Strength

Strength

291 wds

Doctor Johnson came into the Emergency Waiting Room and saw a squat balding man about seventy sitting on the front edge of the couch, frowning at the TV. The ashtray beside his elbow was overflowing.

"Mr. Thornley?" Dr. Johnson asked.

Norman Thornley slowly looked toward him through eyes watery and inflamed and nodded.

Several long strides brought Dr Johnson closer, looking down at Thornley who did not stand or offer his hand to shake.

Tall and aloof, Johnson detached himself from all emotions. "I'll be blunt, ' he said, though he was always blunt whether or not he warned people about it. "Your wife is in very grave condition. She has been beaten with a blunt instrument. Probably a piece of pipe or a hammer. And she has several stab wounds about which I am puzzled. None of these are very deep, almost as though they weren't meant to kill her. Very strange. Finally she has a gunshot wound in the abdomen. Small caliber, luckily."

"Will she ... will she live?" he asked in a harsh whisper, biting his lower lip.

"We'll know more in the next forty-eight hours. But, yes, I think she'll make it. Recovery will take a long, long time, but she seems to be a strong woman. A very, very strong woman to survive all this, Mr Thornley."

Norman Thornley turned to look out the large window at the dark night sky.

" And that's what you'll need, too, Mr Thornley, strength and patience."

"Strength," Thornly muttered. She had given away too much of the lottery winnings and now their investments were rapidly loosing value. He needed her life insurance money badly. "Where at my age will I get enough strength to do this again?"

END