Robby pounded on the locked door and shouted for help, but the effort made him more tired than ever. He had no idea where he was, nor any recollection of how he had come to be in this dank, dingy room. He tried to nibble on the tuna fish sandwich just to pass the time, but he had no appetite. He didn't know these were symptoms of a concussion -- he didn't even know he had one. All he knew was that he had been standing up for less than a minute, and it took all he had to stop himself from puking.
He grabbed the L.A. Times off the tray and lay back down in bed. There on the front page was a grainy black and white photo of him and Lisa eating yesterday's breakfast at the Polo Lounge. Big bold letters above it boasted that he had been arrested for double homicide yesterday afternoon. The article itself said little that he didn't already know, but he was somewhat surprised that the D.A. spoke significantly more about the rape charge that had been dropped than the murders for which he was accused.
The other major headline on the same page told of a city councilman's wife being killed in a hit-and-run on the Santa Monica freeway. Local authorities presumed the perpetrator to have been drunk, since other witnesses described his car as "speeding and swerving." They had a full description of the vehicle and were following several leads.
Robby had no idea that the woman's death was the very professional handiwork of his co-star's brother.
His eyes began to water and the pain in the back of his head was getting worse. He realized it was only a matter of time before he wouldn't be able to read at all, so he quickly turned to the entertainment section to see if there was anything else about him. But the mere exertion of dissecting a newspaper was too much, and he threw up.
He reached for the waste paper basket beside his bed as fast as he could and got most of his vomit in it -- only a few disgusting trickles landing on the already stained carpet floor. That was just about the time the bedroom door opened and a five-foot-five Japanese man walked into the room. Robby could not quite look up at that moment, so he could only see the little man peripherally. He seemed to be wearing surgical scrubs and carried a hand-sized mini-broom, a small towel and a dustpan.
When Robby was done, the man used the towel to wipe Robby's mouth, then gently helped him lie back in bed.
"Who are you?" Robby asked, surprised at the added exhaustion that speaking brought. "Where am I?"
"Shhh," the Japanese man whispered back as he kneeled down on the floor and swept the excess vomit into the dustpan. "You're okay. Try to get some sleep and we'll talk later."
"I want to call my wife," Robby said softly.
"No phone calls," the man answered. "Doctor's orders."
"Then I want to see my doctor," Robby demanded.
"My, my, aren't we demanding today?" the Japanese man said good-naturedly.
"I want to see someone I know!" Robby demanded. "Does anybody even know I'm here? How did I get here? I want to go home!"
With that, Robby quickly sat up, then just as quickly came to a dizzying stop.
"Easy, sleazy," the Japanese man hushed again as he gently helped Robby back down onto his pillows. "All right. I'll answer your questions, but slowly. One at a time."
"Who are you?" Robby asked, quietly, panting slightly.
"Most people who suffer medium-to-mild concussions would be more concerned with their own health than the identity of their doctor," he began. "But, nonetheless, I'm your highly skilled medical provider, round-eyes. I'll bill ya' later."
The man had a subtle accent, Robby noticed, but it wasn't Japanese. In fact, it wasn't Asian at all. Robby knew he had heard this accent before quite often in Hollywood, but his head hurt too badly to try to figure out where.
"Under the circumstances," the little man went on, "I don't think I should give you my full name just yet. So you can call me Doc."
"Why can't you tell me your name? Have you kidnapped me?"
"Don't be silly," Doc answered matter-of-factly.
"Then I want to go home," Robby said. "Take me home right now."
"No."
"Then I want to phone my wife," he said. "Or some friends. Or my agent."
"No."
"Are you holding me here against my will?" Robby demanded to know as he again tried to sit up, this time slowly.
"Don't be silly," Doc answered matter-of-factly as put his hands on Robby's shoulders to return him to a lying position.
Robby had no intention of being held captive. He resisted the good doctor's attempts to subdue him and pushed himself against the little man's hands. But his nausea overtook him within the first second of the struggle, and he threw up once more.
Doc leapt out of the way just in time, then calmly picked up the waste paper basket and held it in place for Robby. Once again, when Robby was done, the good doctor handed him a towel and helped him lie back in bed.
It was obvious to Robby that he wasn't going to get out of there, so the best he could hope for was answers.
"How did I get here?" he asked defeated.
"You don't remember?" Doc asked, seemingly concerned. "Do you remember anything about last night?"
Robby thought for a moment but it was a moment too long for the doctor.
"You were up on the mountain with that teen-ager..." Doc said to get him started.
Yes, yes, Robby thought to himself as the memory of the past night slowly faded back into his brain like an old dream.
He was up on Mulholland with Lisa. She kissed him, and he pulled himself away. He was telling her why nothing could happen between them when the back of his head exploded in an intense, horrific pain.
Then he was lying in the backseat of a moving car.
Then he was on the side of a road somewhere, throwing up.
Then he was in a wheelchair. He was moving towards what appeared to be a small, ramshackle medical clinic. Doc was in front of him, leading the way, and he was too tired to turn his head to see who was pushing him. The clinic door was locked, and Doc opened it with his keys.
Then he was being given a cat scan as a familiar voice said to him, "Try not to move this time."
Then he woke up in this dank, dingy room.
"Did Lisa have me brought here?" he asked, confused.
"No," Doc answered, softly. "Lisa left you for dead after she whacked you in the back of your head with a big stick. Fortunately for you, my girlfriend happened to be passing by around then..."
