Virginia

By William Esmont

When faced with the looming threat of losing his wife to cancer, Ray Shelby finds himself at a crossroads. Desperate for a cure, he turns to a mysterious organization that offers hope in exchange for a terrible price.

 

As he delves deeper into this dark bargain, Ray realizes that the cost of saving his wife may be more than he can bear. He must confront the depths of his own morality and decide whether he's willing to pay the ultimate price to keep her alive.

 

In this psychological horror novel, readers will follow Ray on a journey of sacrifice, desperation, and ultimately, the true measure of love. How far would you go to save someone you love? Ray Shelby is about to find out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: William Esmont
• Release date: Feb 13, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386714095

William Esmont

William Esmont writes about zombies, spies, and futures you probably wouldn't want to experience from his home in southern Arizona. He counts Stephen King, Vince Flynn, and Margaret Atwood as his influences. When not writing, he likes to spend time riding his bike or hanging out with his wife and their two Great Danes.

Book preview

Virginia

by

William Esmont

Copyright William Esmont, 2017

For my mom.

Assault

The squeak of rubber-soled shoes on polished linoleum rips me from a restless slumber. Blinking sleep from my eyes, I watch through the gloom as a plump young woman with close-shorn hair and a tired expression changes my wife’s adult diaper, adjusts her pillows, and unfolds a clean sheet over her.

Thank you, I say, my voice barely a whisper, as the aide looks around Virginia’s bed to make sure she didn’t miss anything.

The woman flashes me a tight smile and navigates around the room to where my lanky frame is crammed into a recliner beside the window. When she speaks, her voice is hushed, as if anything more will rouse my wife from the depths of the coma-like state she has inhabited for the past week and a half—as if the possibility of Virginia establishing some connection, however fleeting, with the waking world is something to be avoided at all costs. I’m sorry if I woke you, Mr. Shelby. I—

I shift in my seat and give her a dismissive wave. Don’t worry about it.

She glances over her shoulder at Virginia’s still form. Is there anything else I can get you before I leave? Jackie will be in soon with Mrs. Shelby’s morning medication.

A quick glance at my watch informs me it’s four fourteen in the morning. The sun will be coming up soon.

I was going to get up anyway. I push downward with my lower legs, making the footrest retract with a metallic crunch. Do you know if the cafeteria is open yet? I could really use some coffee.

A trio of empty paper cups from the previous day sits on the windowsill, lonely sentinels. Prior to Virginia’s diagnosis, I had never been much of a coffee drinker. Now, I can’t get enough of the stuff.

Not until five. The coffee cart should be open, though. I think they start serving at four.

Coffee cart? Where?

She nods toward the dark window. In the west wing. Take the elevator just off the emergency-room entrance and go down to the basement. You can’t miss it.

I unfold myself from the chair and get to my feet. My body protests the passage of another restless night wedged into the poor substitute for a bed.

She motions toward my assemblage of empties and smiles. Her teeth are perfect and straight. You’ve got quite the collection there.

I shrug.

Okay, then, she says, grasping the hamper full of dirty clothes and wheeling toward the door. I think I’m done here. You have a good day, now.

You too.

She turns and leaves me alone in the room with my wife. I go to Virginia’s side and gaze upon her. A machine at the head of the bed beeps softly. Her chest rises and falls in a regular rhythm. My fingers entwine with hers. Her skin is warm to the touch, hot even. With a guilty look toward the door through which the hospital worker just exited, I set about rearranging Virginia’s sheets just the way she’d like them.

***

I order three shots of espresso mixed with hot water and a jalapeño bagel with two silver-and-blue packets of cream cheese. The barista, a late-middle-aged woman with a fading dye job and permanent bags under her eyes, prepares my drink in silence. I give her a five-dollar tip for not acting as if she gives a fuck. Sustenance in hand, I head back down the hall in the direction from which I came, sipping my coffee as I walk, searching for a bench or a chair upon which I can sit and consume my meal in silence. I come to a junction with hallways extending right and left. Virginia is to my right. Responsibility is to my right. I choose left and take off at a slow stroll along a long corridor leading beneath the building. The walls here are painted a nondescript tan and teal. Decorative succulents are placed every fifty feet or so. I drop my uneaten breakfast in a trash barrel about halfway along the corridor. Food is for the living.

The passageway dead-ends at a pair of double doors with a placard reading:

Radiology

Rehabilitation

Respiratory Services

I hesitate. These words mean people, and people are the last thing I want to see right now. I consider my options. Maybe I should take my drink outside and get some air. The sun is up, but the cool of night still lingers. It’s supposed to be hot today, a hundred ten, I think. I should take advantage of this time while I have it. I stop in my tracks as a sudden recollection hits me. Didn’t I see a guy smoking as I passed one of the first-floor windows on the way over here? Wouldn’t my coffee be that much better with a little nicotine? The thought puts a smirk on my face. I haven’t smoked in years, haven’t even thought of doing so, but at this moment, the idea becomes a physical hunger so strong I can hardly resist. The decision made, I turn and head the opposite way, back toward the elevators. Back toward Virginia. I’m almost running by the time I reach the exit.

A narrow two-lane road runs along the