Followed

By Helen Osterman

Meg Lewis is a young nurse, living with her aunt in an upscale neighborhood of Rockford, Illinois. She married young, got pregnant, and was widowed within a year. At the opening of the story, her daughter, Becky, is six years old and prays every night for a new daddy.
Meg works at Rockford Memorial Hospital. A visitor, Brad Morrison, becomes obsessed with her. She finds out that he is a pathological liar. Brad begins following her, always at a safe distance. He follows her and Becky to the park and makes advances, which she quickly rebukes.
Meg and one of the doctors she works with, Curt Williams are attracted to each other and begin dating. Brad follows them and, in his sick mind, deems her an unfit mother for Becky. He abducts Becky during a snow storm and takes her to a cabin on one of the county roads.The police search but are hampered by the heavy storm.
Becky is running a high fever and has a sore throat. Brad is beside himself. He carries her toward a gas station to turn himself in and get help for the child. But in front of the station is a truck filled with cars headed for the crusher in Camden, where Brad's mother lives. He climbs onto one of the cars with Becky in his arms and closes the doors, putting Becky on the driver's side and fastening the seat belt around her. Meg and Curt are following close behind. They spot the truck and try to get the driver to stop, but he loses control and the bed of the truck flips over. Brad is thrown out and crushed by the vehicle. Curt climbs up the cars and rescues Becky. They take her to the hospital where she has a speedy recovery. In the end Meg and Curt are married and he legally adopts Becky. In her prayers that night, Becky thanks God for her new daddy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Helen Osterman
• Release date: Sep 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370585953

Helen Osterman

Helen Osterman lives in Homer Glen, a suburb of Chicago. She has five children and nine grandchildren. She received a Bachelor of Nursing degree from Mercy Hospital-St. Xavier College and later earned a Master’s Degree from Northern Illinois University. Throughout her forty-five year nursing career, she wrote articles for both nursing and medical journals. She is the author of the Emma Winberry Mystery Series: The Accidental Sleuth, 2007, The Stranger in the Opera House,2009, The Elusive Relation,2011 Emma Winberry and the Evil Eye, 2012. Notes in a Mirror, a paranormal/historical, 2009. Song of the Rails, a love story, 2011. She is a member of American Association of University Women, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime and The Authors Guild.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Rockford, Illinois

September,1995

Six-year-old Becky Lewis knelt beside her canopied bed, her blond curly head bent, hands together, the chubby fingertips touching her pug nose. God bless Mom, and Aunt Lil, and Grandma and Grandpa, and my Daddy in Heaven. And please send me a new daddy. Amen.

Meg Lewis frowned as she kissed her daughter and said goodnight. She tucked the covers around the child, and turned out the light.

* * *

Meg gave a deep sigh as she walked into the kitchen and sat next to her aunt. She did it again, asked God to send her a new daddy. I’ve tried to explain that you just don’t find a daddy. You have to meet someone you like, and, so far, I haven’t met anyone who would fit into our lives.

Lillian Sparks frowned at her niece. Aren’t there any nice doctors at that hospital where you work who might be promising?

Meg shook her head and pushed back her curly hair. Aunt Lil, I’m not looking for a husband. I’ve just started my nursing career and I want to make something of myself. I’ve thought of getting an advanced degree, but I need some experience first. There’s no place for a relationship in my life right now.

I understand, her aunt said, shrugging her shoulders.

Meg had lived with her since Jake Lewis’s death. A snow-covered road and an uninsured drunk driver took Jake from her. Meg was three months pregnant at the time. Lillian had assumed the role of mother, grandmother, protector, and financial support for this vulnerable young family. Meg knew she loved them with all her magnanimous heart and soul.

Meg, let’s have a cup of tea, and maybe we can sort this out. No teabag dunking in a cup of hot water would do for Lillian Sparks. She put the water on to boil, and then measured the amount of imported Earl Grey tea into the pot. A few minutes later she poured the boiling water over the leaves, and a delicate aroma filled the kitchen, reminiscent of the author, James Harriet, in his Yorkshire cottage.

Meg felt comfortable and safe here: the spacious kitchen with its claw-footed oak table; chairs that had endured generations of children’s sticky fingers and muddy feet; the vintage sink with its white enamel drain board on the side. Lillian refused to replace it with a new modern one, said it would detract from the age of the house, now over a century old.

Lillian took two delicate bone china cups from the cupboard. Ritualistically, she poured the tea, added a dash of sugar, and a generous amount of warm milk.

Now, perhaps we can study this situation, the older woman said. My dear, I’ve tried not to interfere in your personal life. You’re more like a daughter to me than a niece.