"Your girlfriend?" Robby repeated as he began to put it all together. He couldn't recall seeing the stalker anytime that night, but who else could it be? "I think your girlfriend's been following me around for days."
"She's been wanting to speak to you for some time now," Doc replied pleasantly. "Suffice it to say, if she hadn't been up there you'd be dead right now. Instead, she dragged you to her car and got me out of bed to meet you at my clinic, whereupon I saved your ever-lovin' ass. So don't think too highly of that seventeen-year-old bitch. Wanna look at your X-rays now?"
"Clinic. So there must be records of you treating me?" Robby asked, hopefully. "Someone's going to find them and trace it back to you, and find me... and fry your ass for kidnapping! Let me go, and I won't say a word."
"No, there's no records, Mr. Rockman," Doc said with a wink, as if he and Robby were in it together. "Keeping records would have been very dumb of me, and stupidity is one of the few things I HAVEN'T been accused of. X-rays now?"
"People are going to be looking for me," Robby said accusingly. "You do know that, don't you? How long do you think you can keep me here?"
"That's pretty much up to my girlfriend," he answered. "Now, I really think we should discuss your condition."
So without waiting for permission this time, Doc laid the X-rays and cat scans on top of Robby's chest and belly and proceeded with his explanation.
"See this?" Doc asked, referring to the X-ray. "See this thin white line here traveling up the back of your skull? You know what that is?"
"A skull fracture?" Robby asked. "It's huge. Do I have a skull fracture?"
"Nah, it's just lint," Doc said with a giggle as he blew the small piece of lint off the X-ray. "There was no break or fracture. You were lucky. Merry Christmas.
"But the jolt did cause your brain to bounce around and bang against the internal walls of your skull. If you look at the cat scan here, see? You see the problem? You see it? Scary, don't you think? NOT! Your brain is fine, round-eyes."
"This is funny to you, is it?" Robby asked.
"I'm trying to make it funny to YOU, sitcom-man," Doc answered with a twinkle. "I only got out of med school by the skin of my teeth, but I aced bedside manner."
"I want a real doctor," Robby insisted.
"I am a real doctor," Doc insisted, "Just not a very good one.
"Basically, your brain is bruised," Doc went on. "That's what a concussion is, really, a bruised brain. That's what's causing your fatigue, your loss of appetite, your dizziness and your disgusting nausea. Consider yourself lucky that you were smashed with a branch. It it had been something hard, you'd be dead."
"A branch isn't hard?"
"Comparatively, no," Doc answered. "A branch has give. Had you been hit with the same force with, say, a big rock, your skull would've shattered, your brain would've been pummeled to smithereens, and you'd be dead."
"You seem to enjoy saying that," Robby responded. "That I'd be dead."
"It's the poet in me, can't help it," Doc answered. "Now, the neck brace I gave you, consider it a gift -- I won't bill you for it."
"I'm not paying you," Robby snapped back.
"I still have to bill you -- I remember that much from med school," Doc said. "But don't worry about that now. The neck brace -- wear it if you can because it'll help keep your head stable and help prevent your brain from bopping around anymore. But if it bothers you, take it off and don't worry about it."
"In other words, your medical opinion is that it doesn't matter what I do," Robby pointed out.
"Could you have come up with such a treatment?" Doc answered. "I think not."
"As of now, you're guilty of kidnapping," Robby pointed out. "If I die because of your quack medical guesses, you'll be guilty of murder, too. Unless you let me walk out now so I can see a doctor at Cedars -- and I'll never mention this to anyone."
"Mr. Rockman, if I let you walk now, you'd collapse before you made it to the first stoplight. Let's get you better and discuss the kidnapping aspect of this later.
"I'd like it if you could eat a little something. I know you don't have much appetite, but do the best you can. You need your strength. I'd also like to know what you can keep down. We guessed at tuna fish because neither of us knew what you like, but we best keep it simple. Eggs, toast, a little tea with lemon, that kind of thing. Let us know what you like and we'll see what we can do for you. Otherwise, just rest and you'll be back to normal in a few days."
There was a long pause as Robby resigned himself to follow the only medical advice being given, and then Doc added with a smile, "See? I told you I had a good bedside manner."
The humor was lost on Robby who was growing increasingly annoyed at his captor's whimsical attitude. But annoyance turned to terror when he heard a key in a lock, the front door creak open, and an all-too familiar voice shout, "Hello! I'm home!"
"In here!" Doc shouted back. "He's up!"
"Great!" the voice shouted back.
Robby could hear the stalker's footsteps approach. He was terrified because he didn't know what the stalker wanted from him, nor what would be done to him if he couldn't deliver. And he was too weak from his injury to defend himself.
The bedroom door slowly crept opened as the mid-morning sunlight bled into the dingy space. The sudden brightness hurt Robby's eyes which, in turn, caused his head to pound, but he couldn't turn away. He had to face his captor.
But all he could see through his watery eyes was the backlit silhouette of a woman standing proudly in the doorway.
"Hello, Robby," said the stalker with a smile. "So glad you could drop by."
And I give you my solemn word that you will know who it is before the end of the next chapter.
*** Up Next: "The Stalker Revealed" ***
The main characters in this e-novel are fictional and are not intended to portray or resemble any actual individuals, whether living or dead (except for Jeff Abugov who is a real screenwriter, director and producer.) Although certain real people and companies are mentioned in this e-novel, all of the events are fictional and are not intended to portray or resemble any actual events.
Copyright © 2015 Tinseltrash, Inc.