My blog fiction continues...
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DARKENING
STURGEONS
Chapter Sixteen
by John L. Harmon
“You
dropped something,” Dr. Samuel Dwyer mentions, purposely not glancing down at
the beige near his feet.
“I didn’t
drop it,” Sheriff Benjamin Straker explains, his tone clarifying the situation.
Sam
defiantly picks up the hat and fully enters the bathroom. Drawing near, he places the beige on the sink
counter and ignores it. “Looks like
you’ve had a rough morning, Sheriff.”
Ben faces
the mirror and his disheveled reflection once more. He is not certain if he didn’t notice or just
didn’t care about the gash near his left eye.
Either way, Ben begins washing his hands and arms while giving the
lavatory visitor a curious glance.
“Who are
you?”
Sam
momentarily toys with the notion of stating his name. He decides an obvious joke would be ill-timed
considering what they just witnessed.
“I’m just
a regular guy like you, Sheriff. Just
attempting to figure out what exactly is occurring in your town.”
Ben contemplates
his answer as he begins washing the dirt and blood from his face. He concludes that this man is far from
regular. This, in turn, leads him to
another question, after drying off with paper towels.
“Why do you and Dr. Abernathy work in such a
unique way?”
“What do
you mean?”
Ben
ditches the towels and faces the one-half of the scientific duo. “The way the two of you work in opposite
unison, like a mirror.”
“Oh,
that.” Sam flashes that becoming smile and
blushes. Actually blushes. “Christine and I devised a method to work
efficiently in close quarters and now it has become habit. Even the students at the University have
speculated about it.
“Clyde and
I probably have our own quirks,” Ben nods in understanding, “or we will when
this is all over.”
A moment
of silence passes before Sam slips into familiarity. “We should really bandage that wound.” He moves closer to the Sheriff, pulling out a
small black kit from a lab-coat pocket.
“That—that’s a good idea,” Ben stammers a little, tensing slightly at
the close proximity. He carefully
watches Dr. Samuel Dwyer open the kit and splash a clear liquid on a sanitized
cloth.
“This is
going to hurt, Sheriff.”
For a
moment, Ben questions himself. He is an
adult and can take care of himself, been doing it for years. Then reality hits him. It really has been a rough morning and this
simple act of kindness from a stranger is like a taste of fresh air.
Sam
gently, but firmly, applies the cloth, causing his patient to shut his eyes and
ball his fists. After the initial
burning subsides, light chestnut eyes open and hands relax. The doctor sets the used cloth aside and
removes a sealed bandage from the kit.
“I’m sorry
about your friend. He seemed like a nice
man.”
At these
simple words of condolence, Ben begins to see this doctor of science as
more. As a complex person standing in
front of him. “Thanks. Gordon was a good man.”
With a
sympathetic nod, Sam places the bandage, at a slant, over the gash. He presses the adhesive down by simultaneously
sliding two fingers up Ben’s forehead and two fingers down his temple. Crisp blue locks with light chestnut and Sam
nearly allows his latter digits to move beyond the bandage, to warm, stubbly
skin.
“That will
do for now…Benjamin,” Sam states, somewhat reluctantly, as he takes a small
step back.
“Thank you…Samuel,”
Ben chokes out, as if finally daring to breathe for the first time since he can
remember.
Dr. Samuel
Dwyer, for the first time in a long time uncertain of what to say or do,
reaches for the Sheriff’s hat he had placed on the sink counter. He turns it over a couple of times, trying to
prolong this moment. Finally, he offers
the beige to its rightful owner.
“It’s not
over yet, Sheriff.”
Sheriff
Benjamin Straker glances at the hat, and then at his own reflection. Despite the overwhelming desire to give up, he
knows these words to be true. Once again
locking eyes with the man before him, Ben reaches out.
_____________________
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