Angel

By Chris Land

Michael, an engineer with an artistic bent, begins receiving phone calls from a mysterious girl who claims she has a fatal disease. At first, he believes the calls are from a malevolent trickster, but gradually, he allows himself to be convinced that he is receiving messages from beyond the grave!

Follow Michael as he is led from one stroke of misfortune to the next as Angela, the mysterious caller, insinuates herself into his life. Follow Angela as she takes over Michaels life and guides him on a journey that could end in madness for Michael and sorrow for those around him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Sep 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524517380

Chris Land

Chris Land is sixty-two years old and lives and writes part-time in Redcliffe, Queensland. He has worked as an engineer with Trans-Australia Airlines, Malaysian Airline System, and most recently, Qantas Airways Ltd. His hobbies are writing, listening to classical music, and flying. Chris is divorced and lives alone. His two children live and work in Western Australia.

Book preview

1

37980.png

Michael added up the stack of bills one more time.

Once again, the total came to more than he could reasonably expect to earn in the next month. Rent, $1500; car, $643; gas, $352; electricity, $246; telephones (mobile and fixed line), $292; water, $312; and they were all either overdue or had to be paid in the next few days. In his pocket he had $52.20, he got paid on Friday and today was still only Sunday. There was no food in the fridge, no petrol in the car and, on top of it all, he had just been stung into giving twenty dollars to charity.

Didn’t charity begin at home? That was what his mother had always told him.

How could he have been so silly as to give away twenty dollars when that money could have helped pay for his petrol for work next week? Well, it was for a good cause: leukemia research. And the lady collecting the money was very grateful when he handed over the cash. Help Angela get well, the piece of paper the lady was holding had said, Please give generously so that adolescents like Angela can lead a normal life while undergoing their treatment. The picture of Angela was that of a beguilingly pretty young woman but with no hair or eyebrows and wearing a hospital gown. Apparently, adolescents with leukemia were not as well taken care of as children were with the same disease. Their prognoses were worse, for a start; they seldom survived for long, unlike the younger patients, who often recovered completely after their treatment. Research into childhood illness was also well funded whereas kids in their late teens or early twenties fell uncomfortably in between being a child and being an adult so their needs were not nearly so well met. They still had to try to keep up with their studies and some semblance of a social life while they underwent treatment. There were university fees to pay and books to purchase, public transport costs to take care of as well as all the other costs of daily life to fund. Many of the youths or their parents struggled to meet the bills.

Well, Michael knew all about that; not being able to meet the bills. It had not always been like this though. Not so long ago, he had worked overseas on a good tax-free salary. He had eaten out and drunk beer every night with the other expatriates. Times were good then but he was paying the price now for squandering his money. After his overseas contract had expired, he had returned home only to join the ranks of the unemployed. His small reserve of cash had soon run out and, by the time he had found work, he was broke.

Of course, he did not know that he was going to be jobless for months. When he first arrived back, he continued to spend the way he had when he was overseas. He had kept in contact with his many girlfriends by telephone (hence the large phone bill he was now looking at), he had put a deposit down on a new car (hence the repayments) and he had taken a nice house in a nice suburb (hence the rent).

Michael sighed, got up from the kitchen table where he was sitting and put the kettle on for a cup of coffee. The bills would have to wait. For petrol and food next week, he would use the credit card. He picked everything up off the table, squared the bills into a nice, neat pile, deposited all of them into the ‘bills to pay’ box that he kept on the kitchen workbench and sat down to drink his coffee.

While sipping the hot, black liquid, he once again picked up the piece of paper that the woman had given him. Help Angela get well, he read again. Who was Angela? Was she a real person? Michael decided that no girl called Angela probably existed. It was just a name that someone had made up to represent all the kids out there with leukemia. The photo was likewise probably that of a model with either her head shaved or wearing a skullcap to make her look bald for the camera. A real leukemia patient could not possibly be so attractive, he thought. Anyway, whatever the truth of the matter was, there were still a lot of people out there a hell of a lot worse off than he was and even if the photograph was not that of a real Angela, there were still a lot of kids deserving of his charity. Of course, the fundraisers would put a pretty face on their handouts because in a pretty face there is always hope and there was little enough hope to be had, these days. Especially in cancer research.

