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by Pop Ate My Hearts 9/7/2011, 5:48 pmSo yeah.... READ.
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CHAPTER 4:
Alice and Dean rushed into the room moments after James started yelling.
"What's wrong?!" they asked in unison.
A worried gasp escaped from his mouth. "Steph!" James cried.
"What-", Alice began to ask, but James had already sped out of the room and down the flights of stairs
that led to the street curb below.
He dialed Stephanie's number over and over as he jumped into the black car and raced off.
"The person you are trying to call is not available right now," the pre-recorded voice on the phone
repeated, as he tried over and over again to reach her.
"Fuck!" he swore, as he swerved and dangerously missed hitting an expensive looking, silver car in
the opposite lane.
He slammed the accelerator on even harder as his car screamed down Stephanie's street until he
shoved his foot on the brake and jumped out of the car, leaving it unlocked in the middle of the street.
He flew up the staircase. Her door was open.
He paused mid-run as he entered her apartment. Everything that he could see was destroyed and
ruined, broken glass on the ground, bits of torn paper scattered everywhere, all her valuables seemed
missing
Careful not to tread on anything sharp, he made his way over to the once-pristine kitchen, and braced
himself for the worst. He found Stephanie lying on the ground, blood dripping from her right arm and leg.
Bruises laid all over her body.
James fell to the ground and, feeling for her pulse, fumbled for the phone in his pocket.
He could feel a slight beating, barely noticeable at all.
With one hand, he dialed 911 and the ambulance and police were there within 10 minutes.
He watched as they hoisted Steph onto a stretcher, placing an oxygen mask on her.
As the last white-jacketed paramedic was about to leave the room, James tapped him on the shoulder.
The man turned around and looked at him, his brow furrowed.
"Will she be alright?" James pleaded.
"Too early to tell," the man replied and he left the room, following everyone else.
James slammed himself on the couch and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair.
Minutes later, he propped himself up as around 7 police officers and FBI swept through the door.
One of the more official looking officers trudged over to him, accompanied by a younger man in a
suit.
Speaking quickly, the man questioned him. "How were you aware that this girl was in trouble?" he
said.
"I was speaking to her on the phone and she just started screaming and then the call disconnected,"
James blurted out.
"So you came to here?" the man prompted.
"Yes, well, of course I came to see what happened," James retorted.
"Can you recall your whereabouts around the time of the attack.
James looked stunned. "Yes, I was at my apartment, just check with my wife and friend who were also
there." He paused and contiuned angrily. "You can't honestly be accusing me of doing this. She's my
sister!"
"We have to ask, it's protocol," said the man calmly.
James looked down on the floor at the battered remains of a vase.
The young man whispered something to the officer's ear. The officer then nodded gruffly. "We'll keep in
touch," the officer spoke.
Walking over to the broken bookcase, he took some of Stephanie's favourite books from the shelves
and held them with one. He then walked to her bedroom and took the remains of broken and ripped
photos and with one last look at the apartment, walked out.
Careful not to drop anything, he walked down his car which was now parked neatly on the side of the
road.
"It was in our way," mumbled a short officer, leaning against his car.
James nodded gratefully and stepped into his car, placing the books and photos onto the passenger seat.
He drove to the hospital, a little faster than the speed limit told him.
Once there, he impatiently waited at the front desk for someone to offer him some help. After about a
minute, an elder lady in a pale blue coat walked to the desk.
"How may I help you," she grunted.
"I'm here to see a patient brought in a while ago, Stephanie Palmer." he replied, tapping his foot on
the marble flooring.
"Name, and relation to the patient?" the lady mumbled.
"James Palmer, her brother," he stated.
"Just a moment," the lady said.
James waited for another few minutes while she made a call and scribbled some things down on an
official-looking piece of paper. The lady then came back to the desk and called over for another one of
the ladies sitting in the area.
"Follow her," the elder lady said, pointing at the tall, lean woman who was now walking swiftly away.
After travelling up many floors, venturing through numerous and seemingly endless white hallways,
they had arrived at the wing where Stephanie was kept.
He was led to another desk where a man, probably in his thirties, was waiting.
"Name?" he asked.
"James Palmer," James answered.
The man stopped reaching down for a piece of paper and a mix of sympathy spread across his face.
"What's wrong?" James asked.
