* * *
Back up at the front desk, Olajean handed Cole a pink message. It read “Call Ellie. She needs your help. It’s URGENT!” Cole just stared at the number near the bottom of the message. The area code was right, but...it couldn’t be.
“Ola, what did the person say, exactly?” Olajean did not answer, already preoccupied once again with her own work. “Ola!” Cole said excitedly as he reached over the desk and punched buttons until they all went dark.
“What in hell you doin’? You lost yo’ mind!”
“The person who called—what did they say? Please.”
“Damn Cole, calm down. They just said that Ellie—”
“Start at the beginning!” Cole broke in.
“They asked for you. I told ‘em you were out. Jus’ like you told me to, ‘always take a message’ isn’t that what you said? So, they said it was urgent they get a message to you. I said, ‘Okay, what is it?’ They said that Ellie needed your help and to call that number. I asked, ‘Who should I say called?’ and they said, ‘Jus’ tell him’ and hung up.” The lights on the phone console were all blinking red. Olajean asked with exasperation, “Can I do my job now?”
“Yeah, thanks, sorry.” Cole seemed dazed.
“I hope so! What’s got into you, anyways?”
Cole was already headed for the elevator before Olajean even finished her statement. He pushed the up button and waited, he pushed it again. Impatient, he turned and ran to the stairwell and started up to the third floor, reaching his desk a bit winded, and a little red-faced. He sat down in his chair and stared at the message. His heart was pounding but it wasn’t from the run up the stairs. Twenty years had passed since the last time he saw Ellie. He knew that she got married. So, why would she need his help?
Why me? Cole wondered. He didn’t know what to do. Was it a gag? He unconsciously ran the top of the paper between his thumbs and forefingers, over and over again. Should he call? Who would play such a dirty trick? But then, he thought, who would know to play a trick like this? She must need help. “Oh God, please...” he whispered out loud.
Cole picked up the phone, and dialed the number.
After eight rings, a voice said, “Eastwood Manor.”
“Hello, who do I have?” Cole asked.
“Eastwood Manor.” The voice sounded slightly annoyed.
“I got a message from Ellie, from this number. They said it’s urgent.”
“Ellie who?”
“I’m not sure of her married name. Can you check, please?” Cole tried to stay calm.
“Just how would I do that, sir?” the voice said sarcastically.
“Just give me your supervisor. Maybe they can be a little more helpful.” Cole felt his anger rising. “Stay calm,” he said to himself as he heard the phone click, and music start playing. Time seemed to pass slowly, until finally another voice came on the line.
“Can I help you?”
“Yes, may I have your name please?”
“Certainly, sir, I’m Karen Wallace. I’m the manager on duty.”
“Okay,” Cole took a deep breath, “I received a message to call this number. The message was from an old friend of mine named Ellie. I don’t know her last name since she married. But the message said she needed help and it was urgent.”
“Sir, this is a convalescent hospital, we don’t do urgent care here.”
“A what?” Cole could feel his throat constricting.
“A convalescent hospital, you know, sort of a rest home. What was your friend’s name again?”
“Ellie.”
“That short for Ellen?”
“Yes, yes that’s right.”
“Hold on.”
The music-on-hold played Morris Albert singing “Feelings.” Cole sat for several minutes; enough time elapsed for the song to change twice.
“Sir?”
“Yes, I’m here.”
“Would that be a Mrs. Ellen Christopher?”
“What’s her birthday?”
“I can’t give out that information, sir.”
“I mean how old is she?”
“Umm, about forty-seven, forty-eight maybe. I ain’t real strong in math.”
“Yes, that’s her; can I speak to her please?”
“Sorry, no phone in that room, sir. S’at all you needed?”
“No, I need to speak with her, can you get her?”
“Sorry sir, we don’t bring patients to the front.”
“Well, at least tell me what’s wrong with her. Why is she there?” Cole was becoming frantic.
“Sorry, can’t give out private information. Is that it?” Wallace wanted off the phone and she didn’t mind showing it.
“No, I need to talk to her!”
“You’ll have to just come over then. That’s all I can tell you.”
“I’m in Chicago, I can’t just drive over!” Cole shouted.
“I don’t know what to tell you, but I don’t need you yellin’ at me. I got enough to deal with around here.” Karen Wallace hung up, and the sound of the dial tone hummed in his ear.
“What the hell kind of a place is...” Cole slammed the phone down.
“Hey, there’s people trying to work around here. Wanna keep it down?” A singsong voice came from Chun’s cubicle.
“How ‘bout I throw your boney ass out the window?” growled Cole.
He heard the back of a desk chair straighten with a thud, and the sound of footsteps making their way quickly up the hall. Taking a deep breath, he slowly exhaled.
“Relax; don’t have a stroke,” he said out loud. “One step at a time. Finish the story. It’s good, real good. See Brennan, then go to Ellie. Relax, it’s cool. Everything will be fine.” Cole laid his palms on the top of his desk and took another deep breath. He hit his mouse and the text of the story reappeared on the screen.
About an hour and a half later, the finished story rolled out of the printer. The psychologist and advocates for the elderly were squarely behind the elimination of the death penalty, but the social worker, a Dolores Pena, said upfront that she thought anybody who would kill an unarmed policeman should “fry.” Well balanced and full of spark. Brennan should love it.