Michael looked at the picture again and considered himself fortunate. At least he was single with no children to worry about. In his current circumstances at least it was only his mouth that he had to feed. He could not even imagine how bad it must feel to be unable to put food on the table for a child but there were lots of families around struggling to do just that. And he did have a job now. If the worst came to the worst, they could repossess his car, cut off his power and water and kick him onto the streets but he would still have his life and the ability to work. Getting to work would be a hassle on public transport but it would still be possible. How much was possible for Angela, be she fictitious or real?

Two weeks passed, during which time Michael was somehow able to keep body and soul together. He had paid his rent and power bill and he had averted having his phone cut off only by going into the Telstra office and promising to make full payment by next month. The car payment would have to wait.

It was a blustery evening with low temperatures and drizzly rain as he drove home from work and he was thankful he was driving a new car, even though he could barely afford it. Once again, as he had several times over the past two weeks, he took comfort in the fact that he was luckier than some people. As he passed others on the freeway, who had broken down or come to grief in the slippery conditions, he turned the climate control up a notch and continued homeward.

He arrived at the front door to hear the phone ringing inside the house. He quickly fumbled with his house keys, dropping them once onto the wet pathway, before finally making it inside. He threw his briefcase onto the floor against the wall and hurried to the phone only to have it stop ringing when he picked it up.

Hello? Hello? he called, but the only noise from the other end was the dial tone.

He hung the phone back on the hook. If it were important, they would call him back. He walked over to the stove and put the kettle on. As he was doing it, the phone rang again. This time he made it.

Hello?

Is this Mr Michael Carmody?

Speaking.

Hello, Mr Carmody, my name is Angela.

Angela?

Angela Wright, the girl on the leukemia brochure.

Oh, Angela, of course. He suddenly remembered the donation he had made two weeks before. Yeah, look, if you want another donation, I’m sorry but you’re out of luck. You see, I don’t have anything left to give you.

Oh, no! I’m just calling personally to thank you for what you gave, that’s all.

Oh! How did you get my number?

From the directory. I have some receipt books here from the collectors so I have names and addresses but no phone numbers. I think it’s important to thank as many people as I can for donating so I go through the names, get the numbers from the book and call them. Most of the time, people are not in or they don’t answer, though. I’m lucky that I’ve caught you at home.

Lucky; there was that word again. Did you ring before?

Yes, I don’t know why but I decided to try your number a second time. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been able to get many people at home, this evening.

It’ll be the weather. Most people are still stuck in their cars trying to get home.

Well, I’m glad that you’re at home because I’d like to thank you once again for donating to our cause. For both myself and for all the others with leukemia, your donation will go a long way towards helping us.

Michael was embarrassed. It was only twenty dollars.

But twenty dollars is a lot if you don’t have it.

Well, you’re right about that. And I have been a bit short of cash lately!

That is all the more reason to thank you. You’re very kind."

A thought occurred to Michael. Listen, I know I shouldn’t ask you this but are you really the Angela who was photographed in the hospital gown and all, on the brochure? I thought it was perhaps the picture of a model done up to look like a leukemia patient.

Yes, that’s me. Did you think I looked like a fake?

No! I wondered; that’s all.

You can visit me at the Bayview Private Hospital, if you don’t think I’m real.

No, no! I’m sorry but I didn’t mean it to sound like that. I don’t think you’re not real.

Come and visit me anyway. Some of my hair has grown back after the chemotherapy so I’m a bit more presentable now.

You looked presentable enough in the photograph. I think you’re very attractive!

Thanks for saying so although I don’t feel very attractive at the moment. Anyway, I’ve got a lot more phone calls to make so I’ll thank you once again and hope to see you one day!

