Chapter 4 - THE SILVER POCKET WATCH
"You threw him outside?" I screamed, the horror of Darren's actions finally hitting me. "It was nine degrees last night! You threw an old man into the snow?"
Darren backed away until his shoulders hit the stainless-steel prep counter. "He was trespassing! He started asking questions about the restaurant's accounting! He wouldn't leave! He tripped and hit his head on the doorframe, I swear!"
"Where is he?" Eleanor demanded, stepping toward him.
"I don't know!" Darren yelled. "I left him by the dumpsters! When I checked an hour later, he was gone!"
I didn't wait to hear another word. I turned and sprinted out the front doors, slipping on the icy sidewalk as I ran toward the alley behind the restaurant. The wind bit through my thin coat, but I couldn't feel it. All I could think about was the gentle man who had told me not to apologize for noticing his hunger.
The alley was a wind tunnel of swirling white snow and freezing shadows. The green metal dumpsters were covered in a thick layer of frost.
"Frank!" I screamed, my voice tearing through the wind. "Frank!"
There was no answer. I fell to my knees by the dumpsters, desperately digging through the fresh snowdrifts, looking for a brown coat. Nothing.
Then, I noticed a set of uneven, dragging footprints leading away from the dumpsters, heading toward the narrow gap between the restaurant and the pharmacy next door.
I scrambled up and followed the tracks. They were erratic, stumbling. The snow had partially filled them in, but they led directly to the pharmacy's back loading dock. Tucked beneath the concrete overhang, shielded from the worst of the wind, was a massive pile of discarded cardboard boxes.
A corner of faded brown wool was visible beneath the cardboard.
"Eleanor! Over here!" I screamed over my shoulder, tearing the boxes away with frozen, bleeding fingers.
Frank was lying on the concrete. His lips were a terrifying shade of blue, his skin as pale as the snow around him. He was barely shivering—a dangerous sign that his core temperature had dropped too low. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and rattling.
"Frank!" I cried, pulling off my coat and wrapping it over his chest. "Please, wake up! Please!"
Eleanor dropped to the ground beside me, pressing two fingers to his neck. "His pulse is incredibly weak. We can't wait for an ambulance. Help me carry him to the car!"
As I slid my arms under Frank's shoulders to lift him, his right hand twitched. His frozen fingers weakly grabbed my wrist.
Slowly, agonizingly, Frank opened his eyes. They were clouded, unfocused, but when he saw my face, a tiny spark of recognition flared.
"Emily," he breathed, his voice barely a rasp.
"I'm here, Frank," I sobbed, tears freezing hot on my cheeks. "We're going to get you help."
He slowly uncurled his fist. Resting in his palm was a heavy, antique silver pocket watch. It was beautiful, engraved with a delicate pattern of ivy leaves.
"Take it," Frank whispered, pushing the watch into my hand.
"I don't want your watch, Frank," I cried. "We need to move you."
"Darren..." Frank coughed, a terrible, wet sound. "Darren searched my pockets... before he threw me out. He took my wallet. He took my phone. He thought he took everything."
Frank closed his eyes, his breathing stuttering. "He didn't check... the watch."
I looked down at the heavy silver timepiece in my palm. My thumb brushed the top latch, and the face popped open.
But there was no clock inside.
The interior of the watch had been hollowed out. Sitting perfectly inside the velvet lining was a small, strangely shaped brass key with a serial number stamped into the metal.
Before I could ask him what it meant, Frank's head lolled to the side, and he lost consciousness completely.
"Grab his legs!" Eleanor yelled, terrified.
We lifted him together, struggling through the snow toward the idling Town Car. Just as we reached the parking lot, a white passenger van with the words OAK CREEK ASSISTED LIVING painted on the side slammed on its brakes right in front of us.
The driver’s side door flew open.
A woman in white scrubs jumped out, carrying a heavy emergency medical bag.
It was my mother.
She took one look at me holding an unconscious man’s shoulders, and her nurse’s instincts instantly overrode her shock.
"Put him on the ground, flat on his back! Now!" my mother ordered, her voice cutting through the panic with absolute authority.
"Mom?" I gasped, dropping to my knees. "What are you doing here?"
My mother ripped open her medical bag, pulling out a thermal blanket and oxygen tubing. "My facility dispatcher just got an emergency call from a frantic pharmacy manager saying there was a frozen man in the alley! I was doing a transport two blocks away!"
She looked down at Frank’s face to secure the oxygen mask, and she suddenly froze. The medical tape slipped from her fingers.
"Mom?" I asked, terrified by the look on her face. "What is it?"
My mother looked up at me, her eyes wide with shock. "Emily... what are you doing with Mr. Harrison?"
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"You know him?" Eleanor demanded, kneeling in the snow.
"Know him?" my mother breathed, rapidly wrapping the thermal blanket around Frank’s chest. "Six months ago, he was a resident in our luxury memory care wing. I was his primary nurse. Until his son ripped him out of the facility in the middle of the night and told us he was dead."
