Flash 01: Out Of The Blue
The following was inspired by an email from a reader. I have been working on this for a while now, having started over from scratch several times.
Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories, and many thanks to those who have inquired about my well-being. I know it's been a little while since I have submitted a story here, and I apologize for that. Sometimes, life happens and it's been a bit hectic in the Saddletramp universe lately. But not to worry, there's plenty more craziness in the works...
For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...
Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...
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I opened my eyes and tried to take in my surroundings. When my vision cleared, I could tell I was in a hospital bed and could see wires and tubes attached to my body. A blood pressure cuff was wrapped around one arm. Much of my body, including my head, was covered in bandages.
I saw a fairly attractive blonde nurse at the station next to my bed. She looked down at me when she finished typing on her keyboard and saw I was awake.
"Mr. Drake, can you hear me?" she asked. I tried to talk but couldn't since there was something in my throat. So I simply nodded my head. "Hang on, I'll go get the doctor."
Right, I thought as I watched her sway to the door. Like I'm actually going to go anywhere. I heard her call out.
"Dr. Simpson! Mr. Drake is waking up," she said. That's me, by the way -- Cameron Drake. "Cam" to my friends and family, including the treacherous slut, Ginger, my soon-to-be ex-wife. An older man in medical garb appeared at the door and looked at me before coming in.
"Ah, Mr. Drake, good to see you back with us," he said with a smile. "Don't try to talk, there's a tube in your throat. I'm Dr. Simpson, and I've been assigned to your case. Relax for a moment, okay? I'm just going to examine you for a bit, then we'll see about getting that tube out of you." He looked me over for a while and consulted my chart.
Then he unwrapped some of the bandages and examined the skin underneath. He smiled as he nodded his head.
"You seem to be recovering faster than I would have expected," he said. "Let's go ahead and get that tube out of your throat." He and the nurse worked for a while and pulled the long tube out of me. I was surprised when I saw how long the thing was. They also removed the catheter and the feeding tube. I felt tremendous relief when they were out and I tried to talk, but my mouth and throat were very dry.
The nurse, whose name tag read, "Lucy," gave me an ice chip to suck on and I eagerly accepted it. When it had melted I looked at her and she gave me another with a smile. Eventually, my throat had sufficiently moistened to the point that I could actually speak.
"How long?" I asked. "What happened?" Dr. Simpson took a seat next to my bed and consulted his chart before speaking.
"You're currently at Mercy General Hospital, Mr. Drake," he said. "You've been with us for the last four days."
"Four days?" I asked, shocked.
"Yes," he said. "According to witnesses, you were struck by some kind of lightning. Strange thing, though, since there wasn't a cloud in the sky. You were unconscious when the paramedics brought you in. You had severe burns over most of your body. We weren't sure you were going to make it. Frankly, I'd say your recovery to this point has far exceeded our expectations. If I were a religious man, I'd say it was almost miraculous."
"Does my wife know?" I asked.
"Yes," he said. "She came by once, stayed for a few minutes. Just long enough for me to tell her your condition." Of course, I thought to myself. "She hasn't been back. But you've had lots of other visitors -- friends, co-workers, parents."
"How long will I be here?" I asked.
"That depends on you," he said. "If your recovery continues as it has been, I'd say a day, maybe two." I nodded my head. "Are you up for a real meal?"
"Yes," I told him.
"Alright, I'll have Lucy get you a menu and you can order something. In the meantime, relax and just take it easy. After you've had something to eat, Lucy will take you for a walk if you're up to it. Any questions?"
"No," I said, shaking my head. He turned to Lucy before speaking.
"Why don't you change his dressings and get him a menu," he said, standing up. "I'll check in on you later today, Mr. Drake," he said before he left.
"I'll be back in about 15 or 20 minutes," Lucy said. I nodded my head and watched her leave. While she was gone, my thoughts turned to my life and the state of my five-year marriage to Ginger.
Let me start by saying that I'm basically your average "Joe." I graduated from high school and went straight to college. I never played sports in school, never took martial arts and never spent a day in uniform. I'm one of those guys you can look at but not really see, if you know what I mean.
I met Ginger in college. I won't bore you with all the details of our courtship. We dated for a couple years, fell in love, then got married after we graduated. She got her business degree and went to work for a large financial services firm in town.