Sure thing! Goodbye and…thanks for calling.

You’re welcome. Goodbye.

The line clicked and went dead.

Michael hung the phone up thoughtfully. So, Angela was not just the figment of someone’s imagination. She was real and she really suffered from leukemia. What was more, she had invited him to visit. Well, she probably invited everyone to visit. It must, after all, be pretty lonely lying in a hospital bed waiting to die.

The hospital! What name did she say? Was it Seaview or Bayview, something like that? Why had he not written it down when she had told him? He quickly got out the L-Z yellow pages and looked up private hospitals. He thumbed through the ‘P’ section. There it was: private hospitals. See Hospitals – private.

Shit. He put down the L-Z and picked up the A-K instead looking for Hospitals – private. "Now then, was it Bay-something? Bayside, Bayswater, Bayview: there it was. Bayview Private Hospital, Mornington. He whistled; that was along way from where he was staying - a good two hour’s drive, at least. Still, what was a two-hour drive when someone was dying? Nothing at all, he decided, so he made up his mind to see her as soon as he could. There was something about Angela that had stirred his curiosity.

2

37983.png

It was two weeks before Michael got the opportunity to drive down to Mornington. Things were busy at work and he had been putting in overtime whenever he could to help cover his debts. Even so, he was still using his credit card for petrol and that would have to be paid off, one day soon.

He drove into Mornington at two o’clock in the afternoon and, after first buying a box of chocolates and some flowers, immediately started looking around for the Bayview Private Hospital. He eventually found it, not at Mornington at all, but some kilometres out of town on the road to Portsea and Sorrento. He parked the car in the small car park, which, surprisingly, was empty of vehicles and entered the building carrying his gifts.

Excuse me, he said to the only person he could see, presumably a nurse although she was not in any kind of uniform, But do you have an Angela Wright here, as a patient?

Pardon me?

Angela Wright, a patient here with leukemia?

I’m sorry, I don’t recall. Let me just check.

She went off to check the files or whatever while Michael paced around the corridor feeling out of place and uncomfortable. It was a strange thing, but there was no one else around and none of the sounds usually heard in a hospital – the rattling of trolleys or the footsteps of visitors. There was not even another nurse in sight. While he was waiting, he sneaked a look into one of the doors that opened off the corridor. It was a ward with an empty bed in it. It was funny, but the place did not even smell like a hospital and the empty ward looked like it had not been occupied for months. There were no sheets or mattress on the bed and a thick layer of dust covered the sparse furnishings.

He left the mysterious ward and returned to the corridor. Where was that nurse? She was nowhere to be seen. Where was she? She could not have vanished into thin air! Michael began to get an uneasy feeling – as if something were not quite right about the place. He started to notice things that he had missed upon first entering the building. Why was the place so unkempt; why were the windows dirty; how come, if this were a functioning hospital, there were cobwebs on the ceiling, dust and grit on the floor and no central heating?

Shivering in the cold and feeling a little foolish standing there in an empty corridor clutching a bunch of roses and a box of chocolates, Michael got sick of waiting for her to return and decided to search the place himself. He wandered through the various corridors but it was the same story everywhere: the Bayview Hospital was deserted. There were beds in the wards but none of them occupied or even made up. The hospital was closed and looked like it had been that way for several weeks if not months. If an Angela Wright existed, she was not going to be found here. He either had the wrong Bayview Private Hospital or he was the victim of a prank.

He thought about this as he began the long drive home. It had to be a prank but how could such a thing be? There were people around who he could suspect of doing such a thing but none had known he had donated money to the leukemia charity or that there had been such a girl as Angela. No, the only people who had known about that were the Society themselves, which meant that the whole thing was a hoax. And a con, too. They had taken almost his last twenty dollars! Still, the girl who had claimed to be Angela did not sound like a cheat. But then again, they never did, did they? That was why they

Reviews for Angel

[ian2-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Animal facts