Sleep had claimed Blaine so deeply he could scarcely rouse. Someone was shaking his shoulder. He tried to open his eyes, but they were reluctant to comply.
‘Should we take him to the hospital? It’s not far.’
‘Or the police! He’s probably on drugs!’
‘Just call the ambulance.’
The shaking stopped. Blaine turned his head and glimpsed a man in exercise gear leaving the cubicle while talking to someone on a mobile phone. Another man was standing at the door, arms folded, watching him. He jumped forward, calling for his friend when Blaine eased to a sitting position.
‘He’s waking up.’
‘Hang on, he’s responding now. Yeah, a young male, I’d say late teens, and he’s got a head injury. Fair bit of blood down his face and clothes, but the blood’s dry and the wound doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.’ The man who’d been shaking Blaine reappeared, phone still to his ear. He angled it away from his mouth. ‘The ambos are on their way.’
Groaning, Blaine eased to his feet. ‘I don’t need an ambulance. I’m okay.’ The stiffness of his body from sleeping on the cement floor made it hard to move.
‘Do you know your name? Do you know where you are?’
‘Yes!’ Blaine’s stomach growled a protest that matched his pointed tone.
‘Yeah, look he’s saying he’s okay and he’s up and walking. Doesn’t seem disoriented.’
‘I slept in a loo. Lame, huh? I don’t need an ambulance. But I do need to call my mum.’
The man smiled. ‘They’re on their way? Thanks.’ He pulled the phone back again and started asking Blaine questions. ‘What’s your name?’
Blaine started to answer then realised who the man was talking to. He clamped shut his mouth and shook his head.
‘Date of birth? Residential address?’
Still Blaine refused to respond.
‘He won’t say, sorry. What about any pre-existing medical conditions?’
I don’t think so. Blaine folded his arms with as much attitude as he could muster. ‘I said, I don’t need an ambulance!’
‘Look, he’s not cooperating. That’s all I can tell you, sorry. Okay. Yeah, at the public toilets. Thanks.’ The man ended the call and slid the phone into the armband hugging his biceps.
‘Here, we’ll help you get cleaned up while we wait. You can use my exercise towel, but it’s a bit sweaty.’
‘Thanks.’
Blaine went to the basin, shrugged off his jacket and placed it on the benchtop beside the sink. Glancing back, he knew he’d never dare tell his parents he’d slept in a toilet cubicle. His father’s hygiene expectations would be shattered. No doubt they’d want to bathe him in disinfectant and burn his clothes.
Despite the chill in the air, he inflicted a cold bird bath upon himself, eagerly receiving the donated towel from his self-appointed guardians. Scrubbing at a stain on his tee-shirt, Blaine noticed the men studying the bruising along his arms from the injections, drips and blood tests he’d had while at ARI.
Quickly he put down the towel and pulled his jacket back on, but he could sense them tempering their responses.
‘You do drugs, kid?’ The man who called emergency services had already followed the lead of his fitness buddy and retreated back towards the entrance.
‘’Course not!’ But Blaine knew he certainly looked the part of a drug user. ‘Just had some tests done.’
‘Right. Ambulance won’t be long.’
‘I’m not an addict!’ He followed them outside, realising it was now quite dark.
‘Hey, if you’re right waiting with the kid, I’m going to finish up on the stairs. I’ll be back soon. That was a killer boot camp session!’
‘Sure. We should be fine until the ambos come. I’ll catch up after that, if you’re not done beforehand.’
‘Okay. Good luck, kid.’ The second man ran off along the path, towards the cliffs. The rock face was strategically lit for nighttime abseiling groups.
Blaine walked over to a bench facing the water. The man followed and sat beside him. Along the river parkland were groups of people with hands on hips or knees, bent over with sweat-dampened hair and clothes. Some were stretching in the bright patches beaming from light poles. Others seemed to have worked so hard they couldn’t quite decide what to do next.
Boot Camp. Blaine smiled.