If you hadn’t taken me in after Jake died, I don’t know what I would’ve done. Probably ended up on the public dole, Meg said, remembering that time with a shudder. Her pregnancy was plagued by nausea and vomiting. Her parents were unable to help. A debilitating stroke left her father totally dependent on her mother. There was no room for Meg and a baby in their lives.

If my sister were a different woman … Lil muttered. But no, she prefers to be a martyr. She relishes the role of servant and handmaiden to that lush, who did nothing but abuse her all their married life.

Don’t be so brutal, Meg said. "Dad wasn’t that bad."

He was bad enough. He didn’t give you a whole lot of happy memories, Lil said, refreshing their tea.

Images flashed through Meg’s mind. Scenes of a frightened child clapping her hands over her ears to blot out the angry words; shoving herself in a closet to escape the heavy hand of her drunken father; hearing the tears of frustration of her submissive mother; wearing clothes that never quite fit, purchased from the Salvation Army resale shops; stuffing newspaper into shoes that were too large. She would grow into them, her mother said. She pushed those memories away. They still hurt too much.

There are some deep scars there, Lil continued. Even though you buried them, they do surface from time to time. If it hadn’t been for your father, you might not have married so young. Your life may have been quite different.

But then I wouldn’t have Becky. She makes up for so much, Meg answered, sipping her tea.

Yes, Lil agreed. She’s brought sunshine into both our lives. I never wanted children myself. Didn’t want to be tied down. When I married Martin Sparks, we decided to live life to its fullest, and that’s what we did. We lived, we loved, and we were merry−traveled around the world several times. He made and lost money, like the gambler he was. When he died, neither of us had any regrets. His left me quite comfortable. I have this house, which I dearly love, and sufficient income to last for the rest of my life, with plenty of money to spare. Lil added more sugar to her tea.

She gazed at Meg. When I saw you alone, pregnant, trying to be so brave, working at that grocery store and living in a rented room, I realized something was missing in my life. I needed someone to care for, someone to love.

So you took me in and spoiled me, Meg said, her lips twitching in a grin.

"Nonsense, there is no such thing as spoiling. I gave you the things you needed−a home, clothes to wear, food to eat. These are referred to as the necessities of life. Here, have some more tea." Lil poured another cup for each of them.

I owe you, Aunt Lil. Someday I’ll pay you back.

I don’t want to hear anything about owing or paying back, Lil said, furrowing her brow. You and Becky have given me more than I can ever give you in material things. You have given me love and a family. Someday you’ll meet the right man, but it’s difficult for a six-year-old child to understand that you can’t simply pull him out of thin air.

Meg shook her head. Becky says that all the other kids at school have daddies and she wants one, too. Oh, how I wish I had a brother, she said in frustration.

Well, you don’t, Lil said. Finish your tea and let’s check out that new TV show everyone’s talking about.

* * *

Two years earlier, Meg had finished nurses training at Rockford Memorial Hospital affiliated with Rockford Illinois University−thanks to Aunt Lil’s generous support and a scholarship from the Maple Park women’s society. She had received a Bachelor’s Degree along with her Nursing Degree.

Maple Park was an upscale suburb of Rockford, filled with vintage homes similar to Aunt Lil’s which she called Sparks House.

Now Meg proudly wrote RN after her name. How exciting it was−a goal, a profession, a means of support for herself and her daughter. She could hold up her head with pride, and she did. She loved the sounds and smells of the hospital−doctors conferring with each other, phones ringing, residents and medical students milling around attending physicians, the smells of the disinfectants the cleaning staff used. She didn’t even mind cleaning up the occasional mess. It was part of the job. Most of all she relished interacting with the patients. They needed her and she needed them.

* * *

Computers were coming on the scene in the hospital setting. The nursing and ancillary staff were instructed by computer experts, guiding them through the new world of cyberspace.

As Meg finished making a note, she looked up into deep-set brown eyes twinkling in an otherwise plain face. A friendly smile compensated for a jaw a little too prominent. Straight black hair combed back added a sinister touch. Excuse me, nurse, he said, do you have a patient named Allison Greene? She had surgery a few days ago.

Meg looked at the roster. Miss Greene is in room six-twenty-four, down the hallway to your right.

Thanks, he answered and sauntered down the hall, reminding Meg of a James Cagney character she’d seen in an old movie.

That was his first of many visits to Allison Greene. Abdominal surgery followed by complications had lengthened her hospital stay. Allison was a thin twenty-year old. Meg presumed a romantic relationship because the young man was a frequent visitor. She found out that his name was Brad Morrison. He was attentive, but not as a lover would be.

