep breath and let it out George mumbled a barely audible curse. Eliza began to feel nervous. “Breath in deep,” George said again, “and out. Hold it, hold your breath.” Eliza held her breath as long as she could. While she did, she watched the dark wrinkles on George’s forehead press together forming even deeper valleys. He sat there intently listening. George said, “and breath,” before Eliza began to feel light headed.

“Am I okay?” Eliza asked after a moment more of silence. George’s expression had shifted from intrigue to concern. The old man rested his chin in his hand and stared contemplatively at Eliza as though he had never seen her before. When the silence became more than she could bear, Eliza shouted, “Well don’t just stare at me! What’s wrong?”

The doctor was a little taken back but his expression softened back to concern and he said, “Eliza, we need to take you to the hospital.”

Eliza wasn’t sure why she was getting so angry but she couldn’t help herself. “Go to the hospital,” she yelled indignantly. “When there is a doctor in my living room?”

George sighed, raising the stethoscope back to her chest he listened. “Here,” he said as he handed the ear buds to her. “Listen,” he commended.

Eliza obeyed and put the buds to her ears. She listened for a few seconds before she took the stethoscope’s bell into her own hand and slid the cold metal over her chest. She listened again, moved the bell and listened. She took the earpieces out and handed the stethoscope to George. “What’s happening?” Eliza gasped before bursting into tears. All day Eliza had been fighting back the feeling of powerlessness and weakness. All day she had told herself she’d been lucky to escape unscathed. Yet, when she listened through the stethoscope she heard no heartbeat. It was the final straw on her already overwhelmed mind. Eliza sobbed and George took the young woman in his arms as she cried loudly into his shoulder. “What’s happening to me?” she asked again through labored breaths.

“I don’t know,” George said honestly. “We need to get you to the hospital and we need to file a police report. We must find Heather.” George’s decisiveness was a comfort to Eliza as she struggled to understand what was happening to her.

Just then, a loud ringing chimed from George’s pocket. He delicately pushed Eliza away to check his phone. His expression darkened before he answered “Hello. Yes this is Dr. Fruedner.”

Eliza could hear the words coming from George’s phone clearly. “We would like you to come down to the precinct office on 38^th,” said the woman on the other end. “We discovered a body this morning…”

The woman’s next words were interrupted by the most inhuman sigh Eliza had ever heard. It was as though the air escaping George’s lungs was getting caught in his throat and suffocating him. An expression of utter horror stretched across his dark weathered skin. Eliza felt a lump build in her throat as she fought back tears. Eliza could no longer hear the woman over the sound of her own thoughts and, judging by George’s stricken expression, neither could he. After a moment however he said, “38th street, I’ll be there.”

He wordlessly ended the call and buried his face in his palms. Eliza wrapped her arms around him and sobbed “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

George collected his things and padded Eliza on the shoulder. “We don’t know anything yet,” he said. “You’re not well,” George was out of sorts and seemed as though he had just recalled the fact. “Stay here. I’ll let you know what I learn and I’ll be back to take you to Saint Jude’s.” With a forced smile and a long hug the doctor left the small apartment.

The sun began to set and Eliza began to feel a bit better. She still had no appetite but she felt stronger. She checked her own pulse many times but could never find it. She began to suspect that she had lost a significant amount of blood and had very low blood pressure. Eliza sat in her apartment alone and in the dark, too worried to eat, sleep or even think. The light stung her eyes and the noise of a television was a chaotic stress she didn’t need. She kept her phone nearby in case someone would text or George would call. Eliza had been living in her small apartment for nearly a year and it had never felt so lonely. The wind rattled the thin window panes as neon lights alternated colors in the otherwise dark room.

In the midst of her terror, Eliza began to silently pray. She had never been religious and had never gone to church. Yet, through the desperate fatigued fear than now clouded her every thought she decided to whisper a hope to the dark room, a hope that her friend was not dead in an N.Y.P.D. morgue. Halfway through her whispered appeal to a modestly decorated apartment, Eliza’s phone vibrated. When she looked down to see who it was, the only three words of the text message were visible. George had sent a message “It is her.” For a brief moment, Eliza considered the ‘is’ of his message meant she was alive and there. It was a self-delusion that she could only indulge a moment before the hopeless reality struck her. Heather was dead.

Eliza’s eyes welled and she cried. Eliza thought she’d cry more but found herself too overwhelmed. Looking down at the time, it had been several hours since she’d arrived home covered in blood. She was feeling better and in her distressed state, nothing sounded better to Eliza than a walk through the city. She didn’t bother putting on makeup or changing into anything nice. She put on her jogging shoes, grabbed a jacket and made for the door. At the door she hesitated. Eliza looked back into the apartment for something to bring with her, anything that could be a weapon. “Just in case,” she said aloud as she went into her kitchen and took out a large knife and slid it into her purse.

Once out in the evening air, Eliza began to feel better. Her mood was still atrocious; as she walked down the streets, she found some people smelled repugnant. It was all Eliza could do to keep herself from screaming at a homeless person who was banging a bottle against the sidewalk as she passed. She was in no mood to speak to anyone and so she was sure to say nothing despite her fury. Eliza ran her hand along the side of the knife in her bag. The leather bag was cool but to her surprise the December breeze did not nip at her fingertips. She wound her way through the mounds of snow down the Manhattan sidewalk. The lights were still decorated for the holiday season.