‘My friend, Jett, tried to talk me into doing some boot camp sessions with him just before Christmas.’ He pitched his head towards the group. ‘Looks fun, if you’re into self-imposed torture.’
The man chuckled. ‘Yeah, it’s hard work. But gets great results.’
Blaine continued to observe. Jett was always seeking the next physical challenge. His robust, athletic build contrasted notably with Blaine’s comparatively finer physique.
He was not ignorant of the effect Jett had when he walked past a group of teenage girls. It reminded Blaine of a band of puppies bounding after a throw toy. Jett tended to sport an awkward grin and flush slightly, pretending he couldn’t hear the statements of admiration tumbling after him. Sophie would just roll her eyes.
‘Here’s the ambulance.’ The man stood up, turned and waved to catch their attention. Blaine followed his lead.
There were no sirens or flashing lights. Clearly it wasn’t being viewed as an emergency. Blaine’s nerves prickled as the paramedics walked across the shadowed car park towards him.
‘Hi mate, I’m Gary. Want to come over to the ambulance so we can take a better look at you?’
Blaine crossed his arms and scowled at the pair, a man and a woman, hoping to intimidate them. ‘Really, I’m fine!’
‘Well, we’re here now, so why don’t you come on over and we can do a quick check? Won’t take long.’ The male paramedic had an upbeat manner that immediately put Blaine at ease. Resigned, he followed them and plonked himself down as directed at the back of the van. ‘And sir …’ He looked to the man waiting with Blaine. ‘… do you mind having a chat to my colleague so we can get some contact details and other info? Then we can take it from there.’
‘Sure. But he wouldn’t even give me his name.’
The Good Samaritan talked to the other medical attendant while Blaine was assessed.
‘Seems you’ve given yourself a pretty good knock to the head.’ Gary let out a short whistle as he inspected the wound. ‘How’d that happen?’
‘Got hit. Fell.’
‘With what? A crowbar?’
Closer than you realise, dude ...
‘Any other injuries I should know about?’
‘No.’
‘What about nausea? Blurred vision?’
Blaine shook his head as Gary produced some equipment and clipped a sensor on Blaine’s finger. ‘What’s your name, mate?’
Maybe first name wouldn’t hurt. ‘Blaine.’
‘Oh good, you remember now.’ He winked, making his patient smile. ‘Last name?’ When Blaine only shrugged, the paramedic sighed. ‘Thought that might be the case. You secret agents always seem to keep to a first name basis.’
Blaine squelched a laugh at the corny comeback.
‘I understand you were found unconscious in a public toilet? Any particular reason for that?’
‘You ask a lot of questions.’
‘Part of the job, Blaine.’ He rattled off some readings as the female paramedic joined them.
‘Got that, Gary.’ She recorded the information. The man who had found Blaine ran off to join his training partner.
‘Sal, this is Blaine. Hasn’t got a last name.’ He held his hand up to his mouth and whispered loudly, ‘A secret agent, I’m thinking. But maybe he’ll tell us how old he is, if we ask.’
‘So Blaine, I’m guessing you’re about sixty-nine, right?’ Sal was quick to pick up on the act.
Disarmed, Blaine released the information, which she promptly noted.
‘Great! See, asking questions works.’ Gary’s grin was broad. ‘Do you mind taking your jacket off, so I can check your blood pressure and all that?’
Blaine hesitated, remembering the reaction of the other men to the needle marks on his arms.
‘I’ll be quick. Will even pre-warm the stethoscope.’
‘Don’t they have machines for that?’
‘Yep.’ Gary pulled out a cuff and ripped apart the Velcro fastening pad. ‘But I always do my base line BP manually.’
Sal helped ease off the jacket. Blaine wrapped his arms about his waist as a crop of goose bumps popped up across his skin. Yeah, little chillier without that on. At Gary’s instruction, he reluctantly offered his arm, catching the glance that passed between the two medics.