I got my degree in information technology -- read, computers and networks -- and went to work for Apex Tech Solutions, a large IT firm headquartered in my hometown. I started as a field service engineer and worked my way up the ladder. I now supervise other techs and oversee installations and upgrades. The money is good and the benefits are fantastic.
Ginger and I held off on having children, and I'm now glad we did. We currently live in a nice two-bedroom condo, and had talked about buying a larger place so we could start our family. That's about as far as it went, though.
I may be just your average guy, but that doesn't mean I'm stupid. Over the last few months, I've noticed some changes in Ginger. She's been spending more time at work, plus going out with "the girls" two or even three times a week, not getting home until midnight or later, reeking of booze, cigarette smoke and sometimes other things I didn't even want to contemplate at the time.
We normally have sex four or five times a week, but lately, that's dropped off. It seems she's been having a lot of "headaches" these days. And her attitude has changed a bit. She used to be bubbly, fun and playful, but lately, she's been more than just a bit short-tempered and snippy with me.
On top of that, she's been starting arguments over practically nothing. The end result is no sex. At least for me. Now, we're little more than room mates, and not even close ones at that.
I began to wonder if she was having an affair. I thought about confronting her, but the way she's been lately, I knew it would cause the mother of all fights. So I started watching her as close as I could. I knew I would need proof if I was to confront her, so I considered hiring a private investigator.
That was when I found out how much it would cost me. Sure, Ginger and I made fairly decent money, but you could have knocked me over with a feather when I learned how much a PI would cost. There was no way I could absorb that kind of money.
A co-worker suggested I use an audio recorder to get evidence. He had one he used when he caught his wife cheating on him, so he let me use it. It looks and functions just like a regular ball-point pen, but includes a sound-activated audio recorder. Just charge it up and put it in her purse, he told me. Then hook it up to a USB port and download the audio, Sounds simple, right?
It seemed simple, at least in theory, but Ginger's purse is something of a black hole. It seems she has a bad habit of cramming stuff in it, and whatever is there ends up getting lost somewhere in the bottom. That's what happened to the audio recorder.
When I retrieved it from her purse, I found it in the bottom, covered with a bunch of paper and tissue she had crammed in the bag. I could only hope there was nothing communicable on the tissues when I reached inside.
I plugged the recorder into a USB port and listened. There was a lot of background noise, but any actual communication was muffled so bad I couldn't understand what was being said or by whom. I charged the pen back up and placed it in her purse, hoping I could hear something the next time I listened.
But that didn't happen. I downloaded the audio every day, but got the same result. I could hear a lot of background noise, and I could tell when she was at a club with "the girls," but was unable to understand anything that was being said. After two weeks of this, I decided to bite the bullet and hire a PI. But I never got a chance to actually do it.
The next day I was at the intersection of Third and Main Streets in a company truck -- a Ford F250 4X4. I looked next to me and saw an extremely sporty car. I didn't what it was, but it looked foreign and very expensive. It had an open sunroof and I could see right into the car.
Sitting in the passenger seat was Ginger, her short dress hiked up to her waist, exposing her shaved pussy to whomever might want to look. In the driver's seat was a man I vaguely recognized as someone she worked with, his hand working furiously on her smooth mound.
They didn't see me, since I had the window up and it was tinted. Besides, she was far too engrossed in what he was doing to care who was next to her. I pulled out my cell phone and grabbed some video before the light turned green. The car sped off and turned left at the next intersection. I continued to my job site, knowing that our marriage was over.
When I got to the client's building, I called Ginger's office and spoke to Carla, the receptionist.
"I'm sorry, Cam, but she took some comp time this afternoon," Carla said. "Said she had some errands to run this afternoon."
"Okay, thanks, Carla," I said. "Could you please leave a note and tell her I called?"
"Sure, Cam," she said. I thanked her and ended the call. I tried calling Ginger's cell phone, but the call went straight to voicemail. I pulled up my browser and searched for divorce lawyers. I found one and called, making an appointment for the next afternoon. I had plenty of comp time coming, so I made a note to take the afternoon off.
I completed my work at the site and went back to the office, where I told Ryan, my supervisor, what was going on. He had been through a divorce himself, so he gave me the comp time I needed. I grabbed my keys, jumped in my truck and headed home.
Ginger came in about 6:30 and headed to the bedroom with little more than a wave of her hand. I noticed she was wearing a different dress than the one I saw her in earlier. I went into the bedroom and saw that she was changing into one of her club dresses.
"Going out again tonight?" I asked.