Meg never saw him kiss her nor hold her hand. Whenever she walked by the room, he was reading a magazine while Allison dozed.

One afternoon Brad came to the nurse’s station looking for Meg. Mrs. Lewis, he said, May I talk to you for a minute?

Yes, Mr. Morrison, what can I do for you?

I’m concerned about Allison. Deep worry lines formed around his eyes. She seems so weak.

No need to worry, she’s recovering as expected. She’s young and strong and that makes all the difference. She should be back on the tennis courts by next summer. Allison was an aspiring tennis pro. That was all she talked about.

Thanks. I hope you’re right, he said, as he turned toward the elevators.

* * *

At noon, Meg hustled to the cafeteria for her lunch break. She searched for her friend, Sal Gunther, but didn’t see her. She’s probably running late, Meg thought, as she chose a bowl of chicken soup, a sandwich and a cup of coffee. I’ll take a seat at this table where I can see her when she comes in, she decided.

As she took a swallow of coffee, Meg heard a male voice saying, Excuse me, may I join you?

She looked up into the eyes of Brad Morrison and had time to scrutinize his appearance.

His dark blue suit was perfectly tailored to fit his slight figure. A silk tie in a subdued orange and blue print complemented the immaculate white shirt. He was not much taller than Meg about five-foot seven or eight, but projected an aura of self-confidence. There was something else about him, something elusive, something discomforting.

I’m waiting for a friend, she stammered. The look of disappointment on his face was childlike. But, sit down, there’s plenty of room for three of us. She should be along soon.

While waiting for Sal, Meg attempted to make conversation.

How long have you known Allison?

As he fiddled with his napkin, Brad told her about his relationship with the girl. Allison’s brother and I were buddies, he said. We grew up together, best friends. You know how that goes. When Jim was about Allison’s age, he began to lose weight and complained of constant pain in his left hip. Like most young people he ignored it. Blamed it on over exertion. By the time he went to a doctor, the sarcoma was too advanced for surgery. He died at the ripe old age of twenty-two. Brad shook his head.

How tragic, Meg said.

On his deathbed, Brad continued, Jim asked me to keep an eye on Allison, as an older brother. And that’s what I’ve tried to do.

That’s commendable of you, Meg said.

Did you think she was my girlfriend?

It’s really none of my business. Meg began to squirm in her chair. She looked down at her plate, toying with her food.

At that moment, Sal came in, raised her eyebrows and hesitated.

Please, join us, Meg said, with a sigh of relief. She had no intention of telling this stranger about her private life and suspected that’s where he was heading. This is Mr. Morrison. He’s a visitor on our ward and joined me. You’ve probably seen him.

Uh, huh, Sal said. Hi.

Sal kept up a lively conversation about her menagerie of pets. Before long, Brad excused himself and left the room.

He’s weird, Sal said, taking a generous bite of pie.

Meg told her the story of Allison Greene’s brother.

Sal raised an eyebrow. He seems like the kind who makes up stories to impress people. Ask Allison and see what she says.

Meg frowned. Perhaps she would do that. But then, she didn’t care, had no interest whatsoever in Brad Morrison, and never expected to encounter him again after Allison’s discharge.

* * *

Two days later, Meg was giving Allison Greene her discharge instructions, along with a handout demonstrating how to change the dressing over her suture line.

Is Mr. Morrison coming to take you home? she asked.

Brad? Why would he be taking me home?

I don’t know, Meg answered trying to hide her embarrassment. Since you’ve known each other for such a long time and are such close friends …

"Is that what he told you? Our only association is on the tennis court. I used to play doubles with another friend and Brad and his brother. But he was never any good. His brother was a much better tennis player, and they dropped out after a number of frustrating games. I told him not to visit me so often, but I don’t think he had anything else to do.

He’s such a liar, makes up stories to impress people."

Meg shook her head, ashamed that she had been so gullible. Do you have any questions about any of the instructions I’ve given you?

Nope. You’ve explained everything, and I have my appointment to visit the doctor next week.

That’s fine, Meg said. Now, someone is here to take you home.

Yes, my brother, Bob. She introduced Meg to her brother as a volunteer entered the room with a wheelchair. Thanks, Mrs. Lewis, for all the good care, and I hope if we meet again, it’s under different circumstances. Bob picked up her things, and nodded as they left the hospital.

Chapter 2

Brad Morrison stood well away from the main entrance to the hospital, watching the one designated for employees. If that other nurse hadn’t joined him and the one with the pretty blond curls, he might have gotten a foot in the door. He noticed her name tag, Meg Lewis. Had a nice ring to it. She might be the one to make his life complete.

He visualized a small house in the suburbs, and a garden. She seemed like the type who would like to garden.