More details were noted. Blaine wished Gary would hurry up with his vital signs assessment.
Gary’s cheerfulness didn’t seem at all diminished as he continued with the usual checks. ‘Had a bit of needlework, Blaine?’
Blaine shrugged. ‘Got some tests done.’
‘Been in hospital recently?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Looks like they made a good pincushion out of you.’ Concern broke through medic’s tone. Still, he was chatty and relaxed. ‘Now, for that head injury.’
‘I’m just going to put your jacket down here, Blaine, while Gary does his thing. I’ll be back in a minute.’
Blaine winced as his head wound was cleaned.
‘Probably leave a scar, you know. Any headaches or dizziness?’
Blaine shrugged then grimaced as Gary used special tape to pull together the edges of the cut.
‘Sorry, but it’ll feel better afterwards.’
Gary talked as he worked. Blaine knew the medic was trying to extract more information out of him. Got to admit, this guy’s got a talent for inquisition. But his ears pricked up when he overheard Sal radioing in the information about him. In moments her head appeared around the side of the van.
‘Hey, Gary, can I borrow you for a second?’
Gary sighed and pulled a comical expression. ‘Can’t wait, can she?’ He put down a roll of adhesive dressing. ‘Back in a minute, Blaine. You sit tight—no secret agent business for a tick.’
‘Okay.’ But soon Blaine heard ‘POI’ and low spoken details about him. Person of interest? He grabbed his coat and slipped away into the darkness.
‘Thanks for waiting ... Blaine?’
Blaine turned and saw Gary looking after him. His heart rate snapped up a gear and he jumped up on a park bench to scale a retaining wall edging Riverwalk. Running across the road, he headed for the darkened backstreets, away from the river.
Glancing back, Blaine could see Gary watching his movements, but the man didn’t seem to be giving chase. Even still, he wasn’t taking any chances, and ducked down several side streets to try and cover his tracks. Undoubtedly his whereabouts would be reported to the police.
Unsure of where to go, he decided to keep heading in the general direction of South Bank, though he was certainly taking the long way round. Forced to slow, he realised he was trembling all over. I don’t have time for this! Come on, body! His stomach growled in accompaniment to his flagging, irregular steps and he couldn’t seem to focus properly.
Blaine rubbed his eyes. Was it just the darkness messing with them? It was like they were fighting each other instead of ...
He stopped. Surely it couldn’t happen that fast. Surely his body wouldn’t degrade in a matter of days when the best part of three long years had been spent in arduous rehabilitation! He blinked until his vision grew clearer and desperately hoped it was just a symptom of his fatigue or the injury to his head, not his critically low levels of Ramer’s Cure.
Blaine snorted at himself. Who am I kidding?
Before another thought could form, a whooshing louder than any noise around him rushed through his ears. Like a battery discharging, energy funnelled out of him into some unseen circuitry. Blaine tumbled onto the cold cement footpath.
Feeling like a marionette cut from its strings, he wrestled the unseen force that held him to the ground. He had to move. His focus went hazy then black. Any aspirations of making another day without calling his mother crashed in a pile.
Gotta call Mum. Gotta find a payphone.
Surely with the tertiary institutes around there would be one—somewhere. Maritime Museum? Train station? He knew there were phones in those locations, but he wasn’t close enough now, especially given that every extra metre might as well be a kilometre.
Blaine rested for a while in the darkness, then rolled onto his side and eased to his feet. He could barely stand, let alone walk properly. Gritting his teeth with determination, he shuffled along at a sluggish pace that made him feel like a sloth in slow motion. Disoriented, he wondered if he was even going in the right direction anymore. But he couldn’t give up now.
To keep his mind from wandering, he started counting his steps, naming each one as a tick for hope—a reminder he was still alive. Relief flooded him as he recognised the street he was crossing. Getting nearer to South Bank. And then he spotted the lifeline he was seeking.
A phone booth.
‘Please, Mum, please be home.’