Helping A Friend in Need

Helping A Friend in Need
“His Medical Alert system sent us the signal that he needed assistance, so medics were sent, and he was found unconscious by the porch of your home. Can you come over to sign some documents for his proper admission procedure to be arranged?” the lady courteously stated.

“Yes, I am on my way. Please do whatever needs to be done, and thank you so much for responding in time,” Voltaire felt so frustrated and disappointed. He didn’t even know his dad was suffering from any illness.

He sighed deeply when the call ended.

“Can I help?” Scarlett felt Voltaire’s dejected aura, so she was cautious not to make a sound. But she wanted to assure him she was willing to help him in any way if he needed a hand.

Voltaire seemed to have forgotten for a second that he was with a friend. He turned to look at her and saw her worried and filled with a concerned gaze focused on him. He smiled. Then he sighed.

“I don’t know what help I need for now. Can I introduce you to my old man first?” Voltaire realized his dad’s medical conditions must have been the reason he was asking Voltaire to settle down as soon as possible. Hoping it would help his old man recover sooner if he knew his son had a girl, and bringing her over to meet him in person would be a big thing.

Scarlett

“Of course,” I answered without hesitation. I have never had much of a giving and taking, favor kind of friendly relationship. It has always been business for my clients and me. This time, I want to take his request as it came from a friend whom I have spent a good time getting to know each other until I fell asleep last night. 

I had been feeling comfortable around him ever since our dinner last night. We played twenty-question games, and I am not sure he gave me all his honest answers, but I am sure as hell I did mine with every question he asked of me. 

He told me his mom and sister died at the hands of their abductors. They were starved and abused in many ways, and their body gave up and which caused their untimely death. I felt the more vital determination to help him get the justice he was after. I could feel Voltaire had something he wanted to tell me, but I did not rush him about it. He should be one hundred percent ready if he wants to tell me whatever it is. I don’t wanna pressure him. Any fruit harvested early and unripe may taste bitter rather than sweet. But aside from that, I have never felt any threat that he would do me harm. Well, not that I was unguarded, it was that I did not want to put even a slight doubt in my heart that he would do me any harm. Had I been wrong, I wouldn’t have woken up to hear my personal alarm for possible intruders. 

I have set a time range where my club employees would no longer be working that the massive movement detected by my security system should not exceed a specific level. And I have set a facial recognition system on my security cameras to identify my employees from intruders. My system flared up, and my initial reaction was to check if Voltaire was still with me or with my enemy. And when I saw him deep asleep, I was convinced he was not among them. It took me a few taps on him to totally wake him up. He was still looking sleep-drunk when he opened his eyes. I had to explain what was going on and who I thought it was. I told him who, and he asked why. I told him the reasons, too. 

We got out of the club through the laundry chute I particularly requested to be made during the renovations of the place to turn from a few-floor motel to a club downstairs and private rooms upstairs. It was only a seven-floor commercial building that I bought a few years ago. No one knew about it. No one is allowed to explore my private room. The hidden exit leads to the laundry room with a door to the back of the building, heading to another alley where we can find a cab as quickly as the front side of the club. 

Watchful of whether there were enemies on this side of the building, too, we walked cautiously and casually as if we were just among the passers-by. We took the first empty cab we saw, and as soon as we got in, he got a phone call. 

I noticed how worried he was through his voice. 

I heard it was about his dad. I figured something happened, according to his end of the conversation, which is the only part I can listen to. Then he told the cab driver to send us to the hospital. He looked distressed, and I wished I could help, so I carefully asked when I felt him so quiet.

Voltaire

We arrived at the hospital quickly and without so much traffic. It was wee hours in the morning, after all. I was so worried. What could his illness be? Why didn’t he tell me anything about it? I hope it’s not that serious, like terminal stage cancer or anything. I closed my eyes with mixed emotions. Frustration. Disappointment. Regrets. I have been too busy with one goal to honor my mom and sister. I forgot I still have dad to consider in my priorities. 

“Go ahead. I’ll deal with the cab fare. I will be right behind you,” Scarlett suggested. I am sure she can see I was in a state of mess. 

“Thanks, Scar,” I gratefully thanked her, then rushed into the entrance of the hospital as soon as the cab driver pulled over. 
Last night, we agreed that I would call her a nickname, Scar, which I playfully pronounced as Oscar, but she was thrilled, saying her name sounded like one of the boys. So she was ecstatic about it. I cannot casually call her by her codename, as it would be foolishly inviting trouble. I cannot do that with her real name, even the full first name alone, so I just shortened it to Scar, although it may sound like Oscar.