Brad read and re-read his favorite book: How to Make Your Dreams Come True. The author was a minister who preached that, through visualization, one could have everything he wanted. Brad set a goal. By the end of the century, he would be a rich man. He realized he would need a good job to make his dream come true. He was a born salesman, but soon tired of everything he tried. He sold life insurance, a new type of vacuum cleaner, and now real estate. It wasn’t as easy as he thought it would be. He sold a house now and then, but the commissions were not enough to meet his goal. He might have to try something else.

While he waited, Brad continued to visualize his life with Meg. He would be a model husband and father. They would have three children, two boys and a girl.

He frowned as he remembered having a severe case of mumps when he was a child. His salivary glands swelled to the size of lemons, distorting the shape of his face. He didn’t understand why his testicles were painful and swollen, too.

The doctor said to his mother, Mrs. Morrison, your son has a complication called orchitis. The virus has infected his testicles as well as his salivary glands.

But he will be all right, won’t he? his mother asked, concern in her voice.

Oh yes, he’ll recover, but sometimes this complication leaves a male sterile. He may never be able to father a child.

Brad dismissed that memory with a wave of his hand. What did doctors know? He was as virile as any man.

* * *

Brad waited over an hour, until the security guard eyed him with suspicion. He waved at the guard and left. Must have missed her, or, maybe she went out a different exit.

Rockford Memorial Hospital encompassed three separate buildings: the main 490 bed hospital, the out-patient clinic, and one for the medical staff. Brad assumed that Meg worked in the main hospital, so that’s where he waited. He noticed the security guards were rarely the same. They must rotate, he thought. He made a schedule of when they were on duty, called them by numbers. He, too, rotated and rarely saw the same one twice. But, neither did he see Meg Lewis.

* * *

Brad shifted his weight, leaning against the building, as a painful memory surfaced from long ago.

Bradley Bennet Morrison, the first grade teacher called.

Here, piped a small voice from an even smaller source, lost behind the huge desk.

A few children giggled. What a sissy name, one of the bigger boys whispered. He made a face at Brad and laughed all the more.

Silence, the teacher commanded.

Brad glared at him. I’ll show you who’s a sissy. One day I’ll smack you right in the eye.

It had been that way all through school; always the smallest one in his class; always shirtsleeves too long, dangling over his delicate hands; always trousers too big so that he wore suspenders to hold them up. The other boys snapped them and laughed.

Bradley! his mother shrieked. You’ve been fighting again. Why can’t you be like your brothers? Why are you always getting into trouble?

His brothers resembled their father, tall and muscular. Brad was short and delicate, like his mother. He hated her for that. But he so wanted her to accept him for what he was.

Why weren’t you a girl? She said in frustration, holding an ice pack to his blackening eye. You’re small and dainty like one. I always wanted a girl, and what did I get? You. Always fighting, always getting hurt, always trying to prove something.

Young Brad fought back tears. He wouldn’t cry in front of her or anyone else. He’d show her. He’d show all of them. I’m going to be somebody, he promised himself and then they’ll be sorry they were so mean to me. They’ll see.

* * *

Brad waited patiently, but still no sign of his pretty nurse, Meg Lewis. He would wait another half hour and then try again tomorrow. Another memory surfaced from his childhood. The group of Boy Scouts sat around the campfire roasting marshmallows. An October wind howled, through the trees. An owl hooted in the distance. The smell of the fire filled the woods with autumn. Marshmallows dangled on the ends of sticks, some a fine golden brown, others charred and black.

The boys began telling ghost stories, each trying to outdo the other. When it was Brad’s turn, he began in a loud clear voice.

On Halloween night, the spirits in hell were restless. They decided to visit earth, each of them slithering out of a grave trailing the decaying garments of the corpse that lay there …

The story became more bizarre as he went on. Brad commanded their full attention now. Even the Scout leader listened intently. A rotting tree branch loosened by a gust of wind came crashing to the forest floor. The boys shrieked in terror, grabbing each other. Brad laughed. He was in control now. How good it felt. Even nature was on his side.

That will be enough for tonight, boys, the scout leader said. And, Bradley, you’re quite a storyteller.

As he grew older, he realized that he could dominate others with words. He exaggerated everything. It was a skill he carefully honed. At first he became the center of attention with his wild tales. After a while they became repetitive and the others no longer found them compelling. That was when he began to lie on a grand scale. He told whoppers at first, too absurd to be believable.

Guess what I saw on the way home from school today, Mom.

I’m not a mind reader, Bradley, she said. And you’re late.

"But, Mom, running towards me was a dog with two heads−really, two heads. One was