The man gave James another look of sympathy and led him off to another room...
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CHAPTER 4:
Alice and Dean rushed into the room moments after James started yelling.
"What's wrong?!" they asked in unison.
A worried gasp escaped from his mouth. "Steph!" James cried.
"What-", Alice began to ask, but James had already sped out of the room and down the flights of stairs
that led to the street curb below.
He dialed Stephanie's number over and over as he jumped into the black car and raced off.
"The person you are trying to call is not available right now," the pre-recorded voice on the phone
repeated, as he tried over and over again to reach her.
"Fuck!" he swore, as he swerved and dangerously missed hitting an expensive looking, silver car in
the opposite lane.
He slammed the accelerator on even harder as his car screamed down Stephanie's street until he
shoved his foot on the brake and jumped out of the car, leaving it unlocked in the middle of the street.
He flew up the staircase. Her door was open.
He paused mid-run as he entered her apartment. Everything that he could see was destroyed and
ruined, broken glass on the ground, bits of torn paper scattered everywhere, all her valuables seemed
missing
Careful not to tread on anything sharp, he made his way over to the once-pristine kitchen, and braced
himself for the worst. He found Stephanie lying on the ground, blood dripping from her right arm and leg.
Bruises laid all over her body.
James fell to the ground and, feeling for her pulse, fumbled for the phone in his pocket.
He could feel a slight beating, barely noticeable at all.
With one hand, he dialed 911 and the ambulance and police were there within 10 minutes.
He watched as they hoisted Steph onto a stretcher, placing an oxygen mask on her.
As the last white-jacketed paramedic was about to leave the room, James tapped him on the shoulder.
The man turned around and looked at him, his brow furrowed.
"Will she be alright?" James pleaded.
"Too early to tell," the man replied and he left the room, following everyone else.
James slammed himself on the couch and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair.
Minutes later, he propped himself up as around 7 police officers and FBI swept through the door.
One of the more official looking officers trudged over to him, accompanied by a younger man in a
suit.
Speaking quickly, the man questioned him. "How were you aware that this girl was in trouble?" he
said.
"I was speaking to her on the phone and she just started screaming and then the call disconnected,"
James blurted out.
"So you came to here?" the man prompted.
"Yes, well, of course I came to see what happened," James retorted.
"Can you recall your whereabouts around the time of the attack.
James looked stunned. "Yes, I was at my apartment, just check with my wife and friend who were also
there." He paused and contiuned angrily. "You can't honestly be accusing me of doing this. She's my
sister!"
"We have to ask, it's protocol," said the man calmly.
James looked down on the floor at the battered remains of a vase.
The young man whispered something to the officer's ear. The officer then nodded gruffly. "We'll keep in
touch," the officer spoke.
Walking over to the broken bookcase, he took some of Stephanie's favourite books from the shelves
and held them with one. He then walked to her bedroom and took the remains of broken and ripped
photos and with one last look at the apartment, walked out.
Careful not to drop anything, he walked down his car which was now parked neatly on the side of the
road.
"It was in our way," mumbled a short officer, leaning against his car.
James nodded gratefully and stepped into his car, placing the books and photos onto the passenger seat.
He drove to the hospital, a little faster than the speed limit told him.
Once there, he impatiently waited at the front desk for someone to offer him some help. After about a
minute, an elder lady in a pale blue coat walked to the desk.
"How may I help you," she grunted.
"I'm here to see a patient brought in a while ago, Stephanie Palmer." he replied, tapping his foot on
the marble flooring.
"Name, and relation to the patient?" the lady mumbled.
"James Palmer, her brother," he stated.
"Just a moment," the lady said.
James waited for another few minutes while she made a call and scribbled some things down on an
official-looking piece of paper. The lady then came back to the desk and called over for another one of
the ladies sitting in the area.
"Follow her," the elder lady said, pointing at the tall, lean woman who was now walking swiftly away.
After travelling up many floors, venturing through numerous and seemingly endless white hallways,
they had arrived at the wing where Stephanie was kept.
He was led to another desk where a man, probably in his thirties, was waiting.
"Name?" he asked.
"James Palmer," James answered.
The man stopped reaching down for a piece of paper and a mix of sympathy spread across his face.
"What's wrong?" James asked.
The man gave James another look of sympathy and led him off to